One in Which I Get My Craft On – Bottle Cap Window Dressing

Tags

beer, bottle caps, crafts, magnet paint

I am a collector. My mother loved to tell people about my collections of paper scraps. It was true. If there was a piece of paper, an envelope, a box that caught my eye, I would stash it away. Sometimes my treasures would get used for something, but often they were just saved. I like to think that I have controlled this to some extent, but I still have a hard time getting rid of some things – like bottle caps.

In a house that appreciates its beer, it would be ridiculous if I saved every cap that came off of a bottle. I have, however, saved quite a few. There was also a period of time that Sam thought it was clever to put caps on top of the doorframe of our bedroom. I never took them down because they would make me think of Sam.

A couple weeks ago, I was doing one of my favorite things – washing the dishes – and I had an idea. I would magnetize the frame of the window over the sink and make a display of bottle caps!

First, I investigated magnet paint. There are a few different kinds of magnet paint on the market, but this one got the best reviews that I could find:

Magnet paint is HEAVY and you really have to stir it like crazy before you use it. The best way to apply it is to roll it on with a short napped roller and then smooth it with a foam brush. The more coats you apply, the stronger the attraction. After the first coat, it didn’t hold anything. I was happy with it after about three coats. I ended up putting on six, because my plan was to paint over it.

After the last coat, I let it dry over the night, and then I did the white overcoat. It took three coats of white paint to cover the black.

Between painting, I was gathering caps and preparing them. I got a couple of packages of magnets at the craft store and used regular old craft glue to attach the magnets to the caps. There were a couple that I liked what was on the inside of the cap, so I glued those magnets to the other side.

 

After a couple days of prep work, it was time for the meeting of magnets and window. Right now, I have several duplicates and still room to grow, but I am excited how this turned out and I am eager to make it grow and change over the next years.

Patio Time

Tags

Cocktails, Home Brewing, Missouri summers, Patios

Living close to the city means that our acreage is the stereotypical postage stamp lawn. When we first moved into our house, about 1/3 of the backyard that we did have was taken up by a chain link cat run. Not having or ever planning to have a cat, that was one of the first things to go. After that, we built a couple raised beds that through the years have grown tomatoes (that we have graciously shared with the neighborhood birds, squirrels and rabbits), basil that keeps our freezer stocked with pesto year round, and hops that have flavored Dan’s beer. Memories of little kids helping me plant or pick, make me smile.

As we settled into the house and the kids got a little bigger, the backyard housed a swing set that was carried from a neighbors house. The kids would play out there some, but the space was never conducive to romping play time.

The kids got bigger and the swing set got moved to another location.  Weeds got the better of what grass was there. Our goal for the space became keeping it under control and not be an embarrassment. We were not always successful.

But a couple years ago, Dan had an epiphany that he was no longer going to be held hostage by hot, humid Missouri summers (I probably should not recount here how he phrased his new commitment, but it was spoken in some colorful language). He would spend more time outdoors. I committed to doing the same.

One step we took towards this commitment was to buy some new lawn furniture. Now with a place to sit, we began a habit of spending some time outside before dinner. During our sitting time, we came upon an idea that promised to make our new ways even better! We wanted to build a patio.

I expect that other couple are like us. We have decided upon many things throughout our years of marriage that have never come to fruition. We can put a lot of thought, enthusiasm, and time into an idea to see it fall off the radar as time goes on. For this patio thing, we got enthused, checked books out of the library, went to the hardware store to look at materials, and searched the Internet. We planned walkways and planters and seats. We thought about the tools we would need to make it, and the friends we might be able to recruit to help us. As last summer was coming to a close, we didn’t have a patio or even a final plan. We did, however, have David.

David has been our go to guy for the things in our house that we really do NEED to get done, but we couldn’t possibly do ourselves (we are not the handiest). He has painted our house, worked wonders on our wood rot, replaced our windows, and turned a bathroom into a much nicer place.

We finally stopped our monkey business and called David to see if he would make us a patio. In the next few weeks, we had what we needed. It is not extravagant in any way, but it makes us very happy. Now that the clocks have changed and we have more evening, there are not many nights that we don’t get home and head for some patio time. Last weekend, friends unexpectedly came by in the afternoon to watch the theatrics of Dan brewing beer in the backyard, and we ended up spending some hours just hanging out on a beautiful day. It has become exactly how we envisioned it.

It really is a quality of life thing that keeps giving. Now I want the grass that we have to be nicer. I want the weeds growing on the fence to be nonexistent. I want the raised beds to not only grow, but be pretty and fragrant. Already, we have hummingbird feeders and bird baths sprinkled around the yard to invite the bird traffic.  It is the synergy of a pleasant thing.

This weekend promises to be another lovely one here in Missouri, and today is Friday night cocktail night. I am thinking that we might try an Old Pal tonight as we cap off the week and head into the weekend.

Finding Sing Sing

Tags

Lewis Lawes, Ossining, prison, Sing Sing

I have written before about the book that I have been working on for the last couple years. Something that this experience has provided me with is the excuse to delve into some obscure sources of information. I got something in the mail recently that is a great example of this.

I got this particular item via ebay. Ebay purchases have provided me some great books that I have used for my research. I have also picked up a number of postcards and photographs of landmarks that are relevant. This recent find is quite the gem. It is a 27-page booklet about Sing Sing prison written by the warden of Sing Sing, Lewis Lawes and published in 1933.  This is special to me because one of the main players in my research arrived at Sing Sing in 1932 – scheduled to die in the electric chair.

It measures about 5×6 and has a little woodblock picture of a cell on the cover and Warden Lawes’ name in the font that I have seen used on his other books. The pages inside are of a nice heavy paper and are brightened by section titles printed in green and several photographs.

Lewis Lawes was the warden of Sing Sing Prison in Ossining, New York from 1920 – 1941. He was kind of a rock star in his day because of his philosophy about the correctional system. Under Lawes, Sing Sing became a model for prison reform. Prisoners got out of their striped prison garb (yeah, they really did wear those), and into more of a work clothes uniform. He supported the formation of prisoner football and baseball teams, and he welcomed in Ossining villagers to come and fill the stands to watch games. “At these games the prison band and the military company stage a dress parade and an exhibition drill. They are colorful affairs.” Warden Lawes did a great deal to reinvent prison life to allow for personal reformation.

Reading this booklet, I recalled one of the things that Ellie related to me about visiting her father in Sing Sing. She told me that for a number of years, she believed that her dad was at college. Reading this little booklet makes me understand why this could be so. Lawes describes the day of the prisoner as regimented, but not unpleasant. Wake-up time was 6:30 and before the bars were opened, the prisoner washes, dresses, and cleans his cell. Messy cells meant losses of privileges. Breakfast alternated between cereal and stewed fruit, with bread and coffee alongside. After breakfast, prisoners mosey to their work sites, but they have time to grab a smoke and a chit chat before the whistle blows to get to work. The prison band serenaded the inmates on their way to lunch. Lawes writes “the meals are varied so as to provide a balanced diet and there is always enough for even the hungriest.”

There was school that was required for some, and selected by others. Prisoners could learn languages, commercial art, bookkeeping, shorthand, mechanics, and any number of vocational skills. The chapel had services for all faiths and chaplains of all denominations provided spiritual support to inmates regularly. The prison library held 16,749 volumes, and in the year of note, there were over 31,000 checkouts. The non-fiction section the most in demand. There was a five night run of the prisoner holiday show that brought in an audience of 5,000 friends, families, and locals. A half a million pieces of mail were handled each year – each reviewed by prison censors.

This treasure gave me the nuts and bolts of day to day life that I have been looking for. It also provided a framed glimpse into what Warden Lawes believed and supported. I have no idea of the original purpose of this publication, but a 2012 reader is appreciates it greatly.

Tá mo chroí istigh ionat

My mom, older sister, and me

I was planning on writing about something else today, but I woke up and it was St. Patrick’s Day. St. Patrick’s Day always reminds me of my mother. Betty Hogan was a good 100% Irish American girl. She grew up in a household of three girls, three boys and a sainted mother, who lost her husband and father of her children while most were still at home. One of her brothers did the ultimate and became a priest and eventually a monsignor. When grandpa died, Father Bob became the patriarch of the family and did his best to look out for his feisty little sisters and fun-loving brothers. The Hogan boys all had thick heads of hair with a reddish tint. The Hogan girls had wispy hair that they had a propensity to try different colors on over the years. I smile when I think of my own boy’s thick bearpelt of hair and my girl’s fine locks.

Mom and friends with my aunt's handy annotation

My mom died too soon and I never got a good long chance to be an adult with her. I moved away after college as a married woman. I had children states away from where she lived. We talked on the phone some, and she visited some, but it was never with the frantic knowledge that we had to make every contact count because life was going to play a nasty trick on us. So I missed what I now enviously see many of my friends have – mom friends.

I never got all of the stories that I know that girl had. She was a whole lot naughtier than I ever would dream to be. She ran around with her sisters and her Catholic girl pals, smoking, drinking and chasing boys. One of the boys she chased, co-captained the football team with her brother, Donny. But when she was twelve and he was seventeen, that didn’t seem too likely. When she was seventeen, though, she married him. I don’t even have all of that story. I know that my uncle, the priest gave my future dad a sit down to inform him that even though he wasn’t Catholic, his sister’s children would be. My father did not argue.

My pre-dad and Uncle Donny on a road trip

Betty became a wife and mother, but she did not lose her inner naughtiness. That cigarette and drink stayed in her hand throughout her pregnancies, as they did for many of her generation. She swore like a sailor, and would never hesitate to speak her mind. I don’t remember that she embarrassed me very often. I think I was always more in awe of her.

Dan has a funny story of the first time he met my mother. We rode the bus from college to my hometown. My parents picked us up at the bus station. My mom was wearing a t-shirt that said Aruba. My mother was fairly well endowed, and the t-shirt made that apparent. We had stopped into a local place for lunch and one of her friends came up and started chatting. He noticed my mom’s t-shirt and slyly commented that he didn’t know the islands were that big. My mom cackled. She loved it. That was Dan’s future mother-in-law.

My mom loved her Irish roots. St. Patrick’s Day was always celebrated with corn beef and cabbage and shamrocks drawn with a paintbrush and food coloring on the cheeks of me and my sisters. That was my mom’s one and only craft. I went to school every year with that shamrock on my round cheek.

I will honor my Irish today. I believe I will raise an Irish whiskey to the sky.  Tá mo chroí istigh ionat, mom.

My Newbery Challenge Update for March

Tags

Art of Racing in the Rain, Eleanor Estes, Newbery, Richard Peck, Wikipedia

I am continuing my march through Newbery winners during my treadmill time at the gym. One of the winners that I highlight today (A Year Down Yonder), made me cry during my workout. Now I am the odd lady who always is reading children’s books at the gym and who is known to weep on the machines.

Book: Ginger Pye

Author: Eleanor Estes

Something about the author: Eleanor Estes, born in 1906, grew up in West Haven, Connecticut. By all accounts, her childhood was as idyllic as the scenarios she created in her books. Her hometown’s website describes Eleanor’s view from her  bedroom window. She could see her school, trains going to places far and near, and fishing boats in the harbor. Eleanor grew up to become a children’s librarian at the beautiful New York Public Library and when she contracted tuberculosis, she began to write fictionalized accounts of what it was like growing up as she remembered.

What it’s about: Jerry Pye and his sister fall asleep each night telling each other stories and talking through the walls of their bedrooms. One night, he asks Rachel if she thinks it would be okay to bring a dog into their house, in that they already have a very entrenched family cat. They decide that their cat can take the change, and after some providential fund-raising, Jerry buys a cute little puppy they name Ginger. The story pursues the kidnapping of Ginger, the quest to find him, and his eventual reunion with the Pyes.

Year it won: 1952

Somethings about that year: The New York Times article reporting on the awards’ dinner where the Newberry was presented to Estes, recounted a talk given by the editor of The Saturday Review. The speaker had words of warning for the “youth of today, reared in the blare of radio and under the influence of television.” Amy Lovemann told the audience that books must not be cast aside for the “conglomeration of facts that (radio and television) provide.” Familiar.

Favorite part: At one point, Ginger is in the family yard and wondering where the kids go most days. He decides to use his dog skills and follow his master’s scent to find his boy. Ginger’s trailing of Jerry’s smell and the shenanigans that he manages to get into before triumphantly appearing in the window of Jerry’s classroom, were very sweet. I recently read The Art of Racing in the Rain, and this section made me think of that book quite a bit.

Favorite character: Sam Doody is the neighbor boy who seems to have it all. He has enough money to buy a purple suit, gives Jerry the opportunity to earn money to buy a puppy, takes photographs, and drives a swell jalopy. All that and his name is Sam Doody!

Book: A Year Down Yonder

Author: Richard Peck

Something about the author:  I think that Richard Peck must be kind of a superman. He was a marine, has written books, screenplays, plays, poetry and he has been the president of three universities. His website now lists his activities as “restrained meddling in the lives of his children and grandchildren, golfing at a level far below his aspirations, and writing.” I am charmed.

What it’s about: In 1937, because money is tight, Mary Alice needs to leave her parents in Chicago and go live with her Grandma in the country. Grandma is as independent, clever, mischievous, tough, gold-hearted character as you will come across. Mary Alice’s year at Grandma’s starts out shaky, but ends with connection and devotion – both to her Grandma and the town.

Year it won: 2001

Somethings about that year: The year that this book won, was the year that Wikipedia was launched on the web. What did we do before then?

Favorite part: It is hard to pick out my favorite prank of Grandma’s, but I am going to have to go with her wielding her way into hosting a tea party for the Daughters of the American Revolution in her parlor. She is able to do it because she is the best baker in town, but she is also the most willing to take hoity-toity people down a notch. She invites some non-DAR ladies to the gathering and the upset that ensues is quite funny.

Favorite character:  So easy! Grandma. She is fantastic.

 

Next up on the Treadmill: The Wheel on the School by Meindert DeJong, 1955 winner

Lillian Wald is My Women’s History Month Go To

Tags

Henry Street Settlement, Lillian Wald, Lower East Side, Public Health Nursing

“That’s what I want to do!  Not just tinker at a lot of worn-out bodies but make a new world! … I’m going to get a real job – public health.”

Sinclair Lewis, Arrowsmith, 1924

In honor of Women’s History Month, I am going to tell you about a woman I got to know very well as I completed my Masters’ program. Towards the end of my program, I signed up for an independent course on public health history. I can’t remember why, but I decided to study and write about the formation of settlement houses in New York City. I particularly focused on a woman named Lillian Wald. Lillian was the mover and shaker of the movement, and I adored her! When it came time for me to pick my thesis topic, I used Lillian and her story as a springboard for my analysis of the public health nurse trajectory over time.

What is fascinating about people like Lillian Wald, is that it would have been so much easier for her to not do what she ended up doing. I think of the things I struggle with today to get what I want. For the most part, they really are pretty trivial. Who knows what I would or would not have committed to if things were really challenging, or if there wasn’t some prototype to follow?

For Lillian, there was little to guide her or pull her along. She was born a girl in 1867. That says something right there. Opportunities for her were limited from the get go. She did have the benefit of being born into an upper middle class family that was somewhat progressive. Other than that, her opportunities were few.

After being rejected at colleges when she was 16 because she was too young, Lillian traveled before enrolling in the New York Hospital’s School of Nursing. She loved medicine, and after she graduated, she decided to go to medical school. But, then she began to work in the city orphanages. She began to see the lives of the children and families around her. The experience moved her to do more than briefly touch the clients that she served. She dropped her plans to be a doctor. She moved to the Lower East Side of New York City. There, she was a part of the community that she knew needed care and was not getting it. She became what she called a Public Health Nurse.

By the time she was 27 years old, Lillian Wald opened the Henry Street Settlement. At the house, Lillian and her partner, Mary Brewster, organized a growing team of nurses that went to the surrounding tenements to teach and care for the residents. Wald’s philosophy was embedded in the power of preventative care. Providentially, she was also a genius at fund-raising. Soon after its founding, her mission began to be supported by large and small contributors across the country.

When Lillian died in 1940 at the age of 73, her list of achievements was stunning. She had initiated the school nurse program in New York City Schools. She was instrumental in the women’s suffrage movement, the action plan during the influenza epidemic, securing women’s financial benefits after divorce, birth control freedom, workplace safety, women and children’s labor laws, and the peace movement. Most all of what she did formed what would become an integral part of our current healthcare system – community healthcare.

When we celebrate women during March, I now start with this true hero. The books that Lillian wrote to tell her own story are still available. If you want to know more, I would highly recommend picking one up.

The Phantom Tollbooth and Marriage

Tags

Books, Jules Feiffer, Norton Juster, Phantom Tollbooth, Reading Reptile

When I opened the newspaper one day this week, the front of the fluff section immediately had me. The author and the illustrator of The Phantom Tollbooth were coming to town. I needed to go.

There is recent buzz about The Phantom Tollbooth since it is celebrating its 50th year. The book, like many wonderful children’s books, is a quest and adventure story. The main character, Milo travels through a mysteriously appearing tollbooth into strange lands inhabited by strange characters. He emerges from the tollbooth a new boy. Where he was once bored and unconnected, he becomes interested and ready.

I haven’t read the book in many years, and it even occurred to me that this is not one that the kids and I read together. I am planning, however, to get back into it again.

The event was delightful. On the stage of the lovely theater at the Jewish Community Center, the two eighty-plus-year-old gentlemen charmed the packed house. Norton Juster talked about how the book came out of avoiding writing a book about architecture that he had been awarded a grant to create. The adventures of Milo came to him during strolls on the beach. He would write each down and work on it until he was satisfied with it. Into each he would bring in the clever wordplay that his father had instilled in him as a boy. The finished episodes would be handed off to his neighbor and friend, Jules Feiffer who gave birth to the images of Milo, Tock and the land beyond the tollbooth. They bantered like longtime friends will do, and those of us in the audience smiled uncontrollably. We were watching a piece of our childhood come to life again. When the talking was over, the crowd moved out to the lobby. Many of us had new or old books clutched in our hands as we waited for signatures. We were like groupies waiting for the rock star to acknowledge us.

But I titled this post The Phantom Tollbooth and marriage. The marriage part of this story is just as charming as the Misters Juster and Feiffer. When I saw that article in the paper, I sent it on to Dan. I asked if he wanted to spend our Saturday evening thusly. He responded with an enthusiastic, yes. Dan had not read the book as a kid, and he was not incredibly familiar with either man. He did, however, read my enthusiasm and got on board.

That night, he waited in line with me prior to the doors being opened. He chatted with a cute couple behind us who brought along their copy of the book that was given to the husband of the couple by an old girlfriend almost 50 years before. We both got to unexpectedly see some old friends. And, after the talk was over, he happily waited in line to get autographs. That is what marriage is all about.

We are not married because we are the same person. We are married because we have our differences and we make room in our own lives for those differences. When Dan wanted to go to a national conference of homebrewers a couple years ago, I did not know what to expect, but I was pretty sure that it would put him in hog heaven. Turns out, I had a great time too. It happens in our hobbies, the food we choose to cook, the restaurants we want to go to, the books we read, the organizations we belong to, the jokes that we like. Some we merely have patience for; others we learn to embrace.

By the time we left the event, it was close to 10. Our plan was to eat after the talk, so we were kind of hungry. We arrived at a local mecca of restaurants and found that each finished serving at 10 – except for one bar. That bar was not what we planned. The restaurants that we had in mind would have been more interesting. The closing of restaurants at 10:00 seemed early for a weekend night. It was cold as we walked from place to place only to find the same story. But, it ended up that we got to sit in a warm place, filled with the happy sounds of people enjoying the success of their basketball team on the tv, drink a good beer, and eat some decent bar food. We laughed at the silly drinking apparatus his beer came in. We talked about the talk. We decided it was nice that the employees of the other restaurants had a reasonable schedule. It was a good way to close a very good night.

Marriage is its own kind of tollbooth. Lucky for me, my traveling companion shares the journey well.

Cocktail time – The Yale

Tags

Yale cocktail, Peychaud's, Old-fashioned, Yale Club, Creme de violette, Friday cocktails

We started the cocktail thing a few years ago when we instituted a Sunday dinner challenge with a friend.  Because we usually had the meal covered, his contribution became a cocktail.

We began the ritual with a classic that was repeated over several meals. The Old-fashioned is a favorite of his and he fancied himself a pretty fair maker of the concoction. He did not lie. His version, brings together rye with muddled cherry, orange, sugar cube, and bitters. He believed that Peychaud’s bitters from New Orleans was a secret to even greater success, but when our cocktail odyssey began, the variety of available bitters was scant. We settled on the bitters that was on the grocery store shelf. Our source in New Orleans (shout out to you, Ali!), however, came through for us. That Christmas break, she returned home with Peychaud’s for all. We then had our go-to Old-Fashioned.

Not that we would ever get tired of the Old-Fashioned, but a time did come when we decided to venture beyond the tried and true. Holy cow, what fun! There is something thoughtful and ritualistic about cocktail mixing that I really embrace. Goodness knows I find nothing the matter with pouring a glass of wine or a good beer, but mixing a cocktail means considering what it will be, if the ingredients will be available, and when it should be served.

That brings me to the Friday evening cocktail. Friday is typically my day to stay home and write. I also am usually in charge of dinner that day. Dan will get home in the early evening and before we dig into a meal, we often settle down for a cocktail. It is a time to break the work week from the weekend. It is a time to change the pace and set the tone for the hours to come.

Today I am already thinking of The Yale. The Yale, like many cocktails, has several different interpretations. One reason for this is because one of the original ingredients was something called Creme Yvette. Creme Yvette is a liqueur that was made out of a violet found in Italy mixed with vanilla and other spices. The resulting product smelled of fresh picked violets and had a beautiful lavender shade. When Creme Yvette ceased being produced, the go to substitute was the similarly colored, but quite differently flavored, blue curaçao. Doing a search on The Yale cocktail, you will find several recipes that still use that substitute ingredient.

But a few years ago, an Austrian company began combining a grape brandy with violets that grow high in the Alps. The cocktail world had back its violet liquor. I first met Crème de Violette at a wine tasting. The distributor was set up in a corner with his tall slim bottles. I went to taste the Crème de Violette and before it hit my mouth, I got the aroma of violets. I bought a bottle with little idea of what to do with it.

And that is how I discovered The Yale – a cocktail that was first mixed in 1895 in the hey day of New York City mixology. A few years after it was first cited, it became a standard recipe in the prestigious Yale Club in Manhattan. There, alums could sit back with a chilled beverage boasting their school color. It combines a classic martini base of vermouth and gin and adds violet and bitters. Delicious!

I take my version of the Yale from those who brought back the violette:

Stir in an iced cocktail shaker until well-chilled:

• 2 ounces gin
• 1/3 ounce dry vermouth
• 1/3 ounce Creme De Violette
• dash bitters (Peychaud’s is what I use)

Strain into an iced cocktail glass.

Cheers and Happy Friday! Do you have a weekend introducing favorite?

Experimenting With Lives

Tags

Childhood cancer, clinical trials, Experiments, Insurance, leukemia

This is something you may or may not know. A child diagnosed with leukemia today has close to a 90 percent chance of survival. This is still an amazing statistic to me when I consider that that same child, had they been born the year I was born, would have had almost no chance of surviving. The reason that this phenomena has occurred is because of the bravery of children and parents over the last 50 years. When there was no hope, parents agreed to allow their children to be treated with new drugs. When there were signs of progress, parents continued to sign up for clinical trials so their child could be part of the answer. Today, even when we win so often, parents and children still enroll on clinical trials because they know that those remaining percentages are not just numbers – they are children.

I spend a lot of time thinking about this, both in my job and in my work on my book. In my job, more often than I like, I have had to spend time justifying why an insurance company should have to pay for a child’s treatment when they are on a clinical trial. There are insurance providers out there who are eager to jump on those words and label it experimental and ineligible for coverage. These are not crazy new therapies that we are talking about. These are, most often, tweaks to the standard of care treatment. The intent is to see if something new added or something old subtracted can edge up that survival rate. We also want to bring down the number of kids who have lifelong complications from the powerful treatment that they endure to cure their disease. I experience these disputes happening more often. I fear a result of this will be less willingness to enroll on one of these trials.

I was having one of those days yesterday at work. The issue on board just seemed so simple to me, but nothing that I was saying seemed to make a difference. There were several people involved, and we seemed to be getting nowhere. And then Ellie called.

Ellie is one of the family members of the main characters in the book that I am writing. I had a heck of a time finding Ellie. I knew that she existed. I knew she had married, and I had what I thought was her last name. I searched databases and sent out numerous hopeful letters. I missed many times. After more than a year of this, I came across an article that spelled her name a little differently than what I thought. I went back to work, and I was pretty sure that I found her. I sent another letter. The Saturday morning that my phone rang and I saw the caller ID is still crystal clear in my mind. My heart double-clicked. I answered the phone not knowing if she would be okay that I contacted her, or if she would be angry with me.

We talked several times over the next few weeks. The first conversations were cautious and polite. I was not sure how much she knew about the story that I had, and I certainly didn’t know her well enough to understand how much she would want to know. She was a widow well into her 80s. Who was I to bring my business into her life?

Turns out, we have become each other’s gift. I have filled in blanks for her. Some were things that she had not cared to know of at the time. Most were things that the family just did not talk about. I sent her pictures, articles, a recording of her father’s voice. She sent me pictures, documents, and has shared stories from her memories. Finding her has been more than I could have hoped for. We are now a part of the other’s life and we talk now just to catch up. Sometimes something new comes up that one of us wants to share, but mostly it is just to chat.

That is what happened yesterday. Ellie called to chat. The big news was that she had returned from getting her check-up at a major hospital where she had gotten a new heart-valve as part of a clinical trial. It had been a year, and part of the trial requirements were periodic follow-up visits. We talked about how that meant traveling several states away, but it was important to her to have her information kept as part of the study. It was important for her, because this new heart valve was a miracle for her. She was back in her twice weekly bowling league!

Talking with Ellie made me happy. I asked her if she would share with me any issues that she had with insurance. She laughed and said she had been told that she would not be covered, but she fought it, and she won.

If that’s what we have to do, that is what we will do.

My Newbery Challenge Update for February

Tags

Camouflage Corps, Higher Power of Lucky, Newberry books, Rabbit Hill, Robert Lawson, Susan Patron

I wrote earlier of my plan to read all of the Newbery Award winners that I have not previously read. I began my quest and happily discovered that taking these books to the gym is a great way to combine two of my year’s goals. The books – because they tend to have larger print – are easier to read on the treadmill that I have vowed to return to at least three times a week!

Rather than do a standard review of the books, I thought I would just provide a little this and that about the book, the author, and the times. Here are my first two reads on my Newbery journey:

Book: The Higher Power of Lucky

Author: Susan Patron

Something about the author: Susan Patron is a retired Los Angeles librarian who wrote her first book in 1990. When Lucky was awarded the Newberry, there was much controversy over her use of the word “scrotum” in the book’s first pages. The context of the word was as part of a story about a dog getting bit in said place by a rattlesnake. About the controversy, Patron said that she took the event from a real life story, and that the use of the word was intentional.

What it’s about: Lucky is a ten-year old girl who is living in a small California desert town with a Guardian – who happens to be an ex- of her father. Lucky’s odd job is to clean up around the town business where all of the twelve step groups meet. Through her listening in on conversations, Lucky is introduced to the idea of a Higher Power and the benefit a Higher Power can bring to a person. In her quest to find her Higher Power, Lucky goes on an adventure that leads her to her own answers.

Year it won: 2007

Somethings about that year: Nancy Pelosi became the first speaker of the House, the IPhone was introduced, Bush orders more troops to Iraq, Denis Johnson’s Tree of Smoke won the National Book Award for fiction.

Favorite part: When Lucky and Lincoln go on a quest to change the punctuation on a traffic sign. In this section, Patron brings the friendship between Lucky and Lincoln into focus and you realize how important they are to each other and how much each admires the other.

Favorite character: Lincoln is Lucky’s friend in town. Lincoln’s mom thinks that he is going to be President, but all Lincoln wants to do is tie knots. He can tie some of the most exquisite knots in the world and he is always seeking out more and better knots.

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Book: Rabbit Hill

Author: Robert Lawson

Something about the author:  During World War I, Lawson served as a member of the first Camouflage Company. The role of the company was to create fakes to fool the enemy. Its members were other artists that served in the unit stationed in France. Lawson wrote and illustrated his first children’s book after the war.

What it’s about: The animal residents of Rabbit Hill farm are in a tizzy about newcomers to their abandoned farm. Their emotions range from lust for the food that will finally return, to fear that there may also be dogs or cats that come with the newcomers. The family that arrives turns out to be more than the animals could have wished for. The couple seems to enjoy their animal neighbors, their cat is too old to care about anything beyond its reach, and they seem to be planting a giant garden. A minor hiccup occurs when one of the spunky young rabbits is injured and retrieved by the couple, and speculation about the too-good-to-be-true owners rages among the animals.

Year it won: 1945

Somethings about that year:  Going My Way won the Oscar for best picture, Alexander Fleming won the Nobel Prize in Medicine for the discovery of penicillin, World War II comes to an end.

Favorite part: The animal procession through the garden at the end of the book is completely charming.

Favorite character:  Papa Rabbit who is a Southern Gentleman living in Connecticut. None of his fellow animals care to hear his tales of the good life in bluegrass country. It is hilarious how Lawson writes the other characters cutting him off when he starts in on his reminiscences.

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What’s on the treadmill now? Ginger Pye by Eleanor Estes (1952)