Category Archives: Books

Books, Environment, Flowers

This. Is. Not. Normal.

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Last week on Tuesday, this is what the thermometer outside our dining room window read.

To add insult to injury, the Winthrop Weather Station gave us this additional information.

This is Maine. In June. Back in the day, June was so cool and rainy that sometimes my father had to replant the green beans because they rotted in the soil. Not every year, but enough so that I remember him complaining about it.

Fortunately, during the extreme heat, we had our new heat pumps, and they worked like champs. They were installed at exactly the right time, and we are so very grateful to have them. They kept us cool and comfortable for the two days the extreme heat came to Maine.

Aside from the alarmingly high heat, the sad thing is the denial that I saw on Facebook. When the local meteorologists posted the heat warnings and noted that these were record-breaking temps, all too many people protested. There was “I remember it getting this hot when I was young.” Oh, really, I thought, did you live in Maine? Or, “It’s summer, deal with it.” As though the extreme heat were a trifling matter, and only wimps complained about it when in fact , according to NOAA, extreme heat kills more people than any other weather event.

Who are the people writing such things? Bots? Shills for the fossil fuel companies? Folks who just don’t want to face the truth?

How bad does it have to get before there is a general consensus about climate change and the will to do something about it?

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On a happier note…it is peak garden time at our home by the woods.

Here is a view of our backyard from above, taken from the dining room.

A closer look.

And even closer.

Now to the front, for a froth of astilbes.

With such visual delights, the extreme heat can be forgiven. But not forgotten.

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Reading

Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.
–James Baldwin, 1962

During the heatwave I ordered Mike Berners-Lee’s A Climate of Truth, a much-needed look at how denying the truth about climate change has not only held us back but has endangered us as well.

Even though I haven’t finished the book, I can highly recommend it. It is clear, well written, and moves right along. The book has also made me think about what I can do in my own life to reduce my carbon footprint. There is plenty of room for improvement even for this family of green beans.

Art, Books, Winter

Some Thoughts on Shadows

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In Maine, we have moved from deep winter to late winter and will soon be approaching the purgatory that is mid-March. But we still have a few weeks to go until purgatory, and in the meantime winter reigns, that time of shadows on the snow. How I love to see the shadows in our backyard.

The way the slats from the fence register on the snow,

the way the blue shadows stripe the yard,

and the way the dark shadows fill the woods.

Such a beautiful season, and even though staying warm is expensive, I never wish for winter to hurry into spring. Each year, I  welcome winter with a glad heart and am always renewed by this still, cold season that encourages a person to turn inward.

While we don’t want to turn inward indefinitely—we need spring and the exuberant return to life—winter, for me at least, is a necessary time to examine personal shadows and try to come to terms with them.

If this sounds very Jungian, well, it is. Years ago, I blasted through the books of the late, great Canadian writer Robertson Davies, who was a great admirer of Carl Jung, author and psychiatrist, among other things. If I remember correctly, Davies maintained that Jung, with his emphasis on the unconscious, was the patron saint of artists, all of whom, one way or another, dig deep into the unconsciousness to produce art. The deeper the dive, the greater the art. (By art, I mean art in general, which includes literature, dance, music, theater, and, yes, movies.)

Therefore, as I am surrounded by the shadows of winter, I settle in to read and think and write.

Spring will come soon enough.

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Listening

Bob Dylan: “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall

Bob Dylan, a musician who has been much in the news because of the bio pic A Complete Unknown, certainly dug deep to write his songs. “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” beautifully illustrates this.

Books, Thankful Thursday

Thankful Thursday: My Fall Gardens, Backlisted Podcast, Soup by the Fire

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This post is part of a series called Thankful Thursday, where I list some things to feel thankful for. To some extent, focusing on what is wrong appears to come naturally to most people, who often complain, complain, complain when they get together with family and friends. (I’m no exception, that’s for sure.) So focusing on things to feel thankful for seems like good spiritual practice, a way to counterbalance the tendency toward negative thinking.

My  Fall Gardens

There are are no two ways about it—my gardens are definitely past their best. There are very few blooms, and many of the hostas, the backbone of the gardens in my front yard, have turned brown and yellow,

But there are still some things that catch my attention.

The red leaves of the evening primroses in combination with the pink sedum,

the spiky red flowers of persicaria against the Tesla’s charger,

a lone yellow daylily, somehow in bloom in October,

and last, but certainly not least, the Japanese grass that my blogging friend Judy, of NewEnglandGardenAndThread, gave me. Fingers and toes and everything else crossed that it comes up next spring.

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Backlisted Podcast

Along with being keen on movies, I am also keen on books,  particularly novels written by women in the mid-twentieth century when their roles were undergoing a major change.

A while back, I came across the literary podcast Backlisted, hosted by John Mitchinson and Andy Miller. Backlisted, as the tagline suggests, focuses on older books, often from the 1950s and before. However sometimes they venture into the 1970s and 1980s. (It’s a little sobering to think that a book published in the 1980s might qualify as an old book, but there you are.)

Backlisted started in 2015, and the current episode, which features Her First American by Lore Segal is Episode 222.

Readers, this podcast is like catnip to me, and I listen to it whenever I have a chance. Mitchinson and Miller laugh as much as the Car Talk guys did, and this adds a general note of hilarity to this literary podcast. However, despite the abundant good cheer, Mitchinson and Miller have a flinty side that reflects their many years in publishing. They know what good writing is, and they are confident in their opinions.

What’s astonishing about this podcast is the range of books read and discussed. While there is certainly an emphasis on literary fiction, Backlisted also features mysteries, fantasy, science fiction, children’s books, and even the occasional romance.,

Long live Backlisted!

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Soup by the Fire

One of the pleasures of autumn is sitting around a fire as night comes and the crickets sing and a frog croaks nearby. Add soup, tea, and a couple of rolls, and you have a winning combination.

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Thankful Posts and Simple Pleasures from Other Blogging Friends

Quercus from Quercuscommunity marks the retirement of his wife, Julia. This makes them a retired couple. While this might involve more decluttering, I hope it also involves more trips to tearooms.

Alys from Gardening Nirvana celebrates her 29th anniversary with her husband, Mike. Congrats, congrats!

Tootlepedal from Tootlepedal’s Blog not only shares a photo of his sister’s beautiful nerines but also a photo of his wife’s lovely crochet blanket that just happened to win first prize at a local agricultural fair. Congrats, Mrs. Tootlepedal!

Barbara from Thistles and Kiwis describes the World of Wearable Art show, which features “wearable art, dance, live music, aerialists and great staging.” Sounds like quite a show.

Anne from Something Over Tea notes the many simple pleasures that make her happy. Being a huge fan of simple pleasures, I smiled all the way through this past.

Cimple from A Curious Introvert revels in the glories of October, one of the most beautiful months if you live in a northern state. Plus, she included a picture of her adorable dog.

Books, Food, Thankful Thursday

Thankful Thursday: Tomatoes, Chickpeas, and Music

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This post is part of a series called Thankful Thursday, where I list some things to feel thankful for. To some extent, focusing on what is wrong appears to come naturally to most people, who often complain, complain, complain when they get together with family and friends. (I’m no exception, that’s for sure.) So focusing on things to feel thankful for seems like good spiritual practice, a way to counterbalance the tendency toward negative thinking.

Still Life with Tomatoes

In my garden, my four little tomato plants are at the end of their production, and soon I will be pulling them. However, our own Farmer Kev’s tomatoes are still going strong, and this week I got a wonderful selection from our farm-share box. I like the way they look lined up on the kitchen window sill. Also, with this picture you can see how our yard sits on the edge of the woods.

Chickpeas, Chickpeas, Chickpeas

Clif, Dee, and I are huge fans of the the humble chickpea aka garbanzo beans. They are delicious, economical, and good for you. What more can  you ask for? I buy them dried, in 16-oz bags, soak them overnight, and then cook them in the morning.

One of the ways I like them best is mashed up in a food processor with thyme, salt, and pepper. Clif uses two cups of chickpeas, 1 tablespoon of dried thyme and salt and pepper to taste. After which he scoops the mash into a bowl and adds a few tablespoons of mayonnaise. I know this comparison is overused, but the chickpea salad really does taste a little like chicken.

This is a wonderfully versatile salad. For those who like a little zing, onion or garlic could be used. Don’t want the Mediterranean flavor? Add curry. Or smoked paprika. Or whatever pleases you.

I scooped some of the chickpea salad onto one of Farmer Kev’s fresh tomatoes. Wicked good as we say in Maine.

Music

From—where else?—NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts—featuring Jenny and the Mexicats. If they don’t pep you up, nothing will.

Thankful Posts and Simple Pleasures from Other Blogging Friends

Derrick of Derrick J. Knight describes how he and his wife Jackie brought garden refuse to a recycling center, came back with some treasures for their garden, which, in turn, will be recycled when their time has passed.  Yay, Derrick and Jackie!

Kate from The Cozy Burrow shares her October Reading list. I’ve already requested two of them—Moon Tiger and The Ministry of Time—through my library.

Barbara from Thistles and Kiwis celebrates her twentieth wedding anniversary with her husband Karl. Happy, happy and cheers to twenty years!

Dorothy from The New Vintage Kitchen features a mouth-watering pasta dish using autumn’s bounty. I could have some right now.

Ju-Lyn of Touring My Backyard finds beauty and serenity at Round Pond in Kensington Gardens in London.  How lovely to find such a place in a big city.

Cimple from The Curious Introvert praises the world of books and reading. Her own words say it best: “This week I’m grateful for a lifelong love of reading and books. A day doesn’t go by without reading or adding new books to my want to read list.” Hear, hear!

Books, Food

In Which We Rally from a Disappointment, and I Review Margaret Drabble’s The Millstone

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Last weekend, our daughter Shannon, her husband Mike, and their dog Holly were supposed to come to our home for the weekend—they live in the Boston area—to celebrate my birthday (September 15) and Clif’s birthday (September 27). Alas, they were having car troubles and couldn’t come.

Disappointing not to have them join us, that’s for sure. Because Shannon and Mike aren’t sure when their car troubles will be resolved, our eldest daughter Dee, who lives with us, decided to carry on with the birthday celebrations. She treated us to Chinese food at the utterly delightful Wei Li in Auburn.

Oh my, the food was good. I could have some of their delicious lo mein and general tofu right now.

Comfortably full, we headed back home for drinks on the patio in the screen house, cake and ice cream, and presents.

Among other things, Dee bought us solar lights for the backyard. Now that we have passed the autumnal equinox, it is dark by 7:00, and it’s a little tricky making our way to the front steps.

Not only do those solar lights have a magical glow, but they also give us enough light for navigation.

This upcoming weekend is Clif’s actual birthday, and there just might be some more simple pleasures planned. (Simple pleasures are Clif’s and my birthday presents to each other. )

More to look forward to.

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Reading: The Millstone by Margaret Drabble

I have a fondness for mid-twentieth century women writers, especially ones who come from the United Kingdom. When I was in my 30s, I started with Rumer Godden, went on to read Barbara Pym, and have continued on with other terrific writers who, with precision and heart, have chronicled the changing roles of women in the twentieth century. And my goodness, there have been changes, mostly for the best.

To my delight, I have found a blog—JacquiWine’s Journal––that often features reviews of women writers from that period, and I have gotten many recommendations from Jacqui.

One of them was the wonderful novel The Millstone by Margaret Drabble. (The link above is to Jacqui’s review of the book.) Set in in the 1960s, The Millstone centers on Rosamund Stacey, a young woman living in London in her parent’s fashionable apartment in Marylebone. Her parents, do-gooders of the highest order, are in Africa trying to do good, which means that Rosamund has a free place to live as she finishes her thesis, not a bad situation for a young woman in the swinging 60s.

The only problem is that Rosamund is so shy and reticent that she has a hard time swinging. She goes out with a couple of men, but doesn’t have sex with either of them, and they, in turn, think she is having sex with the other man.

But then she meets George, whom she thinks could be gay. (Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t.  In the case of George, Rosamund might not be a reliable narrator.) They make love once and seem to have real affection for each other, but George, as shy and reticent as Rosamund, is no more able to express himself than she is.

From that one encounter, Rosamund becomes pregnant and after considering abortion, illegal at that time, she decides to keep the baby. Being middle class and college educated, Rosamund feels that she can make it on her own, and although she longs for George, she doesn’t tell him about the pregnancy.

As it turns out, Rosamund can make it on her own. She has the baby, a girl she names Octavia, after the social reformer Octavia Hill. As soon as Rosamund sees Octavia, she falls totally in love with her infant daughter. (I remember feeling the same way when I first looked at my babies.) I found this expression of maternal love to be so moving, and Drabble’s writing, understated but warm, never veers into sentimentality.

This slim novel packs in so much: class, the changing mores of the 1960s, the bond between mother and child, a young woman’s journey into adulthood, and the United Kingdom’s National Health Service, still relatively new when the book was written.

Will Rosamund and George ever get together? No spoilers here.  You must read this fine book for yourself to find out.

Books, Fall

Fall Is Tapping on Our Shoulders; Reading Agatha Christie

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On Sunday evening, it was a little too chilly to sit comfortably in the screen house.

“Let’s have a fire,” I suggested.

For Christmas, Dee had bought us a new fire pit, and in early spring we had tested it once on the patio. We wanted to see if the fire pit worked properly—it did—and after that trial run, we set it to one side to be used come fall.

Fall, it seems, has come tapping on our shoulders. Both Clif and Dee agreed that a fire was a good idea, and soon we were having drinks around the fire pit.

I realize this fire looks out of control, but it really didn’t seem that way when we were sitting around it. I am happy to report that the fire stayed in the pit, and the only thing that burned was the wood that fed the fire.

As we chatted and had our drinks, the neighbor’s cat came for a visit.

Fortunately, he left without catching this little chipper.

Above us, the sky was a brilliant blue.

In Maine, September is surely one of the most beautiful months of the year—warm days, cool nights, and usually not too much rain. I probably should have saved this post as an item for Thankful Thursday, but here it is on Monday, a grateful way to begin  a week that supposedly will be filled with blue skies and sunshine.

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Reading

Agatha Christie: The Mirror Crack’d , A Caribbean Mystery, and Nemesis from Five Complete Miss Marple Novels

Confession Time: Until this past month, I had never read an Agatha Christie novel. Seems incredible, I know. I am nearly sixty-seven, and I hadn’t read the grande dame of mysteries.

My excuse? I am not a huge mystery fan. They are not the books I naturally gravitate toward. (That would be literary fiction and fantasy. Not the usual combination, I know, but there it is.)

So what changed my mind? Shane Malcom-Billings, a librarian extraordinaire who work at our town’s library. He has put together an Agatha Christie book club, and I thought, why not? Somehow, it sounded fun. Shane is a wonderful book club leader, and I’m looking forward to his take on Agatha Christie. Our first meeting is this Friday, and it will be one where we discuss Agatha Christie in general. After that, we’ll be reading specific books. I figured I should read a few novels so that I would have something to add at that first meeting.

I found a compendium of five Miss Marple novels—the three I read are listed above—and off I went, staring with The Mirror Crack’d.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I started reading The Mirror Crack’d. Would I like it? Would the writing be full of clichés? Would the story come at the expense of the characters? Here are my answers: Yes, no, and somewhat.

The writing style is solid and is not loaded with hackneyed phrases. Miss Marple is a wonderfully sympathetic character, a woman who is dealing with aging and all that this brings yet who is still sharp enough to solve mysteries. If I were younger, I might not be as drawn to Miss Marple as I am, but as I approach my seventies—my, that sounds old!—I am completely sympathetic with her frailties.

There is also a fair amount of humor in the books, especially when Miss Marple puts on a doddering old-woman act to trick characters into revealing more than they want to.

The other characters, I’m afraid, are more one dimensional. They are there to commit crimes, to be suspected of having committed a crime, or to help Miss Marple. Not much nuance.

Never mind. I like Miss Marple so much that I’m willing to overlook the lack of depth in the other characters.

What will I think of Christie’s other protagonists?

I don’t know. Stay tuned.

 

Books, Food

Thankful Thursday: Mexican Food, Corn, and the Return of Interlibrary Loan

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This post is part of a series called Thankful Thursday, where I list some things to feel thankful for. To some extent, focusing on what is wrong appears to come naturally to most people, who often complain, complain, complain when they get together with family and friends. (I’m no exception, that’s for sure.) So focusing on things to feel thankful for seems like good spiritual practice, a way to counterbalance the tendency toward negative thinking.

Mexican Food

After going to see the movie Sing Sing, which I wrote about on Monday’s post,  Clif, Dee, our friend Joel, and I headed to Buen Apetito for Mexican Food. Along with the tasty food, one of the things I really like about Buen Apetito is how willing they are to let customers split a dish. Not only does this save money, but it also allows better portion control. While some things can be taken home for later, what we like to order doesn’t make for good leftovers.

And what did we order? Buen Apetito’s delicious potato flautases, which are shells stuffed with mashed potatoes and fried until crisp. I suppose day-old potato flautases might be worth reheating, but Clif and I prefer them hot from Buen Apetito’s kitchen.

Over dinner we talked about Sing Sing and other movies we might be interested in. We also talked about politics and did our best to solve the world’s problem. As usual, we fell far short of the mark, but nonetheless, we try.

Corn, Corn, Corn

I know, I know. I’ve listed corn in a previous post, but I just can’t help featuring corn again. Yesterday we received eight ears from our own Farmer Kev, and my oh my they were good. Soon, the corn will be done for the season, but until then, we rejoice in those sweet ears slathered with salt and butter.

The Return of Interlibrary Loan

I’ve saved the best for last. Maine has a terrific interlibrary loan system where participating libraries can freely order requested books they don’t have from other libraries. We have a lovely but small library with both a limited budget, limited space, and thus a limited collection. For someone who is an eclectic reader who, say, particularly likes mid-twentieth century British women writers, interlibrary loan is a godsend. I go online, see if the book is available at other libraries—often it is—and order it. The book is then shipped directly to my library.

But a terrible thing happened at the beginning of summer. The interlibrary loan system, run by the Maine State Library, was temporarily suspended. Most of the routes are run by vans that are hired from a private company. Every few years, the Maine State Library has to get bids for this service, and this year they chose a different service that no doubt charged less. The incumbent company decided to appeal the decision and this shut down the interlibrary loan service until the court made its decision.

Readers, I am not one to complain, but I have to admit it was a dark three months without interlibrary loan. No longer did I have the larger world of books open to me, available with the click of a mouse. My only consolation was that I knew this interruption of service was temporary and that eventually the system would be up and running.

That happy day came on Thursday, and giddy with relief, I promptly ordered seven books not available at our library.

“Greedy,” Dee observed when I told her how many books I had ordered.

Guilty as charged. When it comes to books, I am indeed greedy.

Thankful Posts on Other Blogs

Cimple celebrates the return of fall and cool weather.

Debbie, from Musings by an ND Domer’s Mom, also celebrates cooler weather.

Ju-Lyn, of Touring My Backyard, writes, “With each sunrise, I give thanks for another day of possibilities.”

Barbara, of Thistles and Kiwis, features food, glorious food, some eaten at restaurants, some she cooked herself.

Carol Ann, of Fashioned for Joy, shares a week of delights, ranging from tea and scones at a tea house in Virginia to trips to a museum.

Books, Snow-Gauge Clif

Au Revoir, Snow-Gauge Clif

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The title of this post tells it all. Today, March 11, our yard is officially free of snow, and there is nothing for Snow-Gauge Clif to measure. In the past, we would hope to be snow free by our youngest daughter’s birthday on April 22. Some years we were. Other years, we weren’t.  This year, we are way ahead of April 22.

First, the front yard, with Snow-Gauge Clif,

and a broader view to chronicle our snow-free yard.

To the backyard.

Therefore, unless we get some snow in March—and we could—it is time to say au revoir to Snow-Gauge Clif who was only with us for two weeks this year. What the heck! Can this really be happening in Maine? A snow-free yard in mid-March? It seems that it is.

Onward to yard work, usually an April chore.

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Reading

Crewe Train by Rose Macaulay
Published in 1926

The story of a girl—who doesn’t like to read, doesn’t like art, doesn’t like theater, and is what we Franco-Americans would call lazy—is not a natural fit for me. And so it was with Denham Dobie, the protagonist in Crewe Train. My initial take on Denham was that she was a boring lump of a young woman, and I almost stopped reading the book after the first twenty pages.

But then something unexpected happened—Rose Macaulay’s writing and her sympathy for this unsociable, unambitious character won me over. By the end, I was as worried about Denham as I would be if she were a member of my own family. Well, all right. Maybe I’m overstating the case. Still, I brooded about Denham.

When the book opens, Denham is living in relative freedom with her father, also unsociable, in Andorra, a small country between Spain and France. When Denham’s father dies, Denham’s aunt—her mother’s sister—takes her back to England in the hopes of training her to be a proper young lady. But this is no Pygmalion story, and Denham is no Audrey Hepburn.

Initially, Denham does try to please her fashion-conscious aunt. She  falls in love with and marries a kind but conventional man named Arnold, who likes to mess about in boats and play games with Denham. But Arnold also likes London and books—he works as a publisher—and plays and dinner parties. He likes being around people, and Denham does not. For her small talk is a misery, and she would much rather be  rambling around outside.

Denham and Arnold are an odd, uneasy couple, and I wound up feeling sorry for both of them as they tried to accommodate each other’s opposing tastes.

I won’t reveal the ending except to note that the casual cruelty of Denham’s aunt sets in motion an unhappy chain of events. Crewe Train, while not a tragedy, is a sad book despite its flashes of humor.

One more thing to note: Crewe Train was published in 1926, and in my experience, writers of that time frequently included racist words and descriptions in their books. So it is with Crewe Train. Not the worst I’ve read—that honor goes to the otherwise delightful Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day—but not good all the same.

Nevertheless, Crewe Train is a book worth reading. Denham, for all her flaws, feels like a woman ahead her time, flailing as she tries to live on her own terms, unencumbered by possessions, free to wander the countryside, unconcerned with domestic duties.

All Denham wants is a simple life, not so easy for women of her class and generation in the 1920s.

 

Books, Celebrate

A Year of Books

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Last weekend we celebrated my son-in-law Mike’s birthday. Because they live in Massachusetts, Mike, our daughter Shannon, and the dogs came to Maine on Saturday to spend the night.

The day was astonishingly warm for early February in Maine.  When it comes to the weather nowadays, my thoughts always turn to my parents, who never would have imagined it could be so warm in midwinter. Such big changes.

Mike chose to go to Absolem Cider Company to celebrate his birthday. It is one of his favorite places in central Maine. It is one of mine, too.

Here we are, on the way to the barn at sunset. Note how shiny with mud the path is. It felt more like March than February.

However, inside all was cozy and dry. Soon we had our drinks, and it was cheers to the birthday boy.

Here is a picture of Mike and our daughter Shannon.

After our drinks, we went back home for presents, and this year, Clif and I had come up with something special for Mike—twelve books, one to be opened at the beginning of each month throughout the year.

I got the idea from my friend Doree, who had done this for her sister for Christmas and had written about it on Facebook. Immediately, I was smitten by the idea, and my thoughts turned to Mike and his birthday in February. Mike is an avid reader, and I knew he would be thrilled to get a book a month. Also, and this is sheer coincidence, of everyone in the family, Mike’s taste in books is most similar to mine, which made picking out books for him very easy.

Last Thursday, Clif and I wrapped and labeled the books. As we did so, I thought about how giving these gifts was a joy from beginning to end—choosing the books, deciding which books should go for which month, wrapping the books, and then seeing them laid out on our dining room table, small packages of delight waiting to be opened.

A closer look at February’s book.

And what was February’s book? Here is  New York, by the late great writer E.B. White, whom I mentioned in last week’s post.

It was so much fun to watch Mike inspect his books.

“This is amazing,” he said more than once.

Happy birthday, Mike, and happy reading!

 

 

 

Birds, Books, People

Of Tea, Books, Eagles, and a Dear Friend

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Last Thursday I went to one of my favorite places—the waterfront park in Hallowell—to meet Elizabeth, the granddaughter of my dear friend Barbara, who died  eighteen years ago. Elizabeth is from North Carolina, but she worked in Maine this summer, and we were able to meet several times.

The day by the river was overcast but not too chilly. I brought a thermos of tea and some cookies, and we settled in for a long chat. Elizabeth was only five when her grandmother died, and I told her stories about Barbara—about how she was one of the best home cooks I have ever known; about her passion for nature; about her love of story and writing.

Elizabeth not only resembles her grandmother, but she also shares Barbara’s love of books and nature. Accordingly, the talk soon turned to books, my favorite kind of conversation. (And Barbara’s, too.) What Elizabeth was reading—Rachel Carson—and what I was planning to read—The Bee Sting by Paul Murray. We discussed the current trend of not using quotation marks to set off dialogue. I admitted that I’m not a fan of leaving them out. Elizabeth thought that it all depended on the writing and how sometimes it worked to have dialogue without quotation marks.

As we sipped tea and munched cookies, the sun came out, illuminating a white house across the river.

Wouldn’t it be cool, I asked, if the house appeared only when the sun was shining a certain way? And that it would be invisible at all other times?

Elizabeth agreed this would be very cool.

While we were talking, we heard the shrill cry of bald eagles.  One flew right over us, and we were duly impressed. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough to get a picture of that eagle.

However, I did get this picture, a little blurry, but clear enough to give an impression of this big beautiful bird whose species was nearly wiped out in this country. When I was young, I never saw a bald eagle. Now they are a common sight, proof that sometimes things do change for the better.

As we admired the eagles, I thought about Barbara and how thrilled she would have been to be part of this day. She would have jotted down some of Elizabeth’s book recommendations, just like I did. (The Golem and the Jinni and The City We Became.) She would have exclaimed with pleasure when the eagle flew over us. In her excitement, Barbara might have jumped out of her chair.

I remember one day when Barbara and I were going somewhere together, and I was driving, Barbara cried stop, stop! I stopped, and Barbara rushed from the car to examine a snapping turtle who was laying eggs along the side of the road.

So in a sense Barbara was with us by the river as Elizabeth and I talked in a way that was reminiscent of the way Barbara and I had talked many, many times.

A bittersweet and lovely day.