A Charlie Brown moment...

When we last visited with Jill, she was feverishly writing, and very, very happy to have made it to the half way point in the NaNoWriMo challenge, even if arriving there a little behind schedule.

The NaNo message board had listed Houston writer get togethers, and she had noticed that there were three other writers typing away in Kingwood.

Wouldn't it be WONDERFUL, Jill thought, if we up here in Kingwood could get together after this is all over, and maybe to email little supportative messages to each other now and then before that?

She thought that was a good idea.

So Jill sent out the following friendly email:

Sent: 11/17/2006 5:30:56 PM
Subject: Kingwood nano

Hi There!

I'm Jill ****, writing out in Kingwood, Riverchase, the far, far, end of Kingwood. How are you doing?

I hit 26,000 today....the spirit is willing but the body is weak.

Just wanted to give you a place to bounce randomly....we WILL do this!!!!

Jill


Not long afterwards came the following email:

Hi Jill!

Very happy to meet another writer from Kingwood. I'm in Mills Branch.
I'm around 47,000 words but I'm only about halfway finished with my story. This is my third book to write so I'm not as worried about finishing as I am completing the editing portion and submitting to agents. I seem to have a block when it comes to actually going that final step.

I'm writing a story that would probably fall in the genre of women's fiction. What about you?

M*****


(What I felt like writing back was:

M****;
Oh, nevermind. Carry on. Sorry to suggest need of encouraging, jeeze louise lady, do you like never sleep or something?????)

Happy Dance

Happy #1: Ugg's on my feet, for a 40 degree frost-on-the-roof-top morning.

I gave in at 11 am and kicked on the heater.

After all the heat this summer I was cherishing the chance to bundle up in long sleeves and long pants, turtlenecks, and the whole "normal" late fall attire.

I've been an Ugg's girl since the mid-1990's, before the fashion craze kicked in for the Hollywood types. The swim and surf community wore them for winter foot warmth apre water activity. These are the tall boot type, and once I put them on, it takes a lot to motivate me to take them off. I wonder if I will catch any flack if I wear them to work. Probably not.


Happy #2: I just now (like 5 minutes ago) pounded across the half way marker on the NaNoWriMo. 25,134 words! 24,866 to go.
53 pages, mostly single spaces so far.

OK, so I was two days late getting there. Should have been there on Wednesday, but that's fine.

The NaNo home page shows the stats, the big hump in the bell curve on Wednesday was that most folks were a day or two behind. A few have already finished (showoffs!) and a 2% hadn't even got started yet.

People are dropping out, as to be expected, so I am just delighted to still be in the race, and actually happy with where the plot is going.

Back to it......

The two monkeys, one dog,and one elephant band!

Well, yes, it would be quicker to just call yourselves "The Animals".

But I think that particular band name is already spoken for.

And yeah, you are right. There was a singer named Cat Stevens, but he goes by something else now.

Let see, we've got a gorilla on bongos, dog on piano, elephant on drums, and a chimp on guitar.

What instrument are you playing Tiggie?

Oh, I see. Your are their manager.

That makes sense.

I'm sure they're going to big, really big.

Rock on!

Love the blogging community

Dawn, over at fourfiftythree was so kind (ON HER BIRTHDAY no less!) to pop by and clue me in on why this blog was posting oddly.

Seems having too wide of picture, such as I had on the Nov. 11th Veteran's Day post (which is now fixed) will throw the whole blog out of kilter.

Dawn herself has twin sons in the Air Force, and one's involved in the latest conflict. I think that makes for three heroes by my count-two sons willing to fight for our freedom, and one mom willing for her sons to do so.

I'm posting now because I wanted to say thank you to her.

I'm posting late because I had let myself get two days (3,400 words) behind on the National Novel Writers Month story.

Tomorrow I'll be midway through the challenge. Tonight I am at 43 single spaced pages, and FINALLY they are all off the interstate and out of the fog!

Things I have learned:

1. If you have your character eat something, you will also want to eat whatever it was that they ate. Write that they eat salad, or carrots or something low calorie that you already have in the house, so you don't find yourself wanting to run to the store to get cherry pie filling to make a cherry pie. There is no time for that sort of side stepping right now!

2. Characters want to change the spelling of their names mid way through the story. Jerry want to be Gerald now. I can not explain this.

3. I wish I had thought to sign up with NaNoWriMo earlier so I could have gotten in on the Houston NaNoWriMo writers kick off. I think it would be a lot less lonely feeling having co-novelists that I know of around to cheer me on.

4. Having a sulfur crested cockatoo as a character is the most useful plot device I could have ever dreamed up. I've had to research them for the story. They are very time demanding, yet loving pets. I plan on having an imaginary Sulfur Crested Cockatoo as a pet from now on, and visit Zoey, my friend's non-imaginary pet bird again as soon as possible. If this book ever gets published, Zoey gets mentioned on my Acknowledgement page.

If I can just pound out 1, 600 more words before I go to bed, I will be all caught up!

(Friends and family begin chant: Go Jill! Go Jill! You can do it! You can do it!)

Here's some tantalizing factoids about NaNoWriMo:

How many novels have been written through NaNoWriMo?
1999: 21 participants and six winners (winner being completed 50,000 words)
2000: 140 participants and 29 winners
2001: 5,000 participants and more than 700 winners
2002: 13,500 participants and around 2,100 winners
2003: 25,500 participants and about 3,500 winners
2004: 42,000 participants and just shy of 6,000 winners
2005: 59,000 participants and 9,769 winners.

Sarah Gruen is writing a novel this time that she already has 5 million dollar deal for.
FIVE MILLION SMACKERS!!!!!

Has anyone had their novel published?Quite a few! Jon F. Merz was one of Team 2001's winners; his NaNo book The Destructor was published by Pinnacle Books in March 2003. Lani Diane Rich, sold her 2002 NaNo-penned manuscript, Time Off For Good Behavior to Warner Books, and it came out to great reviews in October 2004, and won the Romance Writers of America RITA award for Best Debut Novel eight months later. Her 2003 NaNoWriMo novel was published by Warner Books as Maybe Baby in 2005. We had several sales of NaNoWriMo novels in 2004 and 2005. Sarah Gruen's Flying Changes began as a NaNoWriMo novel. Rebecca Agiewich sold her 2003 NaNoWriMo book, Breakup Babe to Ballantine in 2004; it'll be hitting stores in May of 2006. Dave Wilson sold his 2004 NaNoWriMo Manuscript, The Mote in Andrea's Eye, to Five Star/Gale; it'll come out in June 2006. In fall of 2005, Gayle Brandeis sold her 2004 NaNoWriMo manuscript, Self Storage, to Ballantine in a two-book deal. Around the same time, Kimberly Llewellyn found a home for her 2004 NaNoWriMo manuscript, Cashmere Boulevard, at Berkley Books. It's due out in summer 2007. Francesca Segre sold her 2003 NaNo manuscript Daughter of the Bride to Berkley Books; it came out in March, 2006. Also out this year, Jenna Bayley-Burke's NaNoWriMo novel Just One Spark came out with Mills and Boon in May. Lisa Daily started her soon to be published novel, during NaNoWriMo 2005. The Dreamgirl Academy is due out in the spring of 2008 under Plume/Penguin Putnam.

What the heck?

What's up with the layout? Suddenly Blogger is putting the posts waaayyyy down on the screen.
Scroll down for the most recent post about Lily Dache.

Millinery: Girlie girls wear Lily D.

My mom sent me a news article from her local antique guide into the mail the other day. The article was about the rise in vintage clothing's popularity amongst "girlie-girls"

In the body of the article the author talked about how adding a hat to any outfit instantly made you feel more feminine.

Preach it sister!

She noted that Lily Dache's 1960 era colorful straws (pictured) were just perfect for topping a jeans outfit.

I think a Lily Dache hat is a perfect for topping just about any outfit, outside of a wedding dress.

What surprised me was that the author, writing from Southern California, priced the Dachettes labeled hats at approximately $135.

I'm very fond of Lily Dache designs, but I think I have passed on a few Dachettes labels along the way...too 1960's, too close to my own era.

Too "bubble head" for my taste.

I think I was a bubble head in this case. The Dachettes I passed on were going for like, $15?

If I had bought them, and took them out to SoCal, I'll could have had a nine fold return on my investment.

Oh well. Lala la la la lalala...I'm just not going to worry my pretty little head about that.

(But, if in the future you see a Dachettes up for auction on ebay, don't you DARE out bid me!)

PS: I thought the 1950's raspberry number sounded far more interesting, even if its picture was too murky to copy well. I would have bought it in a minute. And I don't even look good in raspberry!

Too much of a good thing, and maybe in need of a possum.

Persimmons: Sent by my in-laws from San Diego for my express enjoyment.



I love persimmons, as does my Dad.

I haven't found
anyone else with such hard wired enthusiasm.

The in-law are so-so about them. Bernie, their son, shares their level of appreciation.

The persimmon tree was a volunteer, apparently, in their garden. They didn't choose it, it chose them. And since it makes for a pretty tree, with nice color change in the autumn (there isn't much color change in San Diego...) and has beautiful colored fruit, they decided to just let it stay. It's been in the yard for as long as I have known them, some 32 years now.

Most folk are appalled at persimmons. "Bitter!" they exclaim. I explain that the persimmon is only ripe, and very very sweet, when the interior of the fruit is about the consistency of pudding, or honey.

Those who appreciate the unique flavor, (which I can not describe, although I have tried) like persimmons very much. Others who are texture sensitive can't get past the fluidity of the fruit.
"Slimey!" they frown.

Oh well. More for me!

The ones in the supermarket are usually expensive and obviously not ripe. There is also a hard version of persimmon, a Fuyu. It is a flat shape, where as the "let them get soft" style is kind of an upside down tear shape.

I love fuyus too. They're crunchy, and taste a bit like honeyed pear.

Right now I have 36 persimmons on my counter that are fully ripe. The ones in the picture on the right side, the darker colored ones are the ripe ones.

About twice that many are still hard.

I do wish I had a fruit drier. Or that I would get up the energy and get going making a persimmon cake.

But I would just wind up eating the treat all by myself.

What I really need is a persimmon eating friend. I don't think I could warm up to snacking with a possum, even if they do grin nicely while dining on persimmons.

Or so the saying goes:

"Grinning like a possum eating persimmons".

I'll try freezing some. Maybe I'll try making that cake, cupcake style, and allocating my self one cupcake per day.

Or maybe I'll just enjoy the persimmons now, as much as possible.

Persimmons are very low in calories. If I lose a sizable amount of weight, I'll write an article for a ladies magazine. Something like:

"I lost 30 lbs on the Grinning Possum Persimmon Diet"

I don't think it will happen though.

Ever see a skinny possum?

I didn't think so.

Veteran's Day: Thank you.

November 11th has triple meaning for me.

First, of course, it is Veteran's Day. A twenty four hour pause in which we as a nation attempt to honor our veterans, a period of time in which each year we once again remember how much honor is truly due to our veterans.

My Dad is in a parade today out in San Diego, as a Veteran of the Year.
He deserves it, not so much for his WWII service in the Navy (not to discount that by any measure) but rather for all the work he has done to champion the Mt. Soledad Veterans Memorial. It is an breath-taking Memorial, and little known outside of San Diego, even though it is the largest War Memorial west of the Mississippi, and unique in that it honors veteran who served in times of conflict while they may still be alive.

The MSVM began as a tribute to the veterans of the Korean War. A simple red wood cross was erected on Mt. Soledad, in the early 1950's. The cross went through several versions, and at last was placed as concrete links. About a half century went by, and the "top of Mt. Soledad" was a favorite place to visit for a 360 degree view of San Diego.

Then, one day an atheist (who just died a couple of weeks ago...) decided that the sight of a cross on a hill offended him. He pointed out that city funds were used to light the cross and keep it painted. Separation of church and state and all. I'm still not sure exactly what kind of "religion" this cross structure was supposed to inspire. It was just a marker to remind people of the fallen in the Korean War.

But be that as it may...a long story began, with the sale of the ground beneath the cross to the American Legion Post which originally erected the memorial. The atheist wasn't happy with that either, and went to court over it. The case ran all over the 9th circuit, and up to the Supreme Court, and back down to a local judge. Crazy. A few month's ago the cross had to come down, per a local judge's orders. The Supreme court took up the case, and said nothing. The Memorial was declared a Federal monument. All very confusing.

My Dad has been active part of the Mt. Soledad Memorial Association, and the American Legion post that "owns" the cross (somebody owes them some money if the US government owns it now), and he also designed many of the plaques gracing the walls around the cross.

If you by chance have a US Veteran in your family, who served during wartime, you can have a plaque made and place on the Memorial in his or her honor. Space on the walls truly is limited, and the spaces are going to run out soon.

Honoring your veteran while he/she is alive to enjoy...now that is an amazing way to honor a veteran.

I mentioned that Veteran's Day had three meanings to me. The second meaning is the birthday day of my maternal grandfather, Matthew Stein. He was born Nov.11, 1894, in Salt Lake City, Utah. His family traveled from Germany, coming to Utah, and returning to Germany again, and then returning to Utah permanently.

Grandpa was a Veteran of WWI, along with his brother. He served in France, fared well, and carved the name of each town he went through upon his pipe. The pipe resides in my parent's home, a family treasure. I'll try and get a picture of it next visit.

The third meaning is that Nov. 11th 1975 was the autumn day day my Grandpa celebrated his 81st birthday, seeing family from far and wide while at the Veteran's Hospital awaiting a series of yearly tests. He felt fine, and the tests were part of a routine physical. It was deemed easier at the time to just have veterans spend the night in order to run all the test over roughly a 24 hour interval.

Actually, it was a great way to celebrate a birthday, seeing everyone who dropped by the hospital, and fighting WWI all over again with other veterans checked in overnight for their own routine tests.

I was away at college but had written a letter telling him how much I loved him. I'm not sure, but the card probably had chrysanthemums on it. Those are November's birth flower, and we always had them in the garden blooming just in time to make a center piece for his birthday dinner each year.

After everyone who had come to see him left, and the dough boys had finished their stories, the lights were turned out for the night, and that night, Grandpa quietly died in his sleep.

It doesn't get much better than that. Not for a veteran who was born on Veteran's Day, and died in a Veteran's Hospital, on Veteran's Day. Totally at peace.

Millinery: Desperately Seeking Vera Whistler

Whistle bait? On me, not so much.

On a cute 20 something, in lean jeans, sassy heels and a tight tank top...probably.

Grandmama Fay would have been scandalized. It was her hat, back probably in the wild 1960's, probably her attempt to be groovy. The hat's designer Vera Whistler was known for being up with the times, during the times that were "a'changing".

It is hard for me to picture The Southern Baptist Belle of Memphis wearing a rebellious style. I never personally saw her in this hat. She probably wore it with a suit, that had just those colors.

She had a pair of kid gloves in that shade of turquoise. I know that for a fact, because those glove are now in my possession. Probably the hat and gloves went together, perfect accent assessories for church, or a Ladies' Luncheon.

Check the ombry dyed ribbons woven into a foundation mesh, that when peeked at by separating the ribbons, appears to be crocheted.

A sophisticated use of tie-dye?

The faceted beads scattered over the hat are plastic, and the three larger green leaf beads are glass. Wonder why plastic was used?
Kind of tacky...

The hat pattern is a simple circle crown, with a slight dart to give the crown some height. The side band is wider in the front, narrowing in the back, and pleated with a single catch stitch, once on both sides, at about 4 and 7 o'clock, if 6 o'clock was the back of the head.
Whistler used a structural devise to hold the front of the hat up a bit. Otherwise the weight of the hat would have collapsed the design into a pancake layers.
The hat is heavier than I usually care to wear, and is just a bit too small on me to comfortably pull down low on the brow.

I think it would be a perfect hat to wear on an autumn day, with a long belted cardigan sweater and maybe even cord jeans.

I've been trying to research Vera Whistler. There isn't much out there about her that I have found. Her hats show up on ebay from time to time, not often, and not demanding much price-wise as a designer either.

Anyone out there know about Vera Whistler?

Does anyone know whatever happened to Vera Whistler?

PS to daughter LauraRN: This hat would fit you...interested????

Up to no good....

Frankly, I think they look like a couple of tough customers, hoodlums, up to no good.

Oh sure, loaf around great grandmother's tea cart, "Hey, we're just sunnin' ourselves, what's your problem lady?"
"That crinkly cat toy bug back there? Pfff...don't know nuttin' about it. I had nothing to do with it".
"Aw geez, wimmen stuff. Could you just let me in, already?"

(After all of this posing, they ran out of steam and retreated to Bernie's office, where they snored the day away. No work ethic with those two. Good thing Bernie's hard at it, bringing home the kibbles, er, I mean bacon for the boys. It's good to be a cat!)

Vintage Lingerie pt. 2

Hand stitched silk lounging pajamas, probably from the 1920's.
The hand embroidered lace applique is so early '20 in design. Perhaps it is just '20s inspired. Hard to tell.

The design really shows nicely when back lit.

The garment's true color is the pale peachy pink in the last shot. The silk fabric has a brocaide floral sprig design woven into the fabric itself.
This shot shows the fine mesh upon which the design was worked. Real life size, the mesh is between tulle and nylon net. But this mesh is silk.
Don't you just love the cute little heart shaped hankie pocket?

And notice that the lace applique design is repeated on the outside edge of the pant leg hem (against the wall).
The true colors. See the brocade pattern in the pants fabric?


I just love shopping on ebay!

Autumn views, windows and roses

I wait all year for the autumn view from my living room. The four Japanese maples put on a vibrant show, each day raising the color intensity, right up to about a week before Christmas.

Autumn arrives late here along the Gulf coast.

I have one housekeeping expectation for autumn: Clean clear windows to enjoy my private woodlands view. The sunlight streaming through the richly colored leaves in the morning comes close to cathedral stain glass richness to my soul.

Sadly, the same sunlight bounces off any substance clinging to the window panes, creating white window fog that ruins my view.

I just hate that.

So I (or Bernie, depending on how much time and how domestically motivate I can cajole him into being...) troop off the hardware store for one of those window cleaning bottled products that you attach to your garden hose. I have learned that it is the best way to clear off the dirt from the windows.

The windows are sprayed with clear water, then soapy water, then again with another round of soften water, guaranteed not to leave spots. There never are any spots after that. Just general fog.

The next step is for me to hand wash the windows. They have a film on them to block some of the sun glare. So I have to use very soft paper towels, squeegees, and tea towels.

I use the "vertical wipe on one side and horizontal wipe on the other", so I can tell where the streaks are.

Have I tried every product out there to clean windows yet?
Yes I have.
One year I even used window wax.

Always, always, streaks.

I use bone dry toweling. I have used newspaper. I have used paper toweling designed for window washing. I have tried everything that any household hinter or old wife or professional window cleaner has to offer. I professionally research the possibilities. It just can't be done streak free.

Wait. I take that back.
When we had the house power washed, they professionally washed the windows, and the window looked 95% great. The inside, still a little work to do.
While I was at son Jeff's new home I noticed his windows were as transparent as a bar of paraffin. I used two different types of window cleaners there, and got them up to "smeared with Vaseline" level clean. Cleaning just one sliding glass door and one above the kitchen sink window I went through a half a roll of paper towels. When I gave up, the view outside was still seen through streaks.

Maybe I will price professional window cleaners again. By the time I buy all the window cleaning products, I'll bet I'll come in at just a few measly dollars cost difference between the DIY (do it yourself) and professional done version.

The cats don't help either. The lowest pane in the inside window and door pane always has little bean shaped prints. The cats walk up to the window, go to get a better look, and bam, the nose bumps into the glass, leaving a little bean shaped nose print evidence of their stupidity. Each and every time.

They look like smart cats.
Like they would have learned that there is a window there.
But no.

Bam.

Bumped the glass again.

They can sniff the roses without touching them though.

They always take the time to smell the roses. They have the time. They don't have worry about washing the windows!

Houston Hat Net: November Sip 'n See

We rock!

Our gathering was graced with the presence of artist Bonnie Bell, of Women who Rock.

Hostess Sue invited Bonnie to attend and offer to paint our likeness upon rocks for the reasonable sum of $10.

Such a bargain! So much fun!

The food was autumnal delicious, including a berried roast, and pumpkin nut brie.

(Back to the diet today!)

Sue had just recently had her house remodeled and we were given the grand tour through the house, and through the 2,000 resident hippos as well.
After nosh, we did our traditional "Sip 'n See" activities, which amounts to bringing hats to share, swap or sell.

Sue had suggested we also bring a special item to share, an accessory that held a happy memory or made you feel special.

Sue (in green) shared her mother's amazing engagement ring, an enormous pear shaped diamond in a soaring modern setting. "Mom" was an extrovert, just like Sue, and didn't have an engagement ring until many years into her marriage. The fabulous ring more than made up for the delay.
Gayle in brown shared the vintage 1910 dressing gown that she was wearing that she had acquired on her first visit to Victorian Elegance.

Would you believe this purse is made from buttons sewn together?

Suzanne had a tale about a fabulous enamel and rhinestone Disney character necklace that her husband purchased on the sly one year when they were in New York. A very romantic escapade, and believe me, the necklace would knock your eyes out. Fabulous!

Marie had brought her mother's agate long knotted necklace. Unique, and so lovely to touch.

A bikini was shared...the one purchased on a first trip, and still held onto for memory sake, although rarely worn anymore.

Maureen was wearing a black hat she bought on a memorable shopping trip at a Sakowitz.

I shared the gold bracelet that had belonged to my great grandmother. I loved how its impressed flower design felt as I rubbed them as a child. I still do!

A few other memories were shared, and we planned out our events for next year.

The Houston Hat Net rocks on!

Hurray for Hippos!

Our Houston Hat Net met in the home of Sue, who is the most upbeat person you could ever want to know, and who is a member of many unique organizations, the most unique of which is probably "Hippo Collectors of the World".

That may not be the exact title of the organization, but Sue has the third largest collection of hippos in America of record.

Two thousand hippos, according to her. I wonder if that is an exact count. I'll bet there are a few more who had lumbered off during hippo roll call.

How much does Sue love hippos? Her car, a RAV has been "art car'd" fiberglassed to become a hippo on wheels.
Sue entertained us with the pictures from the seventh annual hippo collector convention recently held in Long Island.




Around 80 folks hat attended that convention, some flying in from around the globe.

I was *astonished* to see a picture of a set of fine china that one member had commissioned. The member had paid for someone to go to all the zoos in the world, and photograph the various resident hippos.

Those photos then were used to create the design on an elegant set of china. Serving pieces, plates, cups the whole kit and caboodle. Awesome.

Clearly the member, the Long Island resident who hosted the Convention had "discretionary income" of proportions that most of us only dream of. And frankly, even in our dreams, could not come up with such unique ways to divest such riches.

The blue gowned ice skating hippo in the first picture served as our potluck center piece at Sue's. The ice skates reminded Sue of her mother.

The second picture is of a glass sculpture hippo that came in from LoDo Denver CO.
I always think of hippos when I think of Denver, don't you?

I loved the garden hippos. The sunken hippo head burrowed in the leaves is amazing.
The powder room sink. The lily pad floating above the hippo is the spigot, and water twirls out in a waterfall.





I'm not sure what Sue wants for Christmas this year. Being Jewish, she already has a Hanukkah hippo menorah. She's all about celebration.

I'll bet that all she wants for Christmas is a hippopotamus.
At her house, I'm sure there is always room for one more.

At last we meet....

Around fifteen years ago or so my mom thought it would be wonderful if I would start tracing my husband's family genealogy. She herself had been working on my Dad's side of the family, as our somewhat historically significant family had some gaps to fill in along the way to make the lineage complete.

It used to be really hard to fill in gaps. It involved looking through films of censuses, hoping that a family was where you thought they were at a given year. The writing was often blurry, and the rolling of the film in the semi dark was hard on both the eyes used to see and the shoulder used to crank the film.

I asked my mother-in-law about my husband's father's family. My mil is LDS, but apparently not in the least motivated to get involved in researching her husband's family herself. She did hand over what she had, which was the fact that my husband's paternal great grandfather had been born in Clay Co, IL. in 1859, and was named James F.

No one knew what the "F" stood for.

Happily for me, that meant that he was therefore going to show up in the 1860 census. Just one family with our last name was listed in Clay Co. that year, and indeed, thay had a one year old son name James F.

James had several siblings listed, and his father was named "James Joseph ------" (our last name). I quickly reduced his name to JJ, to make it simple. JJ was noted as being born in So. Carolina, in 1818. I was off and running on the family tree now, and before the research weekend was over I had the family pretty well figured out, all the way back to 1630. The family was in Maryland by the 1660's, leaving England as King's Men, racing to avoid the perils of Oliver Cromwell's upheaval.

Our son Jeffrey was the twelfth generation of the family name in America.

JJ was the seventh generation.

JJ lived in Clay county for almost eighty years. He lost both his parents by the time he was ten, and was raised by his mother's brothers. He had three wives, burying two by the time he was fifty five. There were thirteen children altogether, nine of which survived childhood.

Knowing that photography took off during the Civil War, and that photographers roamed the country in the 1880 taking pictures of just about everyone, I was positive that there had to be a picture of JJ out there somewhere. Somebody had to have some picture...but the family members that I knew about really didn't even know about JJ at all, much less have a picture of him.

Years passed, and the Internet miraculously appeared on the scene. Soon I was on data bases and website dedicated to genealogy. One day I saw a posting of James F. brother's name, Ulyssus S. Grant ----- (remember Clay Co. was just down the road from General US Grant's home, and baby USG was born smack dab in the middle of the Civil War).

USG--- great granddaughter was thrilled to learn about JJ. All news to her.

A few years went by. Then up popped an entry on Ancestry.com about JJ. I emailed Paul----, who had posted the message. JJ's great great grandson Paul replied, on Bernie's 53 birthday no less! Paul ---- replied that he was the grandson of JJ's youngest son John, who had been born in 1876.

Paul also shared that he had inheritied his grandfather's documents, including JJ's Bible. JJ received the Bible in 1832, and faithfully recorded the family history as it happened within its pages.

I was delighted. Paul lives in Santa Cruz, which was just over the hill from where we once lived seven years ago. Ships that pass in the night.

I replied to Paul that I was interested in all that he had to share. I told him how excited I was to learn about the family Bible, and how amazing it was to get his message on Bernie's birthday.

And that I had long hoped that someone out there had a picture of JJ.

That evening the following subject line appeared in my email:

HAPPY 53RD BIRTHDAY FROM OUR GREAT GRANDFATHER...

And below in the body of the email, was the picture above. At last, a picture of James Joseph -----, arriving for us to see, 99 1/2 years after his death.

Update: JJ was approximately 50 something at the time of the photo, as it is a tintype, which was came into general use during the Civil War. Paul commented he and his male family members all bore a striking resemblance to JJ.
Bernie's brother is a dead ringer for JJ on the left side.

Paul said he has additional photographs of other family members of that era.
He has barely begun to go through all that he has inherited.

I can't imagine how he has not!

Kilts!

COLD weather!

Notice the Japanese maple is coloring up nicely. A perfect backdrop for the perfect crisp fall weather attire, the kilt.

Last night I wore my *new* James Pringle kilt to work.
I picked up two weeks ago on ebay from the UK for a mere $30 USD. It's the purple and grey kilt between the sage green kilt, and the gray and peach kilt.

It is so nice, so soft, and long too. It hits mid calf.

I have ten kilts. Two I got in London in 1984. The peach and gray on the far left and the bright green and navy on the far right. Those don't really fit just now (I'm still working on it though...down 9 1/2 lbs.)

My mom got the Lindsey plaid kilt on the same London trip. It is the maroon red and navy and forest green kilt that is sort of center in the shot. It has a matching triangular shawl, and I wore that with a white long sleeved blouse to the Kirkin' in SLC last weekend.

The Royal Stewart bright red kilt and the navy/forest kilt(peeking out behind the light blue and brown kilt at the bottom) I got on a trip to Scotland with my daughter and mother-in-law a year and a half ago. We had SO much fun, even with snow falling and freezing weather. Those two kilts are my "Humidity Sanity" kilts, as they are a poly rayon, and are cool enough to wear in summer with a sleeveless tee shirt. The deep navy and small red plaid is a long calf length rayon poly too. I wear it a lot when it is fall/winter and still blooming hot. It lets me "pretend" to have fall preppy wear.

Weird, I know, but I just have always like kilts in the fall. I like that they make my tummy look flat, and the pleats make moving around easy.

I had a red Royal Stewart kilt in elementary school. I loved wearing that kilt. We didn't have a school uniform, as we were a public school. I feel sorry for those who had to wear the private school plaid and can no longer stomach plaids and pleats.

I also had a McMillian plaid kilt dress in high school. There were like maybe four days when it was cool enought to wear it.

Kilt days were rare in balmy in southern California. My friend Michelle McIntire splurged on a midi kilt while we were in high school. Ordering a custom long kilt costs a staggering amount, but hey, if you are of a clan, why not? I think she got to wear it one time that I can remember.

I sewed a poly rayon kilt in high school home economics. Navy and green, it never fit the way I wanted it too.

One kilt, in the far back left (your left) is made from a black and cream suit fabric, not a plaid that is noticeable, but it still has the buckle and pleats going for it. It is from Marks and Spenser. Nice, and lined too.

That kilt and the rest of the kilts I got off ebay. There are usually a lot to choose from, as people pick them up on a trip, and then decide they really don't care for kilts, or gain too much weight to wear them. Waist size 26-28 is a really common size that is up for grabs.

The UK ebay has a lot of kilts for sale. Most of mine are from the UK. Someday though, I'm going to have a kilt custom made for me. I know what shop in Scotland I want to do the work, and the reason I want one custom made is because I am tall, and I want one that is floor length. Now that is my idea of winter at home wear. Sitting in front of the fire, with a cup of tea, and a slice of fruitcake (I'm getting a fruit cake again, right Dad?) is my idea of a perfect way to spend a winter evening.

But right now, I'm just happy to be wearing a kilt, and a cotton sweater, and plan on getting another 5,000 words done on my story.

Here's a funny short story: Last night at reference desk a young woman came up to my co-librarian who is a woman about my age. The young woman asked some question, which was answered, and then out of the blue asked my co-librarian "How long have you been married?"

That question had absolutely nothing to do with the prior reference question. The answer was "Ten years". The young woman said something like "Oh, that's nice" and wandered off.

She should of asked me. I've been married almost thirty years, and my parents have been married sixty years. At that rate, so, whadda ya want to know?

I wonder what prompted that question. Good reference work always includes asking questions before giving an answers to clarify what kind of information the person is seeking.

Now we'll never know what that was all about. Ah yes, yet another mystery in the library.

The best mysteries are not always on the shelves.

Millinery: Collection organization

Two weekends ago I was involved in organizing the millinery collection at Houston Community College. Boxes and boxes (dusty boxes....) were dragged out of storage, opened and each hat brushed clean using a soft brush.

Then we re-wrapped the hats in acid free paper and placed them back into the boxes, with notes.
I liked this velvet number, which I think is a 1920's design. There was not complete agreement amongst us about that dating, but I have a book on millinery from the late 1920 that included that design. The brim is a long oval shape, shorter in front and back and longer from side to side. That happens to be a favorite style of mine.
This luscious black number had us all speculating. It could be rather recent, say 1960s, or as old 1880's. It had layers and layers of silk and velvet flowers and fruit and whatnot.










Most of the hats were rather pedestrian, and a number of them sported labels stating "Mary of River Oaks". River Oaks being the exclusive area of Houston.

It was an interesting way to spend the morning. I'm totally available for this kind of activity for any major museum quality collection. Spread the word!

In my dreams this would happen. You just never know. Dreams sometimes do come true.













PS: A special Happy Birthday to my favorite vintage design, who I hope will enjoy opening some boxes himself when we celebrate his 53 year mark later. He's a one of a kind design, and I'm glad I "collected" him early on.

NaNoWriMo

I'm in.

I've got 3,109 words down, and I need to write 50,000 (about the same number of words in Of Mice and Men) by Nov. 30.

The idea is to "Just do it!" Don't worry about writing the perfect novel, or even a good one. Just keep writing until you hit 50,000 words (the computer keeps track in Word.)

Google "National Novel Writing Month" (aka NaNoWriMo) and you will see about 400,000 hits. People all over the globe, of all ages jump into the contest. There is a guide book, entitled "No Plot, No Problem" which I read in June.

What the heck. I hear it is a hoot, an emotional roller coaster, inspirational and self revealing, and free to boot. I'm not even curious what the prize might be. If I get to 50,000 words, that might just be prize enough.

I am writing in the "No plot, no problem" fashion. I sat down at 5 last night, and hammered out the following, taking breaks to watch a little Home and Garden Television, make a salad and popcorn, and wander around a little.

I have no idea where this is going. But so far, I like it.

So without further ado, here's

(working title: A Tulle Fog Christmas)
(I have no idea why the tabs are missing from the beginning of each paragraphy. I've copied this from a Word document, and I guess blogger and Word don't mingle well. Please remember this is a rough copy. The inner editor is "caged" during this process so you don't get bogged down in fixing details. Cleaning the "baby" up via copy editing and proof reading happens after the baby novel is born)


Carrie was lost. The gray fog had descended without any warning, one moment the road ahead was a black ribbon of endless asphalt stitched with white, and the next moment, there was nothing to see at all except mist glowing in the headlights.

Drat. She knew she should have left in the morning. Instead, she had raced about, trying to tie up loose ends, watering plants, mailing bills, clearing out the refrigerator. The early morning departure time had morphed into a high noon pull away. And now this. She would never make it in time now.

Worse, she had known better. The tulle fog of the central California valley was a constant threat to travelers in December. The weather reports always included warnings, and the morning paper too often listed the fatal crashes that had ensued when the warning were ignored.

She would pull off, and wait it out, if she could just see an exit. Any exit. Her hands gripped the steering wheel and she leaned forward, her breath becoming choppy. She struggled with the desire to slow, and to stop; yet knowing that to do so could result in being rammed from behind by other cars also caught suddenly in the mist

Slowing nevertheless, and tapping her brakes in hope that the red tail light flash would penetrate the fog enough to warn other drivers, she racked her brain, trying to recall the last turn off sign that she had seen. She really hadn’t been paying attention. After all, she had settled in for a ten-hour drive, for the most part a long straight shot on the highway. Four hours into it she had barely made a dent in the stack of CDs she had brought along. There was little to listen to on the radio in this part of the state. She had learned that the hard way, the first time she made the drive late last summer.

Cell coverage was iffy too. She wasn’t going to reach for the phone while flying blind, as it were. No one was expecting her until evening anyway. She had called just as she left, and told them she would be coming in late, and would meet them at church, for the midnight Christmas Eve service.

She really didn’t care about going to the service. If anything, she was slightly glad to be missing it. Lately, missing church had become a regular thing. Sleeping in on Sunday had been surprisingly easy habit to acquire after years of dutiful church attendance.

The fog smothered her view. Cautiously creeping along at 20 miles per hour, she could barely see half of each lane marker line. Only a few feet of the road edge line could be made out, wavering along like a lifeline. If she could just keep her car between the lane marker and the edge marker…and if the edge marker had a bend, she would follow it off the freeway and hopeful, on to somewhere where she could stop the car and wait for the fog to lift.

Squinting, she made out four red glows ahead of her. Tail lights. Two up high, two bigger ones below. A truck? The fog made everything appear one dimensional, and she couldn’t tell how far she was from the next vehicle. The lights seemed to hover in the air, unattached to anything, and remained constant in size. That was a good thing. If she paced herself to those lights, at least she could maintain a distance, and avoid a rear ender. At least if that vehicle would be able do the same with any vehicle ahead of it. Twenty, thirty, forty-car pile-ups were not unheard of in tulle fog this time of year. All it would take is one collision, and every car caught in the fog would be in jeopardy.

The Manheim Streamroller CD went silent. Carrie had been unaware of the music, as every sense had been straining to make sense of the situation, and to keep her safe. The silence was eerie now, as if the fog had muffled her ears as well as blinding her eyes. She could hear herself breath.

Fumbling for a tissue from the box on the floor, she wiped the window. Surely some of this grayness was from the inside. The tissue rubbed against the windshield glass, and made a slight difference. Quickly she lowered her window, and clicked on the defroster. The clammy chill slapped the side of her cheek as the defroster’s roar worked to clear a small patch on the windshield.

How much longer? Sometimes these tulle fogs descended in late afternoon, and lasted through much of the night, burning off only with the rising heat of the dawn. How long had it been so far? Surely only a few minutes…or was it an hour? She hadn’t noticed. She glanced at the dash clock, and scanned instrument panel as well.

Fuel. Oh no. If she didn’t find an exit soon, she would be on empty. The gauge showed less than a quarter tank now. To be on empty, in fog, she’d be a sitting duck. Not an accident not waiting to happen, but rather an accident sure to happen.
She shivered. Her sweater was in the back seat, and out of reach. The damp coldness was beginning to make her hands feel stiff, and her jaw was aching. She realized her jaw was clenched as well as her hands.

Relax, relax, it will be OK. Carrie rolled her shoulder, stretched her jaw wide. Suddenly, clack clap clack sounds from the tires filled her ears. Odd she could hear them now.
No…this was a new sound. She could feel a rough jiggle with each sound. She was riding over the lane bumps, had drifted slightly with her motions. She corrected over to the right. Better. Now there was the safe smooth swoosh tire sound again.

Ahead, the red glows seemed smaller. Should she speed up, catch up, and trust for safety in numbers, or keep the space between them wide. Not sure. Why wasn’t there more information about this, about driving in fog? Other than knowing not to turn on high beams, and reducing speed, no other tactic came to mind.

Truck. If the red glow patterns were indeed a truck, then maybe the truck driver, being higher up would see more than she. Maybe know where a turn off would be.
She speed up slightly, and hoped.

Chapter 2

Caleb hated fog. At least he did when he had to drive in it. Which, tonight, was exactly the case. Growing up in the San Francisco Bay area, he was intimately familiar with fog and all of its moods. Fog rolling in through the Golden Gate Bridge was the dramatic signature of the bay. Reading a mystery in front of a crackling fire in a house encased in fog was superb. Jogging through the morning fog was soul centering. And romance always bloomed while walking through the garden as a fog lifted, leaving behind a glittering of dew on the blossoms.

Caleb knew fog at its loveliness. He also knew fog at its worst. The fogs that shut down airports, the fogs that cause ships to be lost at sea, or worse, the fog that caused ships to crash against rocks. Tonight was another kind of fog at its worst: a fog that could blind the travelers on their way home for the holidays. This was a fog that could turn a season of joy into a season of mourning, and pain, in an instant.

The red tail light glows ahead of him had wavered slightly a moment ago. Caleb’s mind registered rapid explanations:
Drunk driver.
Tired driver.
Distracted driver.
None of those possibilities were good. At the next exit he was getting off the road. He didn’t care if it meant waiting in a parking lot until the fog dissipated. He wouldn’t mind a nap. He could sleep anywhere, anyway. He could get where he was going at his own rate. There was no reason to risk a wreck by hurrying on tonight. No reason at all.

Chapter 3

Opal was fit to be tied. One moment she was sailing along in her 1967 Chrysler Impala, with six different pies in boxes on the back seat, and her cockatoo Henry safely in his bird car seat next to her. The next minute they were slowed to a crawl, heading into a tunnel of light swirling in the tulle fog before them.

They had been whistling Christmas carols together, and making really good time. Opal hated to be late to family gathering. She liked to arrive early, early enough to help out with the final touches that no one else ever thought to take care of. She enjoyed taking care of those little details, like ironing the tablecloth, and arranging the serving table with all the right utensils. Opal had a thing for detail.

Usually the family, her son, daughter-in-law, their three children and two dogs, and her brother and his wife, and whichever of their children were around all came to her house for Christmas. They all worked, except the children, of course, and they appreciated someone else taking the time to do all the fuss that went into making a home at Christmas special.

This year one of the grandchildren, Robbie, had a broken leg, and it was decided that a three-hour car ride was out of the question. It was probably just as well. Since Opal’s husband Rob Senior had passed away earlier in the year, it would have been a tough Christmas at home without him there with them. It was rough without him all the time, in Opal’s opinion. She tried not to burden the family with her loneliness.

Henry bobbed his head, and raised his yellow crest feathers on his head. He seemed to recognize that Opal was tense, as he stopped his cheery whistle and lapsed into an unintelligible mutter.
“Dadgum fog” Opal exclaimed. For her, this was as colorful language as she would allow herself. She was of the old school of thought, the school that maintained that ladies, (and especially Christian ladies) did not ever use four letter words when upset. “Dad gum” was all right to say, because it had six letters all together.

Once Rob Senior had shinned his knee and spilt hot coffee on himself, all at the same time. It was bad enough that in his pain he let slip a four-letter word, but Henry had been in the room at the time. You can’t wash a bird’s beak out with soap and water. Opal lived in fear that one day Henry would use that word again.

Opal hunched over the steering wheel, while automatically switching on the defroster. She tucked her sweater up closer around her shoulder, and settled in to slow and watchful driving.

Chapter 4

The truck driver knew this area like the palm of his hand. Tulle fog was no picnic, but he knew he could pull off to the right in about 15 more miles. He checked his side mirrors, and was glad to see the low beam glow of the car behind him keeping pace.

Jerry whispered a quick prayer for all the drivers caught in the fog, and reached for his CB to call the Highway patrol. Hopefully they would not be needed tonight, but they always appreciated a heads up on these situations from the “regulars”, as the truckers called themselves.

Usually he just kept driving through the fog. It was a straight shot, and it cleared once the road got some elevation. Christmas eve, the traffic outside the cities was different, with inexperienced travelers taking to the highway in an effort to get home for the holidays. Jerry felt a nudge inside to pull off the highway this time.

Chapter 5

Carrie wasn’t exactly sure what kind of mileage her car would get. When she purchased it last year it had a “city” and “freeway” mileage sticker, something like 23 and 33, but since her job as a ------- took her on both city and freeway routes, she never bothered to figure out what her actual mileage was. She remembered that the most gallons she had ever pumped into the car had been fourteen.

She tried to figure out how many miles she could go before she was on empty. Would she get more or less miles per gallon going 20 miles an hour? Was less than a quarter tank like three, or four gallons? She punched the trip odometer, and at the same moment realized it really didn’t matter. She would run out of gas whenever she did, and knowing when it was going to happen would do nothing to solve the problem.

It was getting colder, and darker. It was after five now. She had been on the road for over five hours, with only one pit stop. Now she was cold, and hungry, and needing another pit stop. How much longer until an exit? Would it be an exit with gas, and food, and, oh please, a rest room?
Another thought slid into her mind. How safe would she be parked in the fog off the main highway?

She shuddered at the idea of parking beside the road in the middle of nowhere. She’d try to get a motel room if she could, but there weren’t always motels available at every stop.
Her mind began a litany: Please don’t let anyone slam into me. Please don’t let me slam into anyone else. Don’t let me run out of gas. Please let this fog life. Please let there be an exit. Please let me SEE the exit. Please let there be a rest room. Please, just let me be safe. Please, let me get home.
She wasn’t aware that she was praying again.

Chapter 6

Caleb reached into the sack on the seat next to him and grabbed a few cold hard French fries left over from his lunch. Munching them down, he didn’t bother to reach for the rest. The car in front of him was holding steady for now. He figured they had about fifteen more miles until the next exit. It would take a little under an hour more to get there, at this rate.

The fog was mesmerizing. The whirls of mist that swam past the windows, the steady hum of the defroster and the soft whoosh of the car melded together to form a surrealistic effect, of a lost soul alone in a lost world. Caleb shook himself and focused again on the red glow ahead. It was easy to mentally visualize the car ahead of him. It was more intriguing to imagine the person in that car, creeping along in the fog.

Caleb had photographed fog, always capturing its artistic aspect, and enhancing it with filters, exposure, angles and lighting. Faces in the fog he captured in melancholy monotones, or altered later with mystical colors created via a program he himself had created. His mind now played over how he would photo capture this experience if he were free from the driving, and how he would create a collage that would deliver the feelings of being enveloped by fog on Christmas Eve.

Chapter 7

Opal believed in guardian angels, and in angels in general too. She knew there was an angel on each corner of her car, and that absolutely nothing bad could happen to her with God in control, those angels on the job, and her Rob watching out for her from above. She didn’t like the fog, because she liked to drive just a little fast. No so fast as to be dangerous, or catch the attention of the highway patrolmen. Just fast enough that she always arrived a few minutes before she thought she would. Driving in fog meant going slower than slow. And even though she wasn’t worried, her shoulders were getting a little tense.

The Christmas pies had come out beautifully this year. The pumpkin pie had a ring of piecrust leaves and slivers of walnuts on top. The cherry pie had a lattice crust, glazed with egg yolk, resulting in a shiny golden brown gleam . Her grandmother’s recipe for Chess pie was a tradition that was handed down through the generations. That pie looked like a sunny face with tiny freckles, with a forked crust edge going out like rays from the center. Rob’s favorite apple pie was deep dish, with buttery crumb topping. The mince was a treat for her own self. The children didn’t like it, but she enjoyed the tangy taste, although she hadn’t liked it as a child either. Her son and brother doted on her pecan pie with a fingertip-ruffled edging.

Dinner was to be a six. Opal sighed. She should call and let them know to start without her. She reached for her phone, neatly all charged up for the trip, and punched in her son’s number.
Her daughter-in-law Rayanne picked up on the third ring. Opal could hear the homey commotion of family in the kitchen and dogs barking in the background. She explained about the fog and told them not to worry, she would be there soon. Just put aside a plate for her, and to be sure to save room for dessert.
Rob Jr. got on the line.
“Mom, get off the freeway as soon as you can. Just wait the fog out. I’ll check the weather maps on line and tell you when the fog has cleared up ahead. Just be careful, OK? And don’t let Henry have any of my pecan pie, you hear? Love you Mom.”

Opal snapped her phone shut and dropped it on the seat. Henry made a reach with his beak for the shiny disk, but Opal was quicker by second nature. Flapping his wings in disapproval, Henry let out an irritable squawk, and whistled a few bars of “Dixie”.

Chapter 8

Jerry planned to be home for Christmas this year. Home being his apartment and church family. He had never married. Being a soldier and then a trucker, he always figured he was better off without a wife or family. He had left home as soon as he was old enough to enlist, had served overseas and retired as a staff sergeant after thirty years of service. He had loved seeing the world, being a soldier, and a little bit wild, and wasn’t too keen on sending down roots just because he was retired. Heck, he was only 48 when he retired, far too young for a rocking chair anyway. He took to long haul driving just fine for the next ten years. After that he did short hauls, just enough to keep life interesting and extra cash coming in. Just enough to keep him busy, and out of trouble.

A few more SLC pictures

From our Red Butte garden walk...

This is an ENORMOUS leaf. See the black dot?

That is my class ring.

"Where are you?" "Chi-ca-go!"

Two boy quail hoofing it after a little female.
She flew off.

I love how their top notch dangles in front of their faces.
The hills are brown above the garden, in a few more weeks (or days...) they will be covered in snow.

There were so many gorgeous picture, I may slip one or two more in along the way as I blog through autumn.

We are supposed to get down to about mid 50's today here in Houston. I sure hope so as I have a lot of house catch up to do, and it is alway easier to do when it is cool.

I'm a little torn, as today is the first day of National Novel Writing Month (NANOWRIMO). Each year there is a challenge to write 50,000 words in one month, quality be damned, just write, and I'd like to give it a shot for fun. But I'm not sure if I can put in the time.

We'll see how it goes.

The last picture from the trip: The Official Bean and Cheese Burrito stop. Houston has a gosh awful thing called Tex-Mex, which doesn't even come close to Mexican food as we knew it in San Diego. SLC has an "Albertos", the generic name of all Mexican hole in the wall restaurants. This one does burritos as good as in San Diego. A bean and cheese burrito, and a Carna Asada burrito, hot carrots and hot sauce: the standing order for all who fly into Houston from either SD or SLC!

Jeff and Erika in matching green, about to enjoy. Aren't they cute?????