I returned late Saturday from my trip to California—and thank you all for your good wishes! All went well, and I came back refreshed in body and mind: no alarm clocks (except for the day I left: 3:45 a.m.!), and plenty of time to eat, drink, talk, read and even think (occasionally).

Before I go any farther, I’d like to thank my husband and mother-in-law who kept things running on the home front, making it possible for me to make this trip—love and gratitude to you both!

I flew to Sacramento, where I was born and where my dad and step mom still live, then rented a car and drove a couple hours north to where my mom and step dad live. I split my eight-day visit between the two of them. This blog post will cover the first half of my trip, and Friday’s will cover the rest.

I’ve written about where my mom lives before. Since we moved a lot as I grew up, this house is the closest thing I have to a childhood home. Many of my happiest memories occurred here, and it will always be one of my favorite places. It’s strange to me that though I grew up in California, went to college and got married there, I’ve now lived in Florida almost as long if not longer. (I don’t want to do the math!)

My first full day at my mom’s, I took a walk through part of the property, revisiting places I’d loved as a child:

I returned covered in burrs:


I’d made two requests of my mom: visits to Trader Joe’s and to Cal’s Books, an awesome used book store in Redding, CA. TJ’s, as we always used to call it, was more an exercise in torture, because I couldn’t bring back much of anything…though I did buy some snacks and wine to enjoy while I was in California. And Cal’s…well, if you know me at all, you know the attraction there. I found only two books this time, which was probably just as well because I didn’t have room in my suitcase for more.

The last day of my stay with my mom, we checked out Anderson River Park, on the banks of the Sacramento River. After eating our lunch there, we spent the afternoon reading, chatting, relaxing and playing musical chairs trying to stay in the shade. Every so often, a breeze would blow off the river to cool us down. I wandered about a little, taking pictures.


This trip brings up the complicated question of where my “home” really is. Is it the place I grew up, where my birth family lives, and that I still love? Is it the place my husband, son and I live? For me, it’s both—the place of my roots that I will always long for AND the place I currently live with the people I love. I don’t have to choose—the more places that feel like home, the better.

What makes a place home for you?

 By the time you read this, I’ll be in the air, on the way to California to visit my family—all by myself. My husband and son get to spend some quality time with each other (heh) while I take a break. I spent much of yesterday afternoon packing clothes and deciding which books to take (yes, I know an e-reader would be easier to pack, but I’m not there yet—plus I’m still working on reading challenges!). I’m only carrying on (it's been my experience that checked luggage is lost luggage) so space is an issue. I won’t be posting for a week or so, but instead plan to fill the well a bit.

Have a great week!

Autumn is my favorite season. Yes, we have autumn in Florida—it’s just not like a typical “autumn” elsewhere. In autumn, cold fronts drop the humidity, and I begin to think being outside is a good idea again. In autumn, I plant a few vegetables hoping for harvest before winter comes.

In autumn, the light through the trees looks different—more golden and mellow instead of harsh and blinding.

A few trees change color, and love bugs appear, and Tank begins growing a winter coat that will have to be clipped off because it will be too hot for him until at least December. The busyness surrounding the start of the school year slows down, but the holiday rush hasn’t started yet. I’m still wearing shorts much of the time, but occasionally I can put on jeans without becoming a puddle of sweat. I feel thankful I’ve survived another summer and look forward to savoring the cooler months ahead.

Autumn isn’t really here yet—but it’s coming. It’s coming.

What’s your favorite season?

Photo courtesy Fred Fokkelman

Here is a lovely poem by Robert Cording, a poet who lives in Connecticut, which shows us a fresh new way of looking at something commonplace. That’s the kind of valuable service a poet can provide. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Old Houses

Year after year after year
I have come to love slowly

how old houses hold themselves—

before November’s drizzled rain
or the refreshing light of June—

as if they have all come to agree
that, in time, the days are no longer
a matter of suffering or rejoicing.

I have come to love
how they take on the color of rain or sun
as they go on keeping their vigil

without need of a sign, awaiting nothing

more than the birds that sing from the eaves,
the seizing cold that sounds the rafters.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2010 by Robert Cording from his most recent book of poetry, “Walking with Ruskin,” CavanKerry Press, Ltd., 2010. Reprinted by permission of Robert Cording. Introduction copyright ©2011 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

One of the bonuses of having my own horse has been the friends I’ve made at the barn where I board. Not long ago, two of us were grazing our horses in the grass along the dirt driveway, when a third friend, Mary Ann, strolled down the road, and reported that she’d just climbed a tree overlooking one of the horses’ paddocks—just to see if she could. This ignited an enthusiastic discussion. Marianne (yes, her name is spelled right: friend one in this story is Mary Ann, friend two is Marianne) admitted she’s climbed the camphor tree in her front yard, also because she wanted to see if she could do it. Marianne also remembered climbing trees with a friend when she was a kid, and rigging a pulley and basket system between their two trees, sending comic books back and forth to each other.

I haven’t climbed any trees lately (I’m thinking I need to get back in practice!), but it was a favorite past time when I was a girl. When we lived in southern California, we had an apricot tree growing near our flat-roofed garage. This tree, in addition to being covered with delicious fruit every summer, also sent its limbs up and over the garage roof, creating a small, enclosed bower, perfect for an 11-year-old who would take a book, shinny up the tree and curl up in a secluded and private reading nook.

Mary Ann just happens to be 60 years old. She has the most youthful spirit of anyone I know. She comes to the barn daily where she does barn chores and takes care of her 22-year-old ex-racehorse. I’m not saying it’s tree climbing that is keeping her young, but it can’t hurt.

Mary Ann and Frenchy

How often do we stop ourselves because we feel we’re “too old” to do something? Why limit ourselves like that? I certainly advocate being careful and following commonsense safety rules, but if you want to ride the roller coaster, white water raft, go hiking, dance to the radio—or go climb a tree—please, go ahead.

Is there anything you secretly long to do that you think you can’t? What keeps you feeling young and energized?

This weekend, we watched as Hurricane Irene sashayed up the East Coast, killing 21, flooding cities all the way up into Canada and leaving millions without power—and her effects were not as bad as feared!

Since we live in Florida’s Tampa Bay area, we’re intimately familiar with hurricanes. Though we’ve been spared the past few years, in 2004 and 2005, eight hurricanes blew through here. Our home was undamaged, but we lost electricity several times, an uncomfortable situation in sticky August. I learned how important being prepared could be, and after struggling along with candles and flashlights, I finally bought battery-operated lamps, and fans to help us keep from getting too hot. Now every year at the end of May, I pull out my list of recommended items to have on hand: water, canned and packaged food, first aid supplies, medications, pet food, and so on. I remind myself that this year could be the year we get a direct hit and not to get complacent.

It occurred to me that in the same manner I prepare for physical storms, I could also prepare for emotional storms that come my way. Just as I stock up on water and food and batteries, I could “stock up” on things that soothe me when I’m angry, sad or just emotionally overwhelmed.

The key to hurricane preparedness is to make ongoing preparations, not wait until a storm is bearing down on you. You don’t want to go to the grocery store and find the shelves bare, do you? Just so, the time to prepare for an emotional hurricane is before the winds begin to pick up and the rain pours. Here are some things in my emotional hurricane kit:

Affirmations and inspiring quotes written on 3 x 5 cards. I look through these during times of emotional upheaval. One example: “We insist that we can’t possibly be happy until tomorrow, when things change. But if happiness is possible tomorrow, it is possible today. If love is possible tomorrow, it is possible today. We can find healing even if nothing changes” (quoted from Life Lessons: Two Experts on Death and Dying Teach Us About the Mysteries of Life and Living, by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler).

Something funny and light to read at bedtime. I’m currently reading The Provincial Lady in London, by E.M. Delafield. I find her mild, dry humor very soothing and perfect for bedtime. I also love Bill Bryson’s I’m a Stranger Here Myself, Dave Barry’s compilations of columns, and even the occasional Baby Blues comic collection. I’d rather go to sleep laughing than crying, wouldn’t you?

“Quiet time” every morning. Every day, I spend a half hour or so reading inspirational or spiritual material in an effort to begin my day with right thinking and emotional health. I also write morning pages, a practice described by Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way. I feel morning pages help both to clear out my brain of non-essentials and jump start my creative thinking. I do believe in something larger than myself, whether you call it God or the Universe or some other man-made term, so I often express gratitude and ask for inspiration.

Keeping physical needs met. I’ve learned that to avoid unnecessary emotional storms, I should get enough rest, exercise regularly, eat as healthy as possible and not overschedule myself. Becoming a martyr and not caring for myself properly is just asking for a storm.

When all else fails: good chocolate! I know it’s best not to comfort myself with food. However. I find the dark, rich stuff is satisfying in small amounts and if I tuck it away where I don’t see it constantly, I don’t eat too much, and it’s there when a little bit of sweetness is most welcome.

Despite the damage and suffering, which I do not wish to make light of in any way, people seemed mostly prepared for Hurricane Irene and took appropriate precautions, probably saving many lives. Unlike a literal hurricane which can be identified and tracked long before it reaches land, you never know when an emotional storm will blow through. That’s all the more reason to nourish yourself spiritually, emotionally and physically every day so you can be ready when the storms come.

How do you prepare for and weather the emotional storms of life?

As if alligators weren't enough, this sign recently went up in our subdivision:

Time to move?

Humans first prized horses for their strength and speed, but we have since been captivated by their beauty, their deep eyes and mysterious silences. Here’s a poem by Robert Wrigley, who lives in Idaho, where the oldest fossilized remains of the modern horse were found. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

After a Rainstorm

Because I have come to the fence at night,
the horses arrive also from their ancient stable.
They let me stroke their long faces, and I note
in the light of the now-merging moon

how they, a Morgan and a Quarter, have been
by shake-guttered raindrops
spotted around their rumps and thus made
Appaloosas, the ancestral horses of this place.

Maybe because it is night, they are nervous,
or maybe because they too sense
what they have become, they seem
to be waiting for me to say something

to whatever ancient spirits might still abide here,
that they might awaken from this strange dream,
in which there are fences and stables and a man
who doesn’t know a single word they understand.


I'm sure you won't have any trouble recognizing why I liked this poem...

Tomorrow my son starts school again. Tomorrow. The summer days that stretched so alluringly ahead of us are gone—just like that! Though I’ll miss being able to wake up without an alarm clock most days, I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see summer go. That makes me sad, because I used to love summer.

When I was a child in California, summer meant visits to my father and to my grandparents’ 22-acre farm. It meant trips to the beach with my friends, tennis team practice, and frozen yogurt at the Cow Palace. It meant listening to music (records! on a turntable!) for hours, reading while lying on the couch and the occasional Dodger game. These were summer rituals I looked forward to all year.

Now that I live in Florida, I don’t love summer anymore. Summer now means trying not to suffocate in the humidity, and, as an adult, there is little lessening of my normal responsibilities. Still, I do have some summer rituals that I enjoy and that help me make it through the hot months:

Family vacation to a rented lake house in Georgia.

Sunday afternoons by—and in—the pool. When you’re wet, it’s almost comfortable to be outside. I take the Sunday paper and my crossword puzzle book out with me.


Tampa Bay Rays baseball game. They play in an air conditioned dome!


Reading a writer’s biography. This year it was Dared and Done: The Marriage of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. In previous years I’ve read about Louisa May Alcott and Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Reading a “classic.” Summer really does have a more relaxed feel…perfect for slowly digesting a classic piece of fiction. I haven’t done this yet, but I can still get started before summer ends. Any recommendations for a readable classic?

Movies as a family. This is harder and harder to do with a 16-almost-17-year-old, but we all wanted to finish the Harry Potter saga together.

Pedicures. What with all the bare feet and sandal wearing, every summer I like to get at least one pedicure. It feels so luxurious to have someone paint my toenails!


I hope your summer has been full of long, lazy days, cool drinks and relaxed explorations. I’m always looking for more ways to make summer fun, so—what are your favorite summer rituals?

When we last left our heroine, she was raving about The Olde Pink House. Let’s see what happened next....

Day 2
We started the day by joining a one-and-a-half hour trolley tour of the historic district. We figured it would give us a good overview and we could choose areas we’d like to go back to. The tour itself was forgettable, but we did spot several places we wanted to visit, such as:

When Oglethorpe and his fellow colonists arrived in Georgia in 1733, they set up an experimental garden in this area, called the Trustees Garden. In 1734, the Herb House was erected to house the gardener for the Trustees Garden. The Pirates’ House was built around the Herb House and is now a restaurant, but it began as an inn for seafarers when it opened in 1753. The Pirates’ House is said to be haunted by several ghosts. We chose to sample the buffet of southern food specialties—thumbs up to the macaroni and cheese and barbecued pork, thumbs down to fried okra (I just had to try it—you can’t live in the south and not have tried okra). Savannah is Paula Deen country, but her restaurant, The Lady and Sons, is always packed, so we chose another place to sample southern cooking.

After lunch, we took our time walking down Bull Street, the main street of the historic district. We took pictures, popped into shops (bless you, air conditioning) and checked out the shady squares, each of which is slightly different in character. There’s even a Johnson Square!



After dinner, we met our tour guide for our ghost tour…at the gate to Colonial Cemetery! There are several tour companies offering ghost tours, which are really walking history tours with an emphasis on unusual, scary or tragic tales. Sadly, the Haunted Irish Pub and Ghost Tour was completely booked, so we had to have our boos without booze. The American Institute of Parapsychology has named Savannah “America’s Most Haunted City,” and our tour guide told us that Savannah is a “city of the dead” because so many people have been buried outside of cemeteries, beneath the streets, on the grounds of the older homes, and so on. As our group walked through the darkened, nearly empty streets, it was easy to imagine Savannah’s historical denizens walking with us.

Gravestones the Yankees displaced during the Civil War

Haunted hotel

After our spooky—and let us not forget, sweaty—tour, we stopped for ice cream at Leopold’s,


another Savannah tradition. Leopold’s makes all its flavors of ice cream one batch at a time on the premises, from secret recipes handed down by the original Leopold brothers. The original ice cream parlor closed in 1969, but was reopened in 2004 by Stratton Leopold and his wife, Mary, at a new location, using many of the fixtures from his father’s and uncles’ original shop.

Day 3
On our last half-day in Savannah, we chose to visit Juliette Gordon Low’s birthplace. Ms. Low founded the Girl Scouts of America. Having never been a Girl Scout, I did not know anything about her, but she was quite an interesting lady, and I’d like to learn more. She was an artist and animal lover, so I felt a kinship with her. The home itself contains many pieces of original family furniture and Ms. Low’s art work. (We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, or I’d show you examples.)

Exterior of house

We also strolled through Forsythe Park,

Fountain in Forsythe Park

saw the exterior of the house where there events recounted in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil took place,


grabbed a quick lunch at Zunzi’s and, finally, returned to City Market to purchase freshly-made pralines.

Why, yes, I'll try a sample...

I spent just enough time in Savannah to intrigue me. I hope to go back one day and sample more of the history, charm and delicious food.

But not in August.


Where have you been this summer? Would you like to go back?

Or Savannah, as it is more commonly known. In early August, my friend Kerri and I spent two nights in this lovely Georgia town. Kerri had been in Georgia visiting high school and college friends, so I flew to Atlanta where she picked me up, and we drove together to Savannah.

Savannah is the oldest city in Georgia, and was founded by British General James Oglethorpe in 1733. Oglethorpe is the one who came up with Savannah’s city plan, a system of squares, surrounded by homes, churches and businesses. Twenty-two of the original 24 squares still remain. Many buildings in Savannah are pre-Civil War, because General Sherman did not destroy Savannah on his “march to the sea” from Atlanta. In fact, in December of 1864 Sherman presented Savannah to President Abraham Lincoln as a Christmas gift!

On the surface at least, Savannah is more of a southern lady than New Orleans. Even the name sounds genteel. I didn’t stay long enough to really get a feel for the town, however, as this trip was much shorter than my NOLA trip—only one full day and two half-days. With no agenda except vacationing, my friend and I chose the “fly by the seat of our pants” travel plan. My inner control freak gnashed her teeth, but managed to keep quiet most of the time. Here are some of the highlights of the trip:

Day 1

We arrived in Savannah to find the temperatures would likely be more than 100 degrees all three of the days we are in town, with heat indexes of 110-112. Goody. (Kerri lives in Seattle, WA, where the temperatures were averaging the upper 70s this week. Tell me again why we weren’t meeting each other in Seattle?)

Our first stop was the Savannah Visitor’s Center, where we picked up brochures for hotels and various tours and attractions. We wanted to go on a ghost tour, and see a house museum as well as walk the streets admiring the architecture and looking for good photo ops. Several trolley tour companies begin their Savannah tours from the Visitor’s Center and we decided to return the next day for an organized tour before we hit the cobblestones on foot.

After checking out several hotels, we opted for the Inn at Ellis Square. After a brief rest, we wandered down to River Street where it promptly began to rain. The late-afternoon thunderstorm is a staple in Florida, and evidently in Savannah, too, as it rained every afternoon, adding a certain extra soupiness to the already steamy air.

City Market

We walked to The Olde Pink House for dinner. Built in 1771 for the Habersham family, it originally got its distinctive pink color when the native red brick bled through the plastered walls. Besides being a private residence, The Olde Pink House has been a bank, attorney’s office, tea room and bookstore. The food was some of the best I’ve ever eaten, and the service was just as good. If you’re ever in Savannah, I highly recommend this restaurant.


Some of the delicious food:

No one ever told us not to play with our food...

 Stay tuned for more Savannah adventures!

So how are you? I’ve missed my blog friends these past two weeks, so I thought I’d check in and see how you’re all doing. Me, well, I’m fine but it’s been interesting…

We took our yearly trip to the lake house with one significant change: we brought with us five of our son’s teenage friends…I know, I know, what were we thinking? We had two other adults to supervise along with my husband and myself, so we were only slightly outnumbered.

This year instead of the Clampett Mobile, we had “The Cadillac” and “The Ferrari.”  The kids spent most of the week tooling around on the two personal watercraft, pulling each other on an inner tube or a wake board. When they weren’t playing XBox or watching Comedy Central. Or eating. Other than a yellow jacket attack the first day, all went well—no serious injuries (thank goodness) and everyone is still friends. Even my husband and I.

I’ve been doing some reading (see reading challenge page for updates) and writing (a series of articles for a website that’s about to launch) and I’ve also unfortunately been spending some time at the vet’s office. Scout has been under the weather, and we haven’t quite figured out the whole story. She’s been looking and acting pretty pitiful but she’s on some medication now that I hope will do the trick. There is nothing like the face of a dog who doesn’t feel well. She’s always been pretty healthy so we’re all a bit stressed out right now.

I don't feel so good...

But the sun is shining and the AC is working and life is generally good, despite the occasional hiccup.

How is your summer going?

A recent post on A Work in Progress mentioned in passing literary “crushes.”  As I told Danielle, I had just been thinking about writing a post about that topic—I’ve had a number of crushes on literary characters and was relieved to know it’s pretty common! After all, there are legions of “Edward” fans out there, and apparently, quite a faction of Weasley twin admirers. Mr. Rochester and Heathcliff remain popular, too.

Making movies from books has probably made literary crushing a lot easier, bringing to life the men on the page, helping out our imaginations. While some versions help, there’s always the chance that you’ll think, “That’s not how I imagined him!”

The first crush I remember having was on Gilbert Blythe, of the Anne of Green Gables series. Then there was Scotland Yard Inspector Alan Grant, the hero of several of mystery writer Josephine Tey’s novels. Grant has a certain sophistication and humor that appeals to me, as well as plenty of brains and courage. He’s not bad looking either, from what I remember.

Other crushes include:

The Scarlet Pimpernel

Lord Peter Wimsey

Archie Goodwin

Mr. Darcy (actually, several of Jane Austen’s leading men are crushtastic)

And, I’m currently developing a little crush on Patricia Wentworth’s Frank Abbott, a character in her Miss Silver mysteries.

Besides being fun, literary crushes can teach us about what we admire about the opposite sex, as well as what qualities we ourselves would like to have. (I seem to have a thing for detectives…hmmm…) What about you? Have you ever had a literary crush? Did having a movie version help or hurt your crush?

Note: For the next few weeks, we’ll be busy with family vacation and out-of-town guests, so I’ll be writing here only sporadically. Hope your summer is full of simple pleasures and everyday adventures!

Saturday night, my husband and I re-watched a favorite movie, and we must have been in a philosophical mood, because we began to draw life lessons from it and share them with each other. What was the movie? That great spiritual classic: Kung Fu Panda.

Yes, I know it’s a kids’ cartoon, but I’ve been known to take life lessons from tea bags, so bear with me.

For those of you not familiar with this movie, the story is set in a fictional valley in ancient China “peopled” with anthropomorphic animals. A new Dragon Warrior is about to be chosen, ostensibly from among the Furious Five, a group of kung fu masters trained by Master Shifu. Surprisingly, Shifu’s mentor, Master Oogway (a tortoise), chooses Po, a giant panda who has crashed the party (literally) after strapping himself to a set of fireworks. The Dragon Warrior must protect the valley from the villainous Tai Lung, Shifu’s former pupil who was denied the position of Dragon Warrior long ago and has just escaped from prison seeking revenge.

The humor and the terrific animation help the lessons sneak into your consciousness. Some of our favorites:

• If you love something, you’ll put up with a lot of grief/pain/frustration in order to do it. Po wants to learn kung fu so badly that his response to a good tail-whipping during training is, “That was awesome! Let’s go again!”
• When you discover what motivates you, the battle is almost won. Po’s motivation is food. One of the best scenes in the movie involves a bowl of dumplings and the comment, “You are free to eat.”
• Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. But today is a gift. That is why it is called the present. Yes, I’ve heard it before. But somehow, hearing a wizened old tortoise say the words…
• There is no secret ingredient. Po’s father is a noodle seller, famous for his “secret ingredient soup.” Turns out, there is no secret ingredient. To make something special, he says, all you have to do is believe it is special.

So today, do what you love, find out what motivates you, enjoy the present and believe you are special. Thank you, Kung Fu Panda.

Recently I discovered a Southern writer I feel is worth sharing. I first heard of Ellen Glasgow in an email from online bookseller Abe’s Books. I immediately checked my library for her work, and found a couple of books, including Barren Ground, which I just finished reading.

Ellen Glasgow was born in Richmond, VA April 22, 1873, the ninth of 10 children born to Francis Thomas and Anne Jane Gholson Glasgow. She was a delicate child, educated at home or in private schools, and read widely, everything from philosophy to European and British literature. Though she never married, she was engaged twice and carried on a long-time affair with a married man, only identified as Gerald B. in her autobiography.


Despite losing her hearing beginning in 1889, she published her first novel in 1897 (anonymously) when she was just 24 years old. She went on to publish many more novels, as well as short stories and a collection of poems. Her final novel, In This Our Life (1941), won the Pulitzer Prize in 1942 and was adapted into a movie starring Bette Davis. Her autobiography, A Woman Within, was posthumously published in 1954. Glasgow was a popular writer in her time, and hit the best-seller lists five times.

“Born into an aristocratic Virginia family, the young Glasgow rebelled against the conventional modes of feminine conduct and thought approved by her caste,” according to the Encyclopedia of Southern Culture. “The great organizing ideas of her fiction are the conflicts between tradition and change, matter and spirit, the individual and society.”

The book I read, Barren Ground, “… is a semi-autobiographical novel detailing 30 years in the life of Virginia farm girl Dorinda Oakley, who embodies Glasgow’s own conflict between Old South nostalgia and New South realism.” according to “Genesis & Apocalypse of the ‘Old South’ Myth: Two Virginia Writers at the Turn of the Century.”

Glasgow’s books were often social histories dealing with the effects of the Civil War on Virginia society. According to the Encyclopedia of World Biography, “Cruelty, greed, and intolerance were the real adversaries of mankind, she believed. Her novels led Southern fiction away from the accepted lies that the enemy was the North, the nouveau riche, or black people; they showed that the foe was not without but within.” Many of her heroines also struggled against the expectation that women be dependent and domestic.


In the preface to Barren Ground, Glasgow wrote, “In Barren Ground, as in The Sheltered Life, I felt that the scene apart from the human figures, possessed an added dimension, a universal rhythm deeper and more fluid than any material texture. Beneath the lights and shadows there is the brooding spirit of place, but, deeper still, beneath the spirit of place there is the whole movement of life.

“The book is [Dorinda’s]; and all minor themes, episodes, and impressions are blended with the one dominant meaning that character is fate.”

Glasgow’s writing vividly brings to life that “spirit of place”: “Beneath scudding clouds the plumes of the bent grasses faded to ivory. During the long spring rains, a film of yellow-green stole over the burned ground. At autumn sunsets, when the red light searched the country, the broomsedge caught fire from the afterglow and blazed out in a splendour of colour. Then the meeting of earth and sky dissolved in the flaming mist of the horizon.”

And

“Around her the farm spread out like an open fan, ploughed ground melting into wasteland, fields sinking into neglected pasture, pasture rising gradually into the dark belt of the pines. She knew that the place was more to her than soil to be cultivated; that it was the birthplace and burial ground of hopes, desires, and disappointments. The old feeling that the land thought and felt, that it possessed a secret personal life of its own, brushed her mood as it sped lightly by.”

I’m going to read more of Glasgow’s work. Have you ever read anything she’s written? Who are some of the authors you have discovered?

Shish kebab on the grill

Items consigned, donated or thrown away: 15

Doctor’s appointments for my son: 2

Driving tests taken (by my son): 1

Operator’s licenses received: 1!


Cups of coffee consumed: 14

Lunches with friends: 1

Hours spent with Tank: 5 1/2

Baseball games watched: 2 (Kathy: Johnny Damon tied Ted Williams’ hit record on Wednesday!)

Sketching sessions: 2 (two more than last week!)

New puppies at the barn: 1

Oh, yes, I AM all that!

And how was your week?

Photo courtesy Kathy Ricca

Some of us are fortunate to find companions among the other creatures, and in this poem by T. Alan Broughton of Vermont, we sense a kind of friendship without dependency between our species and another. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Great Blue Heron
I drive past him each day in the swamp where he stands
on one leg, hunched as if dreaming of his own form
the surface reflects. Often I nearly forget to turn left,
buy fish and wine, be home in time to cook and chill.
Today the bird stays with me, as if I am moving through
the heron’s dream to share his sky or water—places
he will rise into on slow flapping wings or where
his long bill darts to catch unwary frogs. I’ve seen
his slate blue feathers lift him as dangling legs
fold back, I’ve seen him fly through the dying sun
and out again, entering night, entering my own sleep.
I only know this bird by a name we’ve wrapped him in,
and when I stand on my porch, fish in the broiler,
wine glass sweating against my palm, glint of sailboats
tacking home on dusky water, I try to imagine him
slowly descending to his nest, wise as he was
or ever will be, filling each moment with that moment’s
act or silence, and the evening folds itself around me.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2010 by T. Alan Broughton from his most recent book of poetry, A World Remembered, Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2010. Reprinted by permission of T. Alan Broughton and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

If I’m honest, from now until about November, I am pretty unhappy about living in Florida. Summers here are brutal—heat in the 90s with matching humidity, giving us heat index ratings in the 100s for days on end. And there are no cool mornings or evenings to offer a break—mornings and evenings may be a teeny bit cooler, yes, but just as humid which is what bothers me the most. It’s like having a hot, wet towel thrown over your head.

Anyway this post is not supposed to be a long complaint about the weather (see: title). It’s supposed to be about what I love about Florida—things I will concentrate on when the humidity makes me wish I never set foot in this state. Here are a few:

Florida skies. Whether they’re bright blue or swirled with soft-serve clouds, Florida skies are breathtaking. I moved here from Southern California, where the sky was usually a flat gray or even white with few clouds to liven up the expanse. I know there must have been plenty of blue-sky days, but they were nothing to the daily show Florida’s skies put on.

Birds. I never paid much attention to birds until I moved to Florida—but having Sandhill Cranes in your back yard will get your attention. In addition to the cranes, which raise babies all over town every year, I’ve seen pileated woodpeckers, roseate spoonbills, and great blue herons in our subdivision, along with countless other species. We have a long, rectangular retention pond not far from our house, and I keep meaning to walk down there with my camera and bird book and see how many birds I can identify. We’ve had Carolina wrens build a nest and raise a batch of babies in our garage and another at the base of a potted bougainvillea. When I walk the dog at night, sometimes I hear an owl.

Sandhill cranes (not my yard, though!)

Other wildlife. Our subdivision backs up to conservation land, so we have the occasional wild visitor. In addition to regular alligator sightings, we’ve seen deer, foxes, rabbits, gopher tortoises and bobcats in our neighborhood. Wild boars regularly wander in and sometimes have to be trapped if they begin to tear up too many yards. We’re infested with squirrels, as well as frogs, toads, skinks and (gulp!) snakes. (I could really live without the snakes, but I guess I have to accept whatever nature throws at me!) We will not discuss the abundant insect life because this is about what I LIKE about Florida…


Thunder—if I’m safely inside*. I love the rumbly, grumbly sound of rolling thunder from a summer storm. Our wimpy California storms had nothing like Florida thunder, which can sometimes shake the windows. Few things are cosier than lying in bed listening to thunder and the patter of rain drops. *Unfortunately, I’m terrified of lightning!


I know there are more things I could list that I love about Florida if I thought about it harder. Ask me again in February, and I’ll come up with a whole new list!

What are some things you love about where you live?