winter, warm and humble

Then came old January wrapped well in many weeds to keep the cold away

Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene

Cold weather tends to bring out the hibernation in some of us. I happen to subscribe to this tendency, and do not apologize. Nothing seems more apt when the wind howls at the door than to curl up with a good book, snuggled deep in the blankets, the better to doze when the inclination takes us.

“I sit beside the fire and think
Of all that I have seen
Of meadow flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair

I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring
That I shall ever see

For still there are so many things
That I have never seen
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green

I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago
And people that will see a world
That I shall never know

But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before
I listen for returning feet
And voices at the door”

J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 

Old-fashioned Desserts

Chocolate Chess Pie
Adapted from The Harmony Grove Cookbook

2 large eggs, beaten
2 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1/2 c. whole milk
2 tbsp. plain or vanilla yogurt
1/2 tsp. vanilla
2 tbsp. unbleached flour
2 1/2 tbsp. Dutch cocoa powder
1 c. unbleached pure cane sugar
1/4 tsp. salt

Beat eggs into melted butter, milk, yogurt, vanilla; set aside.
Sift flour, cocoa powder, and salt into sugar in a separate bowl.
Add all at once to egg-butter-milk mixture, stir to mix thoroughly.
Pour into prepared pie shell and bake at 375 degrees for about 40 - 45 minutes.



Chowning's Tavern Apple Cake
Adapted from Celebrate Virginia! Cookbook                                                          Preheat oven @350


Melt 1 cup unsalted butter and allow to cool in dish until warm to touch but not hot.  

Into a separate large bowl: core, slice and chop 4 ripe, medium sized apples into 1/4" - 1/2" size bits; cover with 2 cups unbleached granulated cane sugar and set aside.

Beat 2 large eggs well and add to butter, beating until smooth and slightly glossy. 

Blend sugar with apples, stirring to coat. Add 3/4 c. chopped walnuts and mix well. Set aside again.

Place in sifter: 1 c. whole wheat flour, 2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour, 1 tsp. cream of tartar, 2 tsp. baking soda with spices: 2 tsp. cinnamon, 1/2 tsp. mace, 1/2 tsp. allspice, 1/2 tsp. coriander. 
Sift all to mix thoroughly into a 3rd bowl.

Blend 2 c. sour milk with egg and butter mixture. If you do not have sour milk you may substitute 
scant 2 c. whole milk mixed with 1/4 c. strained (or greek) yogurt. Blend liquid ingredients well and add to flour & spices in large bowl. Then mix apples, walnuts and sugar into batter, folding in to coat and distribute all well.

Pour into buttered 12-cup dish(es) (9 x 13 rectangular, round bundt, or two 8 x 8 square pans). Bake @ 350 for 45 - 50 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. 

Let cake stand in pan for 15 minutes, then invert on wire rack to cool.

You may drizzle a glaze of cider and sugar over cooled cake, or serve with ice cream.

 


 
 

Sunday Night Dinner

The cold wet wraps around the house like a blanket. Nestled inside we are warm as toast, about to tuck into a simple dinner of soup and muffins.

Sweet Potato Muffins

Simply replace the banana in a banana muffin recipe with an equal amount of mashed, cooked sweet potato. Delish!

Split-Pea Soup with Rice and Carrots




To six cups chicken stock add 2 c. dried peas, 1 c. rice, 3 carrots (sliced), 1/2 c. chopped onion. Heat thoroughly over medium heat, stirring occasionally to keep from sticking, for about 45 minutes. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately.

bahleeting the behemoth

So done with supporting blatant arseholes masquerading as consumer advocates.

Today, I'm deleting my Amazon account and anything having to do with the big behemoth. Awhile back I had already removed all payment information, connections to social media, etc.

It took quite a bit of sleuthing to uncover exactly how to do this. Apparently you have to contact Customer Service directly and ask politely, after which they state they will get back to you within 12 hours.

So I'm putting the how-to here, for the erudition of folks with less patience for this tomfoolery than mine, which admittedly is pretty short right now.

To delete your Amazon Account:

Go here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/help/customer/contact-us?#a

Under "What can we help you with?"
--Select "Something else"

Under "Tell us more about your issue"
--From the first drop-down menu, select "Account settings"
--From the second drop-down menu, select "Close my account"

Under "How would you like to contact us?"
--Select what works for you - email, phone, chat.

You are most welcome.

Update: I discovered I had another, very very old Amazon account under another email address. I've done this for that one too. It was interesting to see that my first request has not yet been honored - the other account is still there and recognizes me even before I logged into the older one. This is beyond creepy, folks. I'll update here as applicable.

For further reading:
Hightower's Two-Part Takedown of the "Bezon" - Part 1: "Cheap" comes at a very hefty price Part 2: The tax-dodging predator at The Hightower Lowdown
The Amazon Effect at The Nation
Amazon Jungle Review of the book Amazonia at The Guardian
Amazon's Monopoly Must Be Broken
Amazon's Monopsony is Not Okay, by Paul Krugman in the NY Times Readers comment on Paul Krugman's article

look. just - look.

Post by Matt Martin.

the anarchy of dreams

Links I am reading while my mind cogitates:

http://main.nc.us/books/books.cgi?thecominganarchy-shatteringthedreamsofthepostcoldwar

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33691.The_Coming_Anarchy

https://www.nytimes.com/books/first/k/kaplan-anarchy.html

http://www.blueanarchy.org/celestial/

http://www.awesomeyourlife.com/2012/03/love-anarchy-are-what-keep-your-dreams-high-stakes-and-thrilling/

http://cvilleanarchism.wordpress.com/

http://www.anarchistnews.org/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/08/03/krugman-if-you-arent-outr_n_249813.html

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2006/05/23/212822/-If-you-aren-t-angry-you-aren-t-paying-attention

http://theamericanscholar.org/every-last-one/

http://www.akpress.org/

http://theanarchistlibrary.org/

http://anarchyisforeveryone.blogspot.com/2008/06/call-for-submissions-anarchism-and.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Masque_of_Anarchy  /  https://ia600309.us.archive.org/23/items/masqueofanarchyp00shelrich/masqueofanarchyp00shelrich.pdf

http://www.acorncommunity.org/

Hope: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hope

The Principle of Hope:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Principle_of_Hope

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Revolt_of_Islam

Poetry Monday: The Author to Her Book

The Author to Her Book

Source: Clements Library Chronicles

Anne Bradstreet

	THOU ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
	Who after birth didst by my side remain
	Till snatched from thence by friends less wise than true
	Who thee abroad exposed to public view,
	Made thee, in rags, halting, to the press to trudge,
	Where errors were not lessened, all may judge,
	At thy return my blushing was not small,
	My rambling brat—in print—should mother call.
	I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
	Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
	Yet being mine own, at length affection would
	Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.
	I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
	And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.
	I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
	Yet still thou run’st more hobbling than is meet.
	In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
	But naught save homespun cloth i’ th’ house I find.
	In this array ’mongst vulgars mayst thou roam,
	In critics’ hands beware thou dost not come,
	And take thy way where yet thou art not known.
	If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;
	And for thy mother, she, alas, is poor,
	Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

Source:
Colonial Prose and Poetry
Edited by William P. Trent and Benjamin W. Wells
The 57 writers in these three volumes spanning more than a century and a half represent the literary and cultural trends in Colonial North America—from the confrontation with the American Indians to Puritan life to opposition to slavery. 
NEW YORK: THOMAS Y. CROWELL & Co., 1901 
NEW YORK: BARTLEBY.COM, 2010

In the earlier period men lived earnestly if not largely, they thought highly if not broadly, they felt nobly if not always with magnanimity.—Preface  Trent and Wells

Review: Any Small Thing Can Save You

Any Small Thing Can Save You by Christina Adam

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



Engaging, provocative text that calls to mind the language of Gail Godwin: the same solitary incisive viewpoint. It can be taken in small or large bites, as the chapters flow together seamlessly but stand on their own quite well. I will look for more by this author.



View all my reviews

Poetry Monday: Paracelsus

by Robert Browning, 1835



I

TRUTH is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate’er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fullness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception—which is truth.
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh
Binds it, and makes all error: and, to KNOW,
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.

II

I knew, I felt, (perception unexpressed,
Uncomprehended by our narrow thought,
But somehow felt and known in every shift
And change in the spirit,—nay, in every pore
Of the body, even,)—what God is, what we are
What life is—how God tastes an infinite joy
In infinite ways—one everlasting bliss,
From whom all being emanates, all power
Proceeds; in whom is life for evermore,
Yet whom existence in its lowest form
Includes; where dwells enjoyment there is he:
With still a flying point of bliss remote,
A happiness in store afar, a sphere
Of distant glory in full view; thus climbs
Pleasure its heights for ever and for ever.
The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth,
And the earth changes like a human face;
The molten ore bursts up among the rocks,
Winds into the stone’s heart, outbranches bright
In hidden mines, spots barren river-beds,
Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask—
God joys therein! The wroth sea’s waves are edged
With foam, white as the bitten lip of hate,
When, in the solitary waste, strange groups
Of young volcanos come up, cyclops-like,
Staring together with their eyes on flame—
God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth pride.
Then all is still; earth is a wintry clod:
But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes
Over its breast to waken it, rare verdure
Buds tenderly upon rough banks, between
The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost,
Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face;
The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln with blooms
Like chrysalids impatient for the air,
The shining dorrs are busy, beetles run
Along the furrows, ants make their ade;
Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark
Soars up and up, shivering for very joy;
Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing-gulls
Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe
Of nested limpets; savage creatures seek
Their loves in wood and plain—and God renews
His ancient rapture. Thus He dwells in all,
From life’s minute beginnings, up at last
To man—the consummation of this scheme
Of being, the completion of this sphere
Of life: whose attributes had here and there
Been scattered o’er the visible world before,
Asking to be combined, dim fragments meant
To be united in some wondrous whole,
Imperfect qualities throughout creation,
Suggesting some one creature yet to make,
Some point where all those scattered rays should meet
Convergent in the faculties of man. 

Poetry Monday: Burnt Norton

Time is the moving image of eternity --Plato

Source: Poetry Chaikhana, Dervishes

Burnt Norton
T. S. Eliot (No. 1 of 'Four Quartets')

I

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened

Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
          But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
          Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.

So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

II

Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.

And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
Erhebung without motion, concentration
Without elimination, both a new world
And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
          Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.



III

Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
With slow rotation suggesting permanence

Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal.
Neither plenitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
That blows before and after time,
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
Time before and time after.
Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.

     Descend lower, descend only
Into the world of perpetual solitude,
World not world, but that which is not world,
Internal darkness, deprivation
And destitution of all property,
Desiccation of the world of sense,
Evacuation of the world of fancy,
Inoperancy of the world of spirit;
This is the one way, and the other
Is the same, not in movement
But abstention from movement; while the world moves
In appetency, on its metalled ways
Of time past and time future.

IV

Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?

     Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? After the kingfisher's wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.



V

Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there

Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them. The Word in the desert
Is most attacked by voices of temptation,
The crying shadow in the funeral dance,
The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

     The detail of the pattern is movement,
As in the figure of the ten stairs.
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,

Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.

Source: British Listed Buildings, Burnt Norton

Further readings:
"Time, Eternity, and Immortality in T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets" by Terry L. Fairchild
"Poetry Landmark: T. S. Eliot's Burnt Norton"
"Let Us Go, Then, to Burnt Norton" by Rebecca Hurt
"At the Still Point: T.S. Eliot, Dance, and Modernism" by Susan Jones
"GARDENING / A Poet's Garden: On a walk" by Helen Chappell

Review: Return to Willow Lake

Return to Willow Lake by Susan Wiggs

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



The characters were pretty lovable, and though this story touches on some deep, thought-provoking themes, it never gets heavy or depressing, which is hard to do and maintain credibility in the story. Recommended.



View all my reviews

Review: The Castaways

The Castaways by Elin Hilderbrand

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



Excellent, intriguing, and very entertaining read, with fully-developed, human-scaled characters who are fitted into the setting with careful attention to detail. Will definitely look for more by this author.



View all my reviews

Happy Valentine's Day!

Here's a coupon worth 25% off the purchase of Lucky Southern Women - Click on the image and enter the coupon code to redeem your discount! Enjoy!

How Far We've Come, To Fall So Far

There is simply no excuse for the fact that well into middle age, with advanced degrees, a respectable middle-class income, and a credit history over 20 years long, that my husband and I are still patently unable to purchase a house, and each month we struggle to meet the bills for basic needs such as food, fuel, shelter, clothing, and education.

Consider this: My parents, who were young professionals with no credit background to speak of and a two-year old, on October 16, 1963 purchased the home that my mother still lives in. At the time they were both teaching school, with advanced degrees and a respectable middle class income. This home was about five years old and cost $17,000.00 (slightly less than the average price of a new home in the US at the time as recorded by the US Census), and was paid off at the tidy sum of $103.00 per month, principal and interest, well before the time of my father's death in 1988. The property is valued at around $125,000 today; it is a 2/3-acre lot with a 4 BR/1.5 bath home in excellent condition and still located in a respectable neighborhood. My mother also has excellent health insurance and pension benefits and will never have to worry about how she will pay for basic needs such as food, shelter, clothing, eyeglasses, and medical care. She never has and she never will. She's a classic example of someone who worked hard, paid her bills and was able to put something away each month for the future. She pays cash for a brand new vehicle about once every eight years or so because she has an abhorrence of paying interest that can not be deducted from one's tax bill. She has lived a tidy, respectable life, and has earned her comfortable retirement.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics has this handy-dandy little table that details teachers' salaries for the period 1959-2006, with comparable 2006 constant dollars that make it simple to see these salaries' equivalents in 2006 dollars. You will see, for instance, that though my parents jointly earned about $12,000 (my mother taught elementary and my father taught high school), the equivalent salary in 2006 dollars was about $80,000. This was because the cost of housing, fuel, automobiles, education, groceries, clothing, etc. - i.e., the cost of living - was considerably lower then than today.

It's quite shocking, in fact, to look over the chart and see how the value of middle-class salaries fell into the toilet during the ensuing years.

To be perfectly sure we're comparing apples to apples, my mother & father paid about $900 annually for taxes, insurance, and social security, making their effective joint disposable income about $11,100 (including obligations of 3.625% for FICA/SSec, 22.6% less exemptions & deductions for federal taxes, and 2% for Virginia state income tax). Their employers actually contributed to Virginia's retirement system and paid for their health insurance. Employees did not have to contribute at all until shortly before my mother retired in the 1990s. A pension and health insurance were considered part of one's compensation package - those were the days! However, during this period, all of the amounts deducted for FICA and Social Security came from an employee's paycheck; employers did not contribute to those programs at that time. There is a nice table at the Social Security administration's website that details federally mandated deductions for taxes and FICA starting in 1937. Historic federal tax rates are here, and you can peruse the actual 1040 and 1040a forms and instructions used to file back in 1963 at the IRS website. Historical state tax rates are contained within tables in this report.

So - let's compare: my husband and I just happen to jointly earn about $80,000 annually as professionals working in the non-profit and government sectors, from which about $20,000 is deducted in order to pay for medical insurance, withdrawals for retirement and deferred compensation of which our employers pay minuscule matches of less than 15%, and taxes, effectively making our joint disposable income in the neighborhood of $60,000. (Bankrate has a nice calculator to help you determine if adjusting payroll deductions might be a good idea in case you'd like to compare your own).

The problem begins to become apparent.

Take a look at my parents' joint disposable income of $11,100.00 in 1963 transferred to today's dollars in this handy-dandy little table:

[Note: Current data from this source is only available till 2012.] In 2012, the relative worth of $11,100.00 US from 1963 is:

$83,200.00 using the Consumer Price Index

$64,300.00 using the GDP deflator

$93,500.00 using the value of consumer bundle

$90,500.00 using the unskilled wage

$106,000.00 using the Production Worker Compensation

$170,000.00 using the nominal GDP per capita

$282,000.00 using the relative share of GDP

Put another way, if you want to compare the value of $11,100.00 worth of disposable income in 1963 with what it's worth in 2012 the relative:
...historic standard of living value of that income or wealth is $83,200.00
...contemporary standard of living value of that income or wealth is $93,500.00
...economic status value of that income or wealth is $170,000.00
...economic power value of that income or wealth is $282,000.00
By any measure, our parents were wealthier by far than we can even hope to be, given today's economic realities. Thank you, banks, insurance companies, corporate welfare queens, and politicians. You've made it such a pleasure to be living and working today, working just as hard but making a fraction of what our parents did. Good show.

See also US Census Historical Income Tables

Measuring Worth

1963 Enterprise Statistics

Taxfoundation.org

Bankrate.com

SSA.GOV

IRS.GOV

University of North Texas Library

~

What Goes Around... i.e., Karma is a Bitch

Bob McDonnell Throws his Wife Under the Bus at Politico

I guess it's possible that the ex-Governor has the hubris (or the mad hope) that he can manage to defeat the charges in spite of the mountain of evidence. But I am sad for the woman beside him, because yet again we have an example of the fact that men who try to control women through legislation designed to keep them fighting for the right to be free and equal tend to treat their significant others rather badly through neglect, public embarrassment, or worse.

Like so many others of his ilk, while in office Gov. McDonnell made no effort to hide his lack of respect for women's rights to adequate health care, to be safe in their own homes, and to be paid fairly for their work. It probably didn't even occur to him that these are real issues compared to the types of issues that interested him. It probably didn't even occur to him to think of his family and the consequences for them if their mother went to prison for awhile.

I wonder why that is.

Let this be a lesson to all of us. If he treats women poorly as a general rule, don't think for one second he will make an exception for you when the cards are on the table.

The Trans-Pacific Partnership, aka TPP: NAFTA on Steroids

NAFTA is one of the worst decisions we've ever made as a country. It basically killed US manufacturing, it allowed Big Ag to destroy Mexican agriculture and line its pockets with the spoils of economic collapse that in turn allowed Big Ag to become even bigger and badder, and we can NOT repeat this mistake. We simply can not afford to do so.

We were warned, and we ignored it. Do you remember Ross Perot's "great sucking sound" speech? He was right, and we should have listened. We did not, and as a result we murdered the domestic textile and manufacturing industries and nearly killed the auto industry, which was only saved by a last-ditch effort and lots of government bailout money (your tax dollars).

We must not ignore the warnings about the President's new trade initiative. They are accurate and the threat is real. We won't have an economy if this horrible idea becomes law. Mr Obama, you are one of my favorite world leaders, and an otherwise excellent President, but Please Do Not Repeat Mr Clinton's Horrible Mistake.

Trade Expert: Why TPP — “NAFTA on Steroids” — Must Be Stopped (via Moyers & Company)

The post-NAFTA era has been marked by growing inequality, declining job security and new leverage for corporations to attack government regulations enacted in the public interest. But it wasn’t supposed to be that way. Back in 1986, when the leaders…

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Pre-publication Copies: Lucky Southern Women

Lucky Southern Women, a new novel by Susannah Eanes, will be available for book reviews starting Friday, January 10, 2014. If you are interested in obtaining a free pre-publication copy, please send us a note in the comments or email us at propertiuspress@gmail.com. Pre-publication review copies are available for the next 21 days only. The book is scheduled for release on February 1st.


Coming soon - the new novel of love, suspense, and redemption from Propertius Press!

Synopsis: The rural landscape entwines around the lives and loves of two strong, yet troubled women, a beautiful contrast to the beliefs they absorbed as children. Only in moving beyond the past can they forge a way ahead not only for themselves, but for their loved ones. In so doing, each finds something vital that will give them the power and resilience they need to meet the greatest challenge of all.

Why Two Spaces After a Period Isn't Wrong

(or, The Lies Typographers Tell About History)

The above link is to an excellent, very well-researched and thorough treatise on the subject that I highly recommend. Since it's rather lengthy I won't elaborate, just get over there and read it - if you are a writer, editor, publisher, or otherwise earn your bread in the industry, you really need to get your facts straight no matter which camp you decide to belong to.

You're quite welcome. 

[Image credit: crucialbiitch at deviantart]

Recipe: Cassoulet Provençal

Cassoulet Provençal  (French Country-Style White Bean Soup)

French provincial cooking is typically savory and slow-roasted in a medium oven, with the distinctive flavors of olive oil, fresh herbs (rosemary, thyme, parsley, tarragon), piquant spices such as clove and mace, and a good dash of garlic.

To make the Soup:

Start with the base of white beans, adding liquid broth, then when softened add browned meat(s), season with garlic, parsley, and clove, and cook for several hours until flavors meld. Chop “les trois soeures” (three sisters – celery, onion and carrots) and add with chopped red or green sweet pepper.  Finish cooking and serve topped with croutons and parmesan cheese.

1 lb. dry white beans (Great Northern, Cannelini, Navy, etc.) 

4 – 6 c water (to cover)

Soak, then cook overnight until beans are soft in dutch oven or crock pot.

Brown 6 whole mild sausages (I use a free-range chicken/beef blend from Jones Farm in Winston-Salem) in 1 tbsp olive oil. Chop sausages, then add to soup. Reserve pan drippings.

Add:

1 pint vegetable or beef broth

1 tsp garlic

2 tsp parsley

1 tsp ground cloves

Cook 30 minutes or so.

Add:

1 whole carrot, chopped

1 stalk celery, chopped

1 small red sweet pepper, chopped

Cook several hours until flavors are well developed and blended.

In reserved pan drippings (from cooking sausage), add 2 ¼ c. water, ¾ c. brown whole-grain rice and ¼ cup wild rice. Cover & bring to boil, reduce heat to simmer and cook 50 minutes until liquid is absorbed. [Alternative to rice: 2 ½ c. dry whole wheat or whole-grain bread crumbs or croutons, browned in 1 tbsp butter]

Add rice [or breadcrumbs] to soup, cook at least 45 minutes more.  Serve warm with dry brown bread or crackers. Top with grated Parmesan Cheese.

Murder and Forgiveness

For now we see in a mirror dimly, 
but then we will see face to face [1Cor 13.12]
[Image credit: publicphoto.org]

It has been a little over nineteen years since two sweet innocents sank into the bottom of a man-made lake in South Carolina, sent there by the woman who carried them in her womb. Susan Smith's story changed us all, mothers and fathers and families alike. None of us were unaffected, and yet, looking back, it is perhaps time we saw the lake as a mirror, and recognize our own reflection within it.

As a society, although individually we may strive toward good, we are none of us innocents. We should acknowledge, as Beverly Russell did, that there is a seed of capability to do great evil within us all. We owe this woman forgiveness, and until we do this we can not move on toward reconciliation, and we will not be able to realize our great responsibility to our children to ensure they grow up in a safe, loving world, full of possibilities.

When the word first came out that this mother had done the unthinkable, I remember being in the grocery store with my then 7-year old daughter and my son who was about the age of the youngest Smith child. Strangers who passed by my shopping cart reached out toward him, fastened safely in his little seat, to touch his head and to grasp my hand, wrapped protectively around him. "Take care of that child," some would whisper. "I can tell you are a good mama," others would say. I saw friends of mine from church, also young mothers, and we reached instinctively toward one another, asking, "How are you? Do you need anything? Is everything all right? You know you can call me," our eyes searching deeply within each other's, trying desperately to re-validate the safety net of community that had been rended and torn by the news.

We all knew that sometimes we are only a breath of time away from losing it ourselves, and we needed to know that we could stop it from happening if we could only remember we are there for each other, to help shoulder the load.

Before Susan Smith's trial and the facts and analysis that would come out of it showing she was a desperate, troubled individual with a past that some of us could not fathom or relate to - we young mothers knew. Only the grace of something greater than ourselves up to that point had saved some of us from recklessly destroying our greatest and most precious gifts, that of our children and ourselves. For some horrible reason, that grace had failed a young mother, allowing her to send her children, her flesh, her blood, to a watery tomb. And I think that our shock and horror allowed us to separate ourselves after a time from this recognition, in order to move on and to be better parents.

This had to happen. But it is time now to take the next step, and forgive her for her actions. To recognize as a society that we had some hand in this undertaking, and to heal and to move forward toward ensuring that infanticide does not have to happen, that we recognize the warning signs and stop this evil, desperate act from taking place ever again.

***

We know better now, how ill and wretched this young woman was. We know, and we must recognize, that she was manifesting the symptoms of the classic murderer of her own children. At that time only trained specialists knew and were capable of seeing in; indeed it is what helped them to guide Susan Smith into confessing her great horrible deed.

Driving alone at dusk [Image credit: publicphoto.org]

But we all should know now. It's been nearly twenty years. Surely we can recognize that she was at the apogee of human error and selfish grasping for attention, love, and acceptance for who she was and what she was at the time: a lonely, depressed woman whose inner child grieved for the father she had lost, and who could not, for whatever reason, accept that now she was a mother, with limited options.

It's sad, but true. As her life gained complexity, her future seemed to dim, and the possibilities voiced in the letter written by the lover who rejected her probably seemed like a carrot too far from reach. She lashed out, angrily, at what seemed to have slipped away while she was busy attending to her greatest accomplishment: motherhood. She was confused, and oh so empty, and her fear allowed her to believe that emptiness was permanent.

We have all felt like this, at some time or another. Fortunately, most of us have resources and loved ones who help us see the folly of that belief, and can show us the good and lovely opportunities and choices for good in our lives, so that the fear and loneliness and rejection do not last.

Susan Smith did not.

Why?

Why, when she looked around, did she only see a situation that further estranged her from her best self? Why did she want to end her life, and that of her children? And what, if anything, could have been done to stop it?

I will reflect further on this as time allows. For now, I want to just think about this rationally, given the facts as we know them. I'll write more as soon as I can.


***

Update on the 20-year mark of this event in The State newspaper

Review: Gingham Mountain

Gingham Mountain by Mary Connealy

My rating: 1 of 5 stars



I honestly want to know how drivel like this makes it past an editor.

At the beginning you meet Grant, who is likeable enough, and the premise of a bachelor raising orphans in early 20th century Texas is just odd enough to work. However, that is the best I can say about this book. Even if you can manage to ignore the anachronistic language (I honestly can't), there is nothing else about this story that is plausible or even interesting. Hannah is an idiot and completely ridiculous, and it's really, really hard to ignore her lack of judgment or powers of observation (there aren't any). Even the way Grant and the children interact is completely out of the realm of reality given the time period. There are too many language foibles and awkwardly out-of-place sentences. I made it about 50 pages in and had enough.



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Cathead Biscuits

Bryson City Cathead Biscuits (original recipe)

2 1/2 c. flour

1/3 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt

2 tsp. baking powder

5 tbsp. lard

1 c. buttermilk

Sift and mix dry ingredients then blend with lard. Add buttermilk. For each biscuit, pinch off a portion of dough about the shape of a large egg and pat out with your hands. Bake in a 350 degree oven in wood stove about 10 minutes. In a modern electric or gas stove, bake at 475 to 500 degrees.

This recipe is found on page 115 in the chapter entitled, "Biscuits," in the book Smokehouse Ham, Spoon Bread, and Scuppernong Wine, by Joseph E. Dabney (Cumberland House, Nashville, TN 1998).

I've made a few adjustments over the years, starting with the substitution of shortening for lard. I do not adjust the amount and have good results. I choose a quality unbleached all-purpose flour such as King Arthur or Hodgsons Mill Organic. Also, when I do not have buttermilk, I substitute 1 c. whole milk plus 1 tbsp. plain yogurt. The texture of the biscuits is fluffy and light, and they brown nicely in a hot oven - however, I've found that generally the temperature does not need to be more than 450.

Serve warm with jam, honey, or just good butter. This recipe is also suitable to use for dumplings.

Review: Turtle Moon

Turtle Moon by Alice Hoffman

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



About halfway through this book I wrote the following: "One of my gauges for a great read is one that continually sends me back to a work in progress to do an inspired creativity dump that seems to come out of nowhere. It's like the story dials into my subconscious and tells me things I didn't know I knew. This is one of those books. It's quirky, human, and all-too-real. The characters are alternately loveable and maddening, just like most folk I know."

I really didn't want this book to end, but at the same time, it was time to leave the story, and further words might have become maudlin or mundane. That is not to say I understand every character's motivation, or that the book ended happily. You'll have to find that out for yourself. Still, I'd love to read a sequel set maybe twenty or thirty further years in the future, to see if the boy and the baby ever meet again as adults, and what happens then.

And now, it's back to my own writing, because - as I said in so many words - there are things tumbling out of every creative port of my psyche, that must be set down.




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Review: Blue Camellia

Blue Camellia by Frances Parkinson Keyes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Amazing work, a story so skillfully crafted that its social anachronisms seem charming and quite forgiveable in the context of their time. Powerful and based loosely on historical facts, the story of a woman who found her own way in life and carved a niche for herself that, instead of rejecting family and society, carefully selected the finest yields and stoutest promise, enfolded a heart full of love and wisdom with the best portions of her heritage and fortune to triumph over her personal nightmarish tragedy and make a life well lived.

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Review: The Color of Lightning

The Color of Lightning by Paulette Jiles

My rating: 2 of 5 stars



THIS BOOK SHOULD COME WITH A HUGE TRIGGER WARNING. Truth to tell, I didn't make it very far into this book. Much as I adore Ms Jiles' work, I felt shocked and dismayed at how little prepared I was for the sickening violence that began only a few pages into the story. If I had wanted to read an accurate portrayal of the horrors faced by some early settlers, I would have picked up a clearly-marked non-fiction historical narrative. That the story wheels so suddenly from the interpersonal struggles of the characters as they adjust to a new life to a terrifyingly descriptive, jaw-dropping scene that sadly is all too real without warning is just too triggering for a reader with PTSD, or for those who simply do not have the stomach for this kind of violence. It may be exactly what some readers like, but not me, thanks.



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Review: The Secret Papers of Madame Olivetti

The Secret Papers of Madame Olivetti by Annie Vanderbilt

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



I loved, loved, loved this book. Superbly written, with an authentic voice and the twists and turns that are the hallmark of a life truly lived. Looking for more by this fantastic author.



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Review: Garden Styles by Kathleen S Dickason

Garden Styles by Kathleen S Dickason
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Beautifully illustrated book with many creative ideas, this is more than just a book with which to relax and dream about your next garden project. It's a definitive guide to choosing plants and arranging them for viability in your landscape. Contains reference tables on hundreds of landscape plants with complete descriptions and suggestions for using them to their best advantage. Profuse colorful illustrations of many types of gardens show the range of selected plants during all stages of growth, from young gardens through established mature ones. One of my favorite garden reference and inspiration books.

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Review: The Gift of a Home

The Gift of a Home by Beverley Nichols

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



I loved this book, and will go searching for more by this author. It's like a neighborly walk with a favorite uncle, except said uncle has an aversion to neighbors. A perfectly charming read, with interesting characters and gardening anecdotes that will have you giggling into your cup of Earl Grey. Highly recommended.



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Review: If Wishes Were Horses

If Wishes Were Horses by Robert Barclay

My rating: 2 of 5 stars



The theme of this book interested me because it was a romance primarily told from the point of view of the male character, and the first chapter set up some possibility of good storytelling. However, the language and plot overall were just too trite and formulaic to hold my interest. I could not like the female character, and the way she was characterised by the author resulted in neither a sympathetic nor sophisticated protagonist. Two stars for effort, and that is just barely merited IMHO.



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Review: A Lost Lady

A Lost Lady by Willa Cather

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



In this short novel, Willa Cather paints a disturbing portrait of a woman caught in the social grip of her times. At once a fiercely independent, charming free spirit and an obedient member of the quietly patriarchal backbone of Victorian society, Marian "Maidie" Forrester elicits both derision and sympathy from today's readers, as she did from the young male narrator of her story. We wonder if we could have performed any better on the stage where Mrs. Forrester found herself. I would be willing to bet that few would.

This story is an insider's view, told in the language and attitudes of the late nineteenth century, and is highly recommended for students of Women's Studies and Social History.



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Review: Natural Remodeling for the Not-So-Green House: Bringing Your Home into Harmony with Nature

Natural Remodeling for the Not-So-Green House: Bringing Your Home into Harmony with Nature by Carol Venolia

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



Great book with some excellent ideas that are transportable across house styles and geographic areas, but I wish it had more real life examples from places other than California, with homes other than midwest-modern styles. There were only two homes out of dozens that I could directly relate to, and only one was a pre-20th century home. Still, the general information is well-written, concise, and applicable to many types of homes. Excellent information about microclimates and making your home more in tune with its location and the surrounding ecosystems. I would recommend it to anyone interested in making changes that will lower your energy footprint while preserving the personality of your home, and improving the livability of your own personal space.



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The Mists of Ideological Time

The League of Ordinary Gentlemen is the sort of blog where thinking folks go to discuss the issues. Sometimes the debate over there reminds me of my father's den, where his students, friends, and folks from our church would come to debate the issues of the day, which in that time were civil rights, politics, and the lessons of history. I was a small child then, too young to take part, but I often listened from the other room. Looking back, it is fascinating to realize how important it was that my family was free to invite people who wanted to discuss the things they felt were important to continuing the right of self-determination, and to understanding the things they may or may not have experienced in their own lives, and so to apply current events to their own search for truth and justice. It was, in short, good preparation for the decade of the 1980s, just to be sure we were aware of the potential of our species to destroy itself. Rational folk won't generally self-destruct, and yet individuals and civilizations do it all the time. How does that happen?

Recently, there was a post at the League that asked a question that brought quite a bit of discussion. (See The Incredible Shrinking Candidate, by Tod Kelly) It was posited that the Republican party behaves as if the "real Mitt" isn't there. By refusing to answer direct questions that are pertinent to his experience and belief, the writer posited that Mitt Romney is hiding his true self. And he wrote that he thinks it's the fault of the far-right wing ideologues of his party and their largely successful efforts to get him to fall into lockstep with their true-believers path, which (he writes) history clearly demonstrates is not the path that Mr. Romney has followed - and that the Tea Partiers should back off. Mitt should be allowed to be Mitt. Essentially the author asked, if the "true Mitt Romney" were allowed by his party ideologues to be truthful about what he really might offer - both his experience as a businessperson, his family values, and his political savvy - wouldn't we like that person? Might we vote for him?

To that I have to say - hogwash. We're seeing the real Mitt. Tod Kelly is missing the forest because he's looking for trees that aren't there, he's looking for substance where there really is only mist. What happens when the mist lifts? The light of day, folks, which shines on the garbage can in the backyard, the front walk that needs sweeping and the grass that needs mowing, just as it all did yesterday. The mist isn't really obscuring anything at all, but we like to pretend that it does, because it's soft and poetical and all and covers up what we'd really rather not deal with at the moment.

Here are the facts: It's clear that Mitt Romney has followed the course of action throughout his entire life that he's following now: that of choosing whatever option he thinks will get him what he wants. All narcissists can appear to be gentle, benevolent gods when they choose - it's part of their charm.

Mitt Romney would be the same paper president he was at Bain Capital, the same leader of the Salt Lake Olympic squadron, the same governor of Massachusetts - taking the road that at the time paved the way toward looking good on paper and in rare public appearances, but disappearing at the first puff of the wind of substance.

Meaning that, voting for Romney as POTUS would mean that his cronies would be the ones calling the shots, directing his paper-doll stance, pulling the strings of his puppet arms. Mitt is the perfect non-candidate. Don't think for a moment that he's actually responsible for anything except carrying out the wishes of the entities filling his pocketbook. He's meaningless and hard to pin down because that's the person he is.

Mitt Romney is the worst kind of person in the world: a classic narcissist who thinks he has a god-given mission to lead the United States (please research his religion, specifically the white horse prophesy if you doubt it), who will always act in his own best interests, and the world be damned. He has delusions of grandeur and believes that he is destined for greatness not only during his time here on earth, but in the afterlife. The shifting sands of his character are ingrained, and have served him well as far as prosperity goes. The thought of him at the helm of the biggest ship in the world means that if he believes hitting that iceberg will land him in heaven's realm, and in the meantime array his family and his own self in gilded heaven-on-earth glory, well then - it's all a part of his god's plan.

Put another way, imagine Mitt Romney at the controls of a 747 headed for the World Trade Center. He'd never hit that building, right? Look again. There's a guy who looks like Mr. Romney sitting in first class holding Ann's hand. They look around and smile, chat up their neighbors, full of charm and class. Then Mitt looks at his watch, and they bow their heads and start to pray. Paul Ryan's in the pilot seat, and he believes that building is full of liberal Democrats, lesbians, and abortion providers. Mitt is smiling and dreaming of the afterlife. No wait - that's actually not Mitt at all. The real Mitt is far away on an island in the Caymans.

Now what would happen? Yeah, I'm joking. Look closer.

Then there is the Tea Party. Fortunately there are other folks who've gone the extra mile to put the naked truth about them before the American public, so I'll share this clip from Aaron Sorkin's amazing new show, The Newsroom, where the truth is told as "fiction."

We can stop this insane bunch of crass, self-serving idiots. We must vote. Take the day off to do so if you must, but do not leave the polls until you have cast your rightful, individual VOTE. I understand that there are some places where it may be difficult to do so. How many have been disenfranchised in the past in this country, through trickery? More than one is too many - but there have been many, many people who were unable to vote because they stood by while this opportunity was literally stolen.

I have seen instances in my lifetime, in the past decade, where voting machines were moved - while voting was actually taking place - from high-minority, low-income, inner-city districts to predominantly white, wealthy, suburban ones so that there was a dearth of machines in the minority low-income districts and an unnecessary plethora of them in the wealthy, white districts; many of those machines were absolutely empty and unused during the remainder of the election. This forced many to have to leave to go back to work before they'd had a chance to cast their votes. I have stood in line to vote while poll workers went down the rows handing out cards and demonstrated how to vote a straight Republican ticket - and yes, there were unenlightened people who honestly thought they were simply being shown "how to vote." I have been there while people who were legally registered were turned away because they didn't have - or refused to show - a "proper ID."

This is America. No one has the right to do this to us. Stay, vote, and don't back down. Don't leave. Cast a provisional vote if you have no other choice. But Do. Not. Leave. Your future, your children's future, depends on your exercising the right to VOTE. Do not let them turn this country into the third world nation they can control, because that is what they want. That is what they believe God wants. They think we are stupid, and they do not respect us or the democracy they were born into. They are misguided, they are armed, and they are dangerous.

Fifty years ago a similarly high-minded group of politically-charged individuals led by a single charismatic mouthpiece spewing venomous hate went after innocent folk in the name of protecting our American shores from "communism." The McCarthy era was responsible for ruining hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives, and amounted to publicly-sanctioned ethnocentrism and racism. This time it's worse: there are dozens of charismatic mouthpieces spewing racism, misogyny, lies, and hate. They assert that our GOD is on their side, and because of that they ask us to doubt our conscience and look the other way while people who shout fear and hate take over our government. They are asking us to abdicate our democracy, and for those of us who refuse, they are doing their damnedest to take away our right to self-determination.

We should know better. Hate is hate, patriarchal control is control outright, and it preys on our fears of that which we do not understand and don't want to admit to our lack of understanding - and we should never allow it to cloud our vision. We must not give in to the claim that it doesn't matter who wins. It matters. We must not abdicate our rights as an informed electorate. To do so will result in the loss of everything our democracy stands for, and will effectively negate our Constitution and our way of life.

Don't let them take over our government again. We probably won't get it back if they do. But don't let this scare you. Let it strengthen your resolve. There is really absolutely nothing to fear except fear itself.

This election season, do not be confused by the vapor surrounding the truth, obscuring the things they really don't want you to see. Step through the mist, pick your way carefully over the rocky shoals hidden underneath the gloom of doubt and suspicion. VOTE.

Further ruminations on the heresy of Mormonism at the New York Times.