Making Change
by Cynthia E. Jones
September, 2006
...and a penny for your thoughts.
It seems like yesterday when I was a girl living at home, day dreaming about only God knows what when out of the corner of my eye I would catch a glimpse of my Dad. Coming back to reality, I would see the penny he held in his fingers. He would wait patiently for me to take the bribe and offer up what was on my mind. It always ended in me grunting at his gesture, taking his money, and most likely never giving him exactly what he waited to hear.
The creative mind. It is always moving, sometimes not so swiftly but on the go and to where we can not be sure until we arrive. That is too much for some, not enough for others, but the route traveled in most cases.
Just over three years ago David asked if I would be interested in writing an article for NetNacs! and the feature would be called LitKorner. I was so excited and it was the dreaming in me that made this endeavor so much fun. I dream all the time that we as a society will find a way to better our world. I believe we can do this more easily when introducing literature to our children, our neighbors, friends, the elderly and then work together to carry our message to other countries where children and especially young girls are surely deprived their right to an education. All of that was in my head and heart when David asked me to write an article for him.
When I wrote my bio I stated the following: 'There is so much power in one book and reading is fun! We must live that belief and encourage our children to do the same. For it is that fun in reading that steers us towards the more serious needs of the world. When we forget to read, we forget to imagine. When we forget to imagine, we forget to dream and have hopes for tomorrow. It is when we see our dreams as realities that we have faith in our future. Words can give us the aspirations we need to achieve higher goals. Our imagination can help us to create those goals and put them to mind set. What an amazing feat in such little creatures called words.'
I promised short stories, poetry, literary sites, authors, both renown and unknown, and what ever else we could find with words that would tease our minds. I hope I have lived up to that and given an article each month that introduced a book, an author or a reason for you to be excited about literacy and to do something to encourage another to embrace words, education and learning.
I have second guessed every article sent and felt concern about if I had offered up enough of what anyone would want to hear.
This month is the last LitKorner article that will be published on the NetNacs! site as David closes up shop. I will make an effort to continue the article and my drive to share the importance of literacy in any way that I can. It was left up to me rather I wanted to write a last article or not and there is absolutely no way I could not. This little spot has been golden for me and given more to me than what anyone will ever realize. Let me just say that the article has served me well and I feel I have grown because of the efforts that I put into each piece.
Before I end this one, I would like to remind you aboutFirst Book. Book Relief gives children from low-income families the opportunity to read and own their first new books. This summer, First Book along with Random House celebrated 'Literacy and Justice For All' in Louisiana and across the country by distributing 150,000 books throughout Louisiana. Please consider donating to this organization that strives for all children to have the same opportunity for literacy.
Labels: article, litkorner2006
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Truman Capote
by Cynthia E. Jones
August, 2006
Truman Capote (1924-1984)
Truman Streckfus Persons
Southern Gothic novelist, journalist, and celebrated
man-about-town authored several great
writes giving to us 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' and 'In Cold Blood'.
"Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor."-Capote
Major works of Truman Capote:
- Other Voices; Other Rooms (1948)
- The Grass Harp (1951)
- Beat the Devil (1954)
- Breakfast at Tiffany's (1958)
- In Cold Blood (1965)
Excerpt from Breakfast at Tiffany's
When 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' was first published in 1958, 'Time' Magazine described its heroine, Holly Golightly, as "the hottest kitten ever to hit the typewriter keys of Truman Capote. She's a cross between a grown-up Lolita and a teen-age Auntie Mame ...alone and a little afraid in a lot of beds she never made." Of all his characters, Capote later said, Holly was his favorite, and it is easy to see why. This wacky hillbilly-turned-playgirl who lives in a Manhattan brownstone shares not only his philosophy of freedom and acceptance of human irregularities but also his fears and anxieties- "the mean reds' she calls them. For her the cure is to jump into a taxi and head for Tiffany's; nothing bad could happen, she says, amid "that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets," and her dream is to have breakfast in that soothing setting. "Holly Golightly is outre, funny , touching-and real," remarked 'The Atlantic'. This volume also includes three of Capote's best-known short stories: 'House of Flowers', "A Diamond Guitar", and "A Christmas Memory", which the 'Saturday Review' called "one fo the most moving stories in the language".
Excerpt from In Cold Blood
I THE LAST TO SEE THEM ALIVE The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call "out there." Some seventy miles east of the Colorado border, the countryside, with its hard blue skies and desert-clear air, has an atmosphere that is rather more Far West than Middle West. The local accent is barbed with a prairie twang, a ranch-hand nasalness, and the men, many of them, wear narrow frontier trousers, Stetsons, and high-heeled boots with pointed toes. The land is flat, and the views are awesomely extensive; horses, herds of cattle, a white cluster of grain elevators rising as gracefully as Greek temples are visible long before a traveler reaches them.
Holcomb, too, can be seen from great distances. Not that there is much to see -- simply an aimless congregation of buildings divided in the center by the main-line tracks of the Santa Fe Railroad, a haphazard hamlet bounded on the south by a brown stretch of the Arkansas (pronounced "Ar-kan-sas") River, on the north by a highway, Route 50, and on the east and west by prairie lands and wheat fields. After rain, or when snowfalls thaw, the streets, unnamed, unshaded, unpaved, turn from the thickest dust into the direst mud. At one end of the town stands a stark old stucco structure, the roof of which supports an electric sign - DANCE - but the dancing has ceased and the advertisement has been dark for several years. Nearby is another building with an irrelevant sign, this one in flaking gold on a dirty window -- HOLCOMB BANK. The bank closed in 1933, and its former counting rooms have been converted into apartments. It is one of the town's two "apartment houses," the second being a ramshackle mansion known, because a good part of the local school's faculty lives there, as the Teacherage. But the majority of Holcomb's homes are one-story frame affairs, with front porches.
"Holcomb, Kan., Nov. 15 [1959] (UPI) - A wealthy wheat farmer, his wife and their two young children were found shot to death today in their home. They had been killed by shotgun blasts at close range after being bound and gagged... There were no signs of a struggle, and nothing had been stolen. The telephone lines had been cut."
It was those words, that article, very short and to the point, published in the back of the New York Times that caught Truman Capote's attention and was the driving force in his life for the next six years until the completion of 'In Cold Blood'. His next novel 'Unanswered Prayers' remained unfinished.
It would be my guess the two mentioned titles 'Breakfast at Tiffany's and 'In Cold Blood' are the most recognized works of Truman Capote. However, all his works combined give description to him as a Southern Gothic novelist, journalist, and celebrated man-about-town. You can read more about Capote at the following sites online.
Books and Writers - Truman Capote - Screen Plays
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/capote.htm
Truman Capote - The Beat Generation
http://www.levity.com/corduroy/capote.htm
Truman Capote - From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Truman_Capote
Teenreads.com - Author Profile
http://www.teenreads.com/authors/au-capote-truman.asp
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Where Is Our Gift of Reading?
Authored by Denny Lancaster
used with permission
Introduction:
All of us receive and give gifts during our life while on mother earth. Some of these gifts become old and torn, others are no longer relevant in our lives as we grow older and some, which we receive are given to others on Christmas or other holidays and occasions. But one gift given to me by my mother and grandmother is still retained. Which is the gift of reading on a regular or consistent basis.
Forward
The reality that more impressions are received from reading than from all other sources combined, is more relevant to me today, than it was in my younger years. I obviously dreamed or thought that all of my fellow human beings also read on a regular basis, that is until a National Endowment for the Arts Survey in 2004 was revisited in light of recent studies which indicate a national decline in math skills, the inability to find well known countries on a map of the world, what seems to be a general decline of ethics or morality in business and with respect to our elderly, defenseless children and so forth.
NEA Survey
While the reasons for a decline in reading are not spelled out in the NEA study and we are left to ponder this decline which is across gender, ethnicity, age and education lines, we can none the less evaluate the decline based upon our own experience by exploring some of the major obstacles to reading on a regular or consistent basis.
Obstacles To Regular or Consistent Reading
Not Reading To Someone
Few pictures will invoke fonder memories of reading or being read too, than a picture of a child in a grandfather's lap, looking up as if to grasp and understand every word uttered, while the grandfather smiles as he reads, in enjoyment a story or nursery rhyme which was read to him as a child, by an adult.
The value of reading to our children was called into question by Jean Piaget, whose research showed children are not ready to learn until the age of six or seven; teaching styles were thought to be the problem and rote was replaced by phonics; brain science was becoming of age and baby speak or talk gained greater acceptance as fact rather than fancy; Sesame Street came to television and our very young associated a visual presentation to learning subject or object; and in our quest for material objects and just getting by, our children were literally forced to find books as a companion to replace the lack of parenting.
While we can either agree or disagree with any or all of what has been presented so far, none of us would discount a value of Lent, which to we Catholics is giving up something like cigarettes, but apply this objective in reverse, by doing something of value we do not do at present, like read. To ourselves, to our children, to an audience and in the process develop diction, self-confidence and a feeling of self worth as a parent and world citizen.
Lack of Oral Tradition
Another picture, which comes to our minds at birthdays and other occasions, is that of a loved one who took the time with children and other adults to recall a mind-boggling story, which we can remember even in our later years. Remember this dear reader. Prior to 900 A.D. the world read aloud until Seymour Simon, the scribe made a discovery, white spaces; Gutenberg elevated manuscript culture to an art form; Sputnik gave us ecology which became an art form; and electronic media forged ahead in western culture, while oral traditions dominate eastern culture, not because books, television or electronic media are not readily available and every society realizes the value of listening to an oral presentation, coupled with visually following along, while reinforcing this process with recital. So why not eliminate an obstacle to reading by revisiting or renewal of oral traditions. Just remember this picture of your grandfather with you sitting on his knee long after he has left mother earth and do what your heart says for you to do.
Drudgery Not Pleasure
A man in the mid 1600s named Antonio di Marco Magliabechi confessed that he could read, comprehend and memorize entire volumes at a rapid rate, yet when we were reading Dick and Jane in the first grade it took hours, the reading list in high school and college took weeks to complete, leaving very little time for actual study or going to the movie show and then we realized the problem. We just read too slowly, did not remember very much of what we had read, what we did remember was not retained from reading until test time. Reading became drudgery not a pleasure, until Evelyn Wood burst upon the scene with a few discoveries, which firmly established speed-reading. Reading at last became a pleasure. While our readers may agree or disagree with what has been written, is there any one of us who would not gladly trade our current reading or not reading habit for one in which we can triple reading speed with the same comprehension or better?
Conclusions
While there are many more obstacles to loosing our friend, reading, this short list is at least an excellent start. Now having said that and written this paper, I must contemplate the reaction to having a published something to read, which just may benefit non- readers who have not been exposed to the value of reading on a regular and continuing basis. Perhaps you dear reader could help by engaging in our oral traditions by telling someone about this article, and then let them read the article and both of you reinforcing by discussion what has been learned.
Citations:
History of Speed Reading and Evelyn Wood, by H. Bernard Wechsler, March
31, 2003
The Reading Matrix, Volume 1, Number 1, April 2001
National Endowment for the Arts Survey, 2002
Schools Attuned Online, All Kinds of Minds, 1999-2006
Kump, Peter (1988). Break-through rapid reading. New York: Prentice Hall.
Redway, Kathryn (1999). Here’s How: Be a rapid reader. New York:
Learningworks.
Statement of Dr. G. Reid Lyon, Committee on Labor and Human Resources, April
28, 1998.
David Bouchard (2001) The Gift of Reading
Footnote
This article is dedicated to Bill Morgan, Webmaster of
Lagoon View Yacht Club Award Program
Labels: article, literacy, litkorner2006, reading
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Titles For June
by Cynthia E. Jones
June, 2006
The Piano Man
EXCERPT - Chapter One - September 2005
Claire O'Neal switched off the car radio with an impatient flick of her wrist. After two straight weeks of temperatures above a hundred degrees, the weatherman was heralding a cool front tomorrow.
Don't count on it, she thought. Nothing in this world is predictable. Not even San Antonio heat.
She parked her SUV in the driveway of the Spanish-style four bedroom in Terrell Hills. It was 8:30 a.m. and the clients were due at nine. Claire gathered her clipboard and stepped out onto the driveway, her linen slacks sticking to her legs.
Hotter than Hades, but at least it's humid, Nathan joked. His voice was a constant presence in her head, frozen forever in the self-assurance of seventeen.
Prologue
Empress
EXCERPT
Endless moons, an opaque universe, thunder, tornadoes, the quaking earth. Rare moments of peace; forehead up against my knees, arms around my head, I thought, I listened, I longed not to exist. But life was there, a transparent pearl, a star revolving slowly on its own axis. I was blind. My eyes stared into that other world, that other existence that dwindled a little every day. Its colors were extinguished, its images blurred. I was still left with cries of astonishment and feeble sobbing. I was oppressed by the impotence of these vague recollections, burned by their melancholy. Who am I? I asked Death as it crouched at my feet.
Death moaned and gave no reply.
Where am I? I could hear laughter, voices saying, "It will surely be a boy, my Lord. He is moving. He is full of life."
It mattered little who I would be. I was already weary of this vastness. I was weary of hoping, of waiting, of being myself-the center of the world.
I was soothed by the rustle of the wind. I listened to the trickle of rain. Across my sky in which the sun never rose, I could hear a little girl singing. I was lulled by her gentle, innocent voice. My sister, I foresaw great sorrow for her. A hand tried to caress me. But a wall lay between us. Oh Mother, the shadow outlined against the screen of my thoughts, do you realize I am already old, condemned to live within the prison of your flesh?More...
A Slight Trick of the Mind
EXCERPT - Chapter 1
Upon arriving from his travels abroad, he entered his stone-built farmhouse on a summer's afternoon, leaving the luggage by the front door for his housekeeper to manage. He then retreated into the library, where he sat quietly, glad to be surrounded by his books and the familiarity of home. For almost two months, he had been away, traveling by military train across India, by Royal Navy ship to Australia, and then finally setting foot on the occupied shores of postwar Japan. Going and returning, the same interminable routes had been taken-usually in the company of rowdy enlisted men, few of whom acknowledged the elderly gentleman dining or sitting beside them (that slow-walking geriatric, searching his pockets for a match he'd never find, chewing relentlessly on an unlit Jamaican cigar). Only on the rare occasions when an informed officer might announce his identity would the ruddy faces gaze with amazement, assessing him in that moment: For while he used two canes, his body remained unbowed, and the passing of years hadn't dimmed his keen gray eyes; his snow-white hair, thick and long, like his beard, was combed straight back in the English fashion.
"Is that true? Are you really him?"
"I am afraid I still hold that distinction."
"You are Sherlock Holmes? No, I don't believe it."
"That is quite all right. I scarcely believe it myself."Continue...
The Good Earth
EXCERPT - Chapter 1
It was Wang Lung's marriage day. At first, opening his eyes in the blackness of the curtains about his bed, he could not think why the dawn seemed different from any other. The house was still except for the faint, gasping cough of his old father, whose room was opposite to his own across the middle room. Every morning the old man's cough was the first sound to be heard. Wang Lung usually lay listening to it and moved only when he heard it approaching nearer and when he heard the door of his father's room squeak upon its wooden hinges.
But this morning he did not wait. He sprang up and pushed aside the curtains of his bed. It was a dark, ruddy dawn, and through a small square hole of a window, where the tattered paper fluttered, a glimpse of bronze sky gleamed. He went to the hole and tore the paper away.
"It is spring and I do not need this," he muttered.Continue...
A Summer of Faulkner: Three Novels: As I Lay Dying/ The Sound and the Fury,/Light in August
EXCERPT - From As I Lay Dying
Darl
Jewel and I come up from the field, following the path in single file. Although I am fifteen feet ahead of him, anyone watching us from the
cotton house can see Jewel's frayed and broken straw hat a full head above my own.
The path runs straight as a plumb-line, worn smooth by feet and baked brick-hard by July, between the green rows of
laid by cotton, to the cotton house in the center of the field, where it turns and circles the
cotton house at four soft right angles and goes on across the field again, worn so by feet in fading precision.
The cotton house is of rough logs, from between which the chinking has long fallen. Square, with a broken roof set at a single pitch, it leans in empty and shimmering dilapidation in the sunlight, a single broad window in two opposite walls giving onto the approaches of the path. When we reach it I turn and follow the path which circles the house. Jewel, fifteen feet behind me, looking straight ahead, steps in a single stride through the window. Still staring straight ahead, his pale eyes like wood set into his wooden face, he crosses the floor in four strides with the rigid gravity of a cigar store Indian dressed in patched overalls and endued with life from the hips down, and steps in a single stride through the opposite window and into the path again just as I come around the corner. In single file and five feet apart and Jewel now in front, we go on up the path toward the foot of the bluff.Continue...
Labels: article, litkorner2006
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Anne Rice's Christ The Lord Out Of Egypt
by Cynthia E. Jones
January, 2006
Bound in a smooth white hard back, the 321 page book is protected with white paper that is trimmed in gold. A small image encircled also in the same shiny gold sits in the center. It is an angelic young man and the title reads 'CHRIST THE LORD' in all capitals. Could this be from the same author that has strengthened her writing career with the infamous Vampire Lestat and the Mayfair Witches? This book promises something entirely different and to those that love Anne Rice for her ideals and methods, it is something very much the same.
A triumph of tone - her prose lean, vivid - and character...'Christ The Lord' is a cross between a historical novel and an update of Tolstoy's The Gospels in Brief; it presents Jesus as nature mystic, healer, prophet and very much a real young boy. -Kirkus Reviews
Once calling New Orleans home, Anne Rice now resides in La Jolla, California with her properties in Louisiana being for sale even before the hurricane Katrina. She has fought a battle with diabetes and lost her husband, poet Stan Rice, far too soon. She announced on television in an interview that she had been in a very dark place of her life. When she was coming out of that dark period she was able to write her latest novel and dedicated to her son Christopher.
It is fiction. We know it is fiction by its genre and she makes no other claim. However, she writes with a realism, as if she was there, or is there and we are getting the story first hand. This is the style of Anne Rice, literary diva of the dark, so she has been called. I was a bit surprised by the title of her new book and what to expect from it. All other books I have read from Anne Rice have been thrillers about vampires or witches and when not, they were about haunting or memories of a darker time period. The single thing that always remains giving her books their flavor, is she becomes the main character herself. It would be a challenge for most but for Rice it is art, her art.
Excerpt from 'Christ The Lord: Out Of Egypt'
Chapter 1
I was seven years old. What do you know when you're seven years old? All my life, or so I thought, we'd been in the city of Alexandria, in the Street of the Carpenters, with the other Galileans, and sooner or later we were going home.
Late afternoon. We were playing, my gang against his, and when he ran at me again, bully that he was, bigger than me, and catching me off balance, I felt the power go out of me as I shouted: "You'll never get where you're going."
He fell down white in the sandy earth, and they all crowded around him. The sun was hot and my chest was heaving as I looked at him. He was so limp.
In the snap of two fingers everyone drew back. It seemed the whole street went quiet except for the carpenters' hammers. I'd never heard such a quiet.
"He's dead!" Little Joseph said. And then they all took it up. "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead."
I knew it was true. He was a bundle of arms and legs in the beaten dust.
And I was empty. The power had taken everything with it, all gone.
Continue with more of Chapter 1
'Christ The Lord; Out Of Egypt' is one of 26 books authored by
Labels: article, litkorner2006
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Cinco de Mayo
by Cynthia E. Jones
May, 2006
May 5, observed by Mexican communities in Latin America and Mexican-American communities in the United States in commemoration of the 1862 defeat of French troops at the Battle of Puebla.
"They say that every time an Indian dies in Mexico an entire library dies with him. This anthology by Miguel Leon Portilla and Earl Shorris does not merely re-create a lost library, it brings back the eloquence of the indigenous people of Mexico past and present. We are assured by it that our men and women-those who best remember, imagine and dream-will be heard in the future. Without their voices, we cannot compose the great chorale that is Mexico."
-
The following reads are both educational and enlightening especially at a time when the United States is facing serious immigration issues. History tells us that Mexicans contributed highly to the growth and strengthening of the United States. Perhaps without their efforts and support, the US would have been defeated in those early years. Perhaps, without the Mexican soldiers, America would have taken a different turn with governing of another sort.
Cinco History
Battle of Puebla
The Battle of Puebla and Cinco de Mayo
Mexican Arts and Entertainment introduces
Suspend, Singer Swan
Suspend, singer swan, the sweet strain:
see how the lord that Delphi sees
exchanges for you the gentle lyre for pipe
and to Admetus makes a pastoral sound.
As gentle song, though strong, moved
stones and tamed the wrath of hell,
so it retreats, abashed, when you are heard:
your instrument blames the church itself.
For though the works of ancient builders
cannot match its columns,
nothing's greater than your song
when your clear voice strikes its stones,
and your sweet tones surpass it,
dwarf it, while making it grow the more.
-Sor Juana Ines de La Cruz
Sor Juana Ines de La Cruz
Born the illegitimate child of Pedro Manuel de Asbaje y Varga Machusa. Her
Mother, Isabel Ramirez, was born in the new world to Spanish parents and was
illiterate, earning her living farming.
Not only as a devotion to God but also to further her education, Sor Juana
became a nun. Her writings are in Spanish
and reflect her political stand for her Native Mexicans, for women who are
religious or not and for women artists to be seen as that, artists. Her work
will often times divulge her love for Greek and Roman mythology.
'Oh, how much harm would be avoided in our country if older women were as learned as Laeta and knew how to teach in the way Saint Paul and my Father Saint Jerome direct! Instead of which, if fathers wish to educate their daughters beyond what is customary, for want of trained older women and on account of the extreme negligence which has become women's sad lot, since well-educated older women are unavailable, they are obliged to bring in men teachers to give instruction...As a result of this, many fathers prefer leaving their daughters in a barbaric, uncultivated state to exposing them to an evident danger such a familiarity with men breeds.'
-Sor Juana Ines de La Cruz
Sor Juana Ines de La Cruz (1648 - 1695)
Sor Juana Timeline
Sor Juana Poetry Translated
Try Amazon.Com for more on Cinco de Mayo, with select books providing excerpts.
Labels: article, litkorner2006
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Spring Forward
by Cynthia E. Jones
April, 2006
...even when the weather refuses to remember,
we can set our mood for the season with some creative readings.
my spring is just this:
a single bamboo shoot
a willow branch
Haiku of Kobayashi Issa
Kobayashi Issa From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kobayashi_Issa
Spring Selections
Silent Spring by Rachel Carson
Page 1.
Chapter I. A Fable for Tomorrow
Excerpt: There was once a town in the heart of America where all life seemed to live in harmony and its
surroundings. The town lay in the midst of a checkerboard of prosperous farms, with fields of grain
and hillsides of orchards where, in spring, white clouds of bloom drifted above the green fields. In
autumn, oak and maple and birch set up a blaze of color that flamed and flickered across a backdrop
of pines. Then foxes barked in the hills and deer silently crossed the fields, half hidden in the
mists of the fall mornings.
Ostara by Edain McCoy
Eggs-actlly Ostara
Excerpt: The not-so-humble egg is inarguably the most pervasive symbol of the world's spring festivals,
Ostara included. Within its shell is contained all the archetypical connections of humanity has ever
held with life, death and life renewed. This eternal cycle of rebirth at spring is a major theme in
the spring holidays of virtually every one of the world's religions, from the most ancient Pagan
expressions of spirituality to the most modern sects of Christianity.
Experiencing the Passion of Jesus - A Discussion Guide by Lee Strobel, and Garry Poole
Excerpt: The Passion for the Christ illustrates the ability of film to engage its audience. In shock
and disbelief, repelled by the brutality and suffering, we witness the gruesome crucifixion of
Jesus-and our instinct for justice is stirred. 'Who did this?' we want to shout. 'Who's to blame for
this atrocity?' The endless flogging, the swollen eye, the shredded flesh-all of the horrific
violence compels us to demand, 'Who is responsible?' Surely the guilty party must pay for this?'
Spring's Sprung by Lynn Plourde
Excerpt: 'Mother Earth rouses her daughters -March, April, and May. "You must wake the world to start a new day".' I chose this selection as it would be a fun and
an easy read for new
readers and something a parent may consider for an Easter basket
filler. This is one for the night stand for story time.
Recommended reading ages for this illustrated book are 4-8 years.
New Illustrated Guide to Gardening by Reader's Digest editors
Excerpt: 'Updated to take your garden into the 21st century, the
NEW ILLUSTRATED GUIDE TO GARDENING is the definitive practical
volume on the subject. It's an indispensable gardener's bible
that covers every aspect of growing healthy flowers, trees,
shrubs, vegetables, fruits, and herbs. It is the only gardening
book you'll ever need.'
Gardening for Dummies by Mike MacCaskey, and Bill Marken
Excerpt: 'You've probably heard about the green thumbs and the
brown thumbs. Some people seem to have an almost magical ability
to raise beautiful, healthy plants, whereas others seem to turn
out only withering brown husks.
No matter which group you identify with, take note: Anyone can
become a gardener.'
Gardening in Containers: Creative Ideas from America's Best
Gardeners by Fine Gardening Magazine (Editor)
Excerpt: 'COLOR THROUGHOUT THE SEASON in just one 22
inch-diameter terra-cotta pot there in out entrance garden, we
created a wonderful progression of color from April until the end
of October: brilliant red tulips for almost a month, which we then
uprooted and replaced in mid-May with the dark red Fuchsias.' This
book is beautiful illustrated with garden photos of their
projects.
All of these selections can be found at Amazon.com with excerpts.
Labels: article, litkorner2006
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Green Lit
by Cynthia E. Jones
March, 2006
...because it is the color of spring time, of Ireland and the seamrog, attracting faeries,
aiding in crops and bringing us all good luck.
When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure 'tis like the morn in spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear the angels sing
When Irish hearts are happy
All the world seems bright and gay
And when Irish eyes are smiling
Sure, they steal your heart away.
Irish Song by Chaucey Olcott and George Graff, Jr.
The seamrog or shamrock has three leaves and is highly used to depict St. Patrick's Day and Ireland's history. Stories explain that St. Patrick used this greenery to symbolize the trinity while introducing Christianity to Ireland. Why green? Because green is the color of spring time, of Ireland and the seamrog, attracting faeries, aiding in crops and bringing us all good luck. And the saint, Patrick himself? As I was researching for this article the one conclusive bit of information is that none of the details about the man are actually confirmed. There are several suggestions as to where he may have been born, none of which are Ireland. His birth name may have been Maewyn, Succat or Maewyn Succat and even his actual birth year is undetermined.
In observation of this holiday during the month of March, I have gathered several different pieces of Irish related literature. We may begin with the honored patron saint himself...
St. Patrick
"St. Patrick
Apostle of Ireland, born at Kilpatrick, near Dumbarton, in Scotland, in the year 387;
died at Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland, 17 March, 493."Read More....
Who was St. Patrick?
The History of St. Patrick
The Birth place of St. Patrick
Irish Writer and Poet - James Joyce (1882-1941)
Irish novelist and poet, whose psychological perceptions and innovative literary techniques,
as demonstrated in his epic novel Ulysses,
make him one of the most influential writers of the 20th century.Read more here...
James Joyce (Literature Network)
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
Ulysses (Episodes 1 - 18)
Irish Short Stories
The Confirmation Suit by Brendan Behan
For weeks it was nothing but simony and sacrilege, and the sins crying to heaven for vengeance, the big green Catechism in our hands, walking home along the North Circular Road. And after tea, at the back of the brewery wall, with a butt too, to help our wits, what is a pure spirit, and don't kill that, Billser has to get a drag out of it yet, what do I mean by apostate, and hell and heaven and despair and presumption and hope. The big fellows, who were now thirteen and the veterans of last year's Confirmation, frightened us, and said the Bishop would fire us out of the chapel if we didn't answer his questions, and we'd be left wandering around the streets, in a new suit and top-coat with nothing to show for it, all dressed up and nowhere to go. The big people said not to mind them; they were only getting it up for us, jealous because they were over their Confirmation, and could never make it again. At school we were in a special room to ourselves, for the last few days, and went round, a special class of people. There were worrying times too, that the Bishop would light on you, and you wouldn't be able to answer his questions. Or you might hear the women complaining about the price of boys' clothes.Continue reading here....
First Confession by Frank O'Connor
All the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grand-mother - my father's mother - came to live with us. Relations in the one house are a strain at the best of times, but, to make matters worse, my grandmother was a real old countrywoman and quite unsuited to the life in town. She had a fat, wrinkled old face, and, to Mother's great indignation, went round the house in bare feet-the boots had her crippled, she said. For dinner she had a jug of porter and a pot of potatoes with-some-times-a bit of salt fish, and she poured out the potatoes on the table and ate them slowly, with great relish, using her fingers by way of a fork.Continue reading here...
The Reaping Race by Liam O'Flaherty
At dawn the reapers were already in the rye field. It was the big rectangular field owned by James McDara, the retired engineer. The field started on the slope of a hill and ran down gently to the sea-road that was covered with sand. It was bound by a low stone fence, and the yellow heads of the rye-stalks leaned out over the fence all round in a thick mass, jostling and crushing one another as the morning breeze swept over them with a swishing sound.Continue reading here...
"May the road rise to meet you,
may the wind be always at your back,
may the sun shine warm upon your face,
the rains fall soft upon your fields
and, until we meet again
may God hold you in the palm of His hand."
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O' Valentine
by Cynthia E. Jones
February, 2006
I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the simplicity of Venus' doves,
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, ...
By all the vows that ever men have broke
(In number more than ever women spoke).
On February 14th, love songs will play, poems of love will be written and vows will be taken to celebrate a holiday devoted to a Saint. Who is this Saint? Why exactly do we celebrate Valentine's Day? Many think it is just a conjured up fable to mark a day on the calendar to boost sales in flower shops and candy stores. Well...as the fable goes there once lived a man and his name was Valentine, a priest who served in Rome during the third century. Claudius II was the Emperor and made a choice that every soldier should be single. He had come to the conclusion that love, marriage and family clouded a man's vision in a time of war. With his thoughts, he outlawed marriage.
Valentine right away realized the wrong in this act and became an activist for the sanction of love. He defied the law and as a Priest continued to wed young lovers. He was discovered and jailed until he was finally put to death and
martyred for his cause. While he was waiting his execution in prison, he fell in love with his jailor's daughter and wrote her love letters signing them, Your Valentine.
And then, there is Cupid. Cherub boy verses Roman God. In any case he carries a bow with a quiver of arrows. If Cupid's aim is on target, you might find yourself head over heals, OR picking yourself up from the floor if he forgets to fire at your chosen one. You might even find truth to Jerome K. Jerome's words - Love is like the measles; we all have to go through it.
In Roman mythology, Cupid was the son of Venus and she was the Goddess of love. And, as the story goes Cupid is the young God who falls in love with Psyche, a beautiful maiden and very much mortal. As Venus was jealous of Psyche's beauty, she allowed their marriage but did forbid Psyche to ever cast her eyes upon Cupid. Psyche was alright with that until she was coaxed into disobeying her Mother In-Law and by her own sisters no less. Cupid's reaction was of both shock and dismay that his loving wife could betray his dear cherished Mother and off to Mommy he stormed to report how betrayed they were.
Psyche was punished and left completely alone. In disbelief that the one she loved would oppose her, she wondered looking for him where she found the temple of Venus. Venus still held ill toward the young maiden and ready to destroy her, she paused giving Psyche tasks, confident she would fail.
Psyche finished all and with her last task she was given a small box. She was sent to the underworld and told to capture a little beauty of Proserpine. It was made clear not to look into the box but to simply bring it back to Venus. Maybe in her way of thinking, if she opened the box and looked into sheer beauty, she would then know how to regain her husband's love and affection. Perhaps she did it out of desperation to have Venus love her and accept her as a daughter.
When she opened the box she did not find the beauty that she believed she had confined, but in it's place a deadly slumber. Cupid came to his wife finding her lifeless body. With his love for his wife, he gathered the death grip and placed it back into the box. All was forgiven, for the love he could not deny. When Venus saw how much one loved the other she was moved and she too forgave Psyche, making her a Goddess.
I do not love you... by Pablo Neruda
http://www.public.asu.edu/~nielle/neruda.htm#idonot
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Love and Romance Poetry Galore
The History Channel
St. Valentine
Saint Valentine
Cupid
The History of Cupid
May Cupid's aim be sure and true, and your days there after be filled with love.
Labels: article, litkorner2006
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