Last week we visited my ninety-year-old grandma in an assisted living home in Kansas. My grandma has always encouraged me to write, and I dedicated the first book I wrote to her. She is known for speaking her mind, but when it comes to me, Grandma mainly just reads and applauds. On this visit, however, she gave me some advice.
"That last book you wrote," she said, casting about with raised hand for the title. "The Bucharest one. People are buying it. That book is being read."
She named a few people who'd told her they bought it, or liked it, or both. I thanked her but sensed she wasn't finished yet. Sure enough.
"I think it'd sell more if it had a different handle," she said.
Handle? On a book? Grandma's mind sometimes slips a gear. She's ninety, after all.
But then she continued.
"Some people don't know what the book is about. They don't know what this white horse is. They're scared to buy it," she said firmly. "You should call it something simpler. I think it would sell much better that way."
I did not argue. Not everyone enjoys a metaphor.
School is out.
I'm never quite sure how to feel about that.
My classroom is bare and messy at the same time. My lunch bag is stuck away in a hard-to-get place. I suddenly have too many nice dresses. I haven't seen a live person since Lee left this morning. I haven't done any math in a week, and I haven't cracked a single lame joke in... never mind.
The last months were frenzied. Field trip, grad party, program practice, final tests, Mother's Day, birthday parties, and contracts. (I didn't sign mine this time. I'm extremely emotional about it.)
Somewhere in the mix, probably while realizing I was the worst teacher ever, I read this comforting blog post and felt better:
Whew. Maybe I'm doing okay after all.
My class made poetry books for Mother's Day gifts, a collection of all the poems my students wrote this year. Our covers followed a similar theme and all turned out lovely.
(My niece made it.)
And now for some writing news.
The first printing of White Horse to Bucharest sold out (cartwheels!), so for a few weeks it was listed as out-of-stock on Gospel Publishers' website. However, the second printing is now finished and available for purchase.
The book is also now available from Christian Light Publications. I'm so excited about this, as I think CLP will help it reach a much broader audience.
And that's my mishmash update for today.
This summer I plan to write. (After I cook and clean and do all the things.) Hopefully I'll share more here, too. I have a book giveaway planned for sometime this summer.
Keep your ears peeled!
We have a winner for the tea sampler from Prairie Garden Teas.
Steph Nichols, please step forward to receive your prize. (Or rather, Eva will be contacting you shortly.)
That was fun. Thanks for all the participation. Maybe we'll do another giveaway one of these days.
Though it always comes second to a well made coffee, I do enjoy a good cup of tea with a long book. My favorite is hot black tea with a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar. Preferably loose-leaf Earl Grey, but English breakfast or some version of chai will do almost as well.
While living near Ukraine, I marveled at how their tea aisles rivaled American cereal aisles in length and diversity. We tried a lot of different teas there. Oolong is lovely. Rooibos, mint, red, and white are all good options.
The latest type I've sampled is called pu-erh (also pu-'er) tea. I bought mine from Prairie Garden Spices and Teas, which offers a variety of quality teas, spices, and etc. Pu-erh tea brews up light and delicate; I felt like I should drink it from one of those porcelain, handle-less Asian teacups.
Almost any tea warms the soul, especially if it comes in a pottery mug, alongside a thick book, and on a rainy day. And now that summer approaches, try your favorite blend over ice. Earl Grey, Moroccan mint, peach white tea... There's more to iced tea than "Liptons in the yellow box," however refreshing and nostalgic that may be.
In celebration of all things tea, I'm doing a fun giveaway with Eva from Prairie Garden Tea and Spices. Our lucky winner (US readers only, please) will receive the collection pictured above, which contains samples of three loose-leaf teas: Lazy Daze herbal tea, peach white tea, and Hibiscus Heaven herbal tea. The winner will be able to brew a cup immediately, thanks to the handy tea strainer that fits over a mug and comes with its own lid.
Enter below for a chance to win this lovely sampler packet, valued at $25. Spread the word! Tell your friends! The giveaway will stay open through Monday.
The word cinquain comes from the Latin word for five. A cinquain must have five lines, but it can have many different variations, each with its own specific pattern. The pattern I chose for my creative writing class looks like this:
ADJECTIVE – ADJECTIVE
ING VERB – ING VERB – ING VERB
FOUR WORD PHRASE
SYNONYM OF TOPIC
My current class hasn't done this exercise yet, but here are some of the cinquains my students wrote last year:
Try writing your own cinquains (or teaching your class about them) with this free, printable worksheet similar to what I used. (Send me your cinquains if you like. I'm a greedy poetry monster.)
I could say plenty of negative things about 2020, but there is one thing I've greatly enjoyed about this strange year: watching people embrace new activities.
My local greenhouse sold out of herbs and vegetables earlier and faster than ever before, For a few weeks, every nearby grocery store was out of yeast and bread flour, and even our local bulk food store sold out of random baking items and canning lids. When checking out books from my online library, I had to place more holds than usual, because so many more people are reading. I heard that Bob Ross's painting tutorials are getting a lot more viewers, and art and craft supplies fly off the shelves. This summer I noticed more people hanging out on their porches or playing catch in their yards, and the people on the walking track at the park tripled.
Yeah, I was grumpy that I couldn't get what I needed for my normal, non-Covid-related gardening and baking and reading. I suspect that a lot of the bread flopped and most of the herbs died. Nevertheless, I love that people are trying new things and finding new hobbies to fill their empty hours.
I've done the same. Tried new recipes, did some drawing and painting, completed a free online poetry course, took more walks with my sister and nieces, and studied the enneagram.
Just because 2020 is over doesn't mean we need to go back to the rat race. My brother-in-law shared an article that sums up my hopes for the next year.
Let Each Task Fill up Your World...
Every December my mom got out the Christmas box. Among all the goodies - the white porcelain music box that played "Silent Night," the red candle with my birthdate on it, the homemade knickknacks we kids made in school - was a stack of holiday books. Each year, as my reading level advanced, I fell in love with a new Christmas story. Those stories still speak to me now, and it's hard to know if they're really good, or if it's just the nostalgia.
My favorite, read-every-year holiday story is "The Gift of the Magi," a short story by O. Henry.
I used to love "Jello Christmas." It's not quite as compelling as I remembered it, but the message is still a good one.
On That Night, a beautiful novella by Elizabeth Yates, centers around the quote at the beginning: "Among the many legends surrounding Christmas Eve, there is one that states that on that night, lost things are found again."
I often read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, an oldie but goodie that teaches a lesson, paints a picture of England circa 1840, and offers a plethora of quotable lines.
"The Gold and Ivory Tablecloth" is a classical Readers Digest short story by Rev. Howard C Schade.
The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is a humorous Christmas read for kids and adults alike. I read it to my students this year, laughed so hard I had to quit reading, and then almost cried at the end.
The Blue Carbuncle, a Sherlock Holmes story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, is set in the days surrounding Christmas.
Then there are the books with holiday chapters or scenes: The opening of Little Women by Louisa Mae Alcott, with the sisters grouped around the crackling fire. The Christmas chapters in The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Who can forget Anne's happiness with the beautiful Christmas dress from Matthew in Anne of Green Gables? Better still are the chapters in Anne of Windy Poplars when Anne takes bitter, unhappy Katherine home for a Green Gables Christmas.
This is only the tip of the iceberg. Which holiday books or stories did I miss and which are your favorites?
I've been vaguely familiar with Eugene Field's poetry all my life, but only recently did I realize he was a Missourian. Born in St. Louis in 1850, Field attended several colleges across the country, spent six months traveling in Europe, and then moved to Missouri to marry Julia Comstock and write for the St. Joseph Gazette.
Most of us remember him for his lighthearted children's poetry like "Little Boy Blue" and "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod."
In St. Joseph, however, Field is most famous for another poem, a poem he wrote for an adult audience while far away in England.
Lovers' Lane, St. Jo
Saint Jo, Buchanan County,
Is leagues and leagues away;
And I sit in the gloom of this rented room,
And pine to be there to-day.
Yes, with London fog around me
And the bustling to and fro,
I am fretting to be across the sea
In Lover’s Lane, Saint Jo.
I would have a brown-eyed maiden
Go driving once again;
And I’d sing the song, as we snailed along,
That I sung to that maiden then:
I purposely say, “as we snailed along,”
For a proper horse goes slow
In those leafy aisles, where Cupid smiles,
In Lover’s Lane, Saint Jo.
From her boudoir in the alders
Would peep a lynx-eyed thrush,
And we’d hear her say, in a furtive way,
To the noisy cricket, “Hush!”
To think that the curious creature
Should crane her neck to know
The various things one says and sings
In Lover’s Lane, Saint Jo.
But the maples they should shield us
From the gossips of the place;
Nor should the sun, except by pun,
Profane the maiden’s face;
And the girl should do the driving,
For a fellow can’t, you know,
Unless he’s neglectful of what’s quite respectful
In Lover’s Lane, Saint Jo.
Ah! sweet the hours of springtime,
When the heart inclines to woo,
And it’s deemed all right for the callow wight
To do what he wants to do;
But cruel the age of winter,
When the way of the world says no
To the hoary men who would woo again
In Lover’s Lane, Saint Jo!
In the Union Bank of London
Are forty pounds or more,
Which I’m like to spend, ere the month shall end,
In an antiquarian store;
But I’d give it all, and gladly,
If for an hour or so
I could feel the grace of a distant place,--
Of Lover’s Lane, Saint Jo.
Let us sit awhile, beloved,
And dream of the good old days,--
Of the kindly shade which the maples made
Round the stanch but squeaky chaise;
With your head upon my shoulder,
And my arm about you so,
Though exiles, we shall seem to be
In Lover’s Lane, Saint Jo.
Lovers' Lane, St. Jo is now a busy street lined with modern houses, but the quaint way it winds through the beautiful old trees gives a glimpse of how must've looked when Fields courted his Julia via a "proper horse" and chaise.
Eugene Field's St Joseph has changed a lot, and his poetry might seem unfashionable now, but the town has not forgotten him. Partway down the Lane stands a memorial to St. Jospeh's favorite poet. Three city streets are named after Field, as well as a school and an apartment building, and a Little Boy Blue statue keeps endless watch in front of the local library.
When Lee and I first travelled to Germany in 2011, I wasn't expecting one of the highlights to be German cuisine. What a pleasant surprise, then, to find myself proved wrong at our first traditional meal at the Zur Linde Gasthous in Swisttal.
Over the next days, and during later trips, we tucked into peppery beef in savory gravies, tender pork schnitzels, deliciously greasy fried potatoes, and—our favorite—buttery spätzle noodles. All enhanced by the ever-present, sour red cabbage side dish.
As Mennonites, we're used to many German foods, and even the new dishes we tried seemed vaguely familiar. Nevertheless, when we returned home I was delighted to discover a German deli/cafe in nearby St. Joseph, Missouri. I read about The Cabbage Roll in the newspaper and later tracked it down with my sister. It's a gem, hidden on a side street of St. Joseph, run by amiable people of German heritage.
The other day I met two friends there for lunch. Like one said, the place won't win any awards for presentation (German food, like traditional Mennonite food, tends to be all of one color and free of frills or garnish) but they should definitely win awards for their cake.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
First we ate cabbage rolls, pierogies, sausage, fried potatoes, hot German potato salad, and what the owner/waiter called your red: bowls of hot purple cabbage, well soured. All of it was tasty, especially the potato-stuffed pierogies and vinegary potato salad.
And now for the cake.
We watched sadly as the last slice of raspberry coconut cake landed on an adjacent table, but there was no need to mourn. We shared three slices of cake, rating them on a scale of 1-5. (German Chocolate: 4, Black Forest: 5, and Mandarin Pecan: 5.5, in case anyone's curious.)
That cake! Words fail. Let's just say that I shall return to The Cabbage Roll. (In case anyone's wondering.)
Every Tuesday my class does creative writing, and I like to experiment with different forms of poetry. A few weeks ago we wrote color poems.
Choose a color, any color. (We used the names on our crayons to help our selection.)
Think about your five senses: how does this color look, smell, taste, sound? How does the color make you feel? Arrange your sense details into poem form.
My students seemed to enjoy the assignment and their poems turned out wonderfully. I typed and printed them, everyone chose background paper to match their color, and we hung them on the lunchroom walls (otherwise knows as the Hall of Fame.)
Here are a few of my student's poems:
Here is a free, downloadable worksheet with a process similar to the way we created our poems. I gave the kids freedom to arrange lines as they pleased, and one student even chose to include a set of rhyming lines.
Now, color away. The world could use some poetry and whimsy about now.