Summer Book Reviews

Goodness, this summer just flew by! I taught a Shakespeare class and a Fan Fiction class online at Brave Writer, plus readied our youngest to attend college out-of-state (Yikes!!). The day after I returned from getting him settled, we had our eldest son's friend from Kentucky arrive to stay for a week (with trips to the San Diego Zoo and Disneyland) while spending most of our time at my parents' beach house before our son flew back to stay with the friend for another week. I'm back to teaching Playing with Poetry: Discovery at Brave Writer this fall, but somehow had no time to post my book reviews. So here are a few:


The Trouble to Check Her: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Maria Grace
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I read this book on Maria Grace's blog and on the Austen Variations site, and I loved it!! It's the second book in the Queen of Rosings Park series...although, in this volume, there is neither hide nor hair of the "Queen of Rosings Park," Lady Catherine. Mr. Darcy has given Lydia the opportunity to attend a "finishing school" of sorts--Mrs. Drummond's School for Girls, an institution for young ladies like Lydia who have lost their reputations to men who refused to marry them. Darcy has agreed to pay Lydia's tuition, but if she is expelled, she is completely on her own and will likely have to work as a servant.

Lydia enters the school in typical Lydia-style, immediately finding and befriending the rebels of the school and disdaining the young ladies who are trying to make amends for serious mistakes in their lives. Lydia is upset that she cannot room with Amelia and Joan, the aforementioned rebels, but instead must share a room with Juliana, a girl who is hugely pregnant and too sweet and naive for Lydia's tastes. Lydia detests the lessons, especially the new music teacher, Mr. Amberson, who chides her for her lack of practice on the pianoforte. And to be expected to clean her own room...like a maid-of-all-work?? No thank you!!

Will Lydia end up out on the streets so many miles from home, or will she begin to find her worth as she learns to work, study, and even play the pianoforte?

A wonderful story--with some romance from a very unusual direction!! I very much enjoyed reading it as a weekly serial and also now in e-book form!!



To Save and Protect: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Paisley James
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

To Save and Protect is the first of three books in a three-part series of outstanding variations of Austen's Pride and Prejudice. After receiving the letter from Mr. Darcy on the morning after her rejection of his unfortunate proposal, Elizabeth wanders the grounds of Rosings, thinking over all that Darcy's letter has revealed about her sister, about Wickham, and mostly, about Elizabeth herself.

When news comes to Darcy at Rosings that there is a dangerous fugitive on the loose in the neighborhood, he searches for Elizabeth and at last finds her. They aren't terribly polite to each other, but Darcy is compelled by his "inner gentleman" to ensure her safety.

Together, Darcy and Elizabeth uncover a heinous plot involving murder, attempted murder, near-death, a near-attack, and blackmail...while Darcy's only wish is To Save and Protect the woman he loves...as she begins to return his feelings.

This novel is full of surprises; the plot is wonderfully twisty-turny, and the development of Elizabeth's feelings for Darcy is quite believable as his actions, more than his awkward words, demonstrate the quality of gentleman she rejected so rudely. The plot unfolds beautifully and with perfect timing, and the whole thing sucked me in completely.

This book is marvelously written, perfectly paced, and extremely compelling. I've read it at least four times--it's incredible, as are the next two books in the series.

Brava, Paisley James!!



Twenty-One Days by Anne Perry
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I have been a fan of Anne Perry's Charlotte and Thomas Pitt mystery series for ages and ages--I think I started reading them when only about eight books were in the series; there are now 27.

And enter Charlotte and Thomas' son, Daniel, a young (25-year-old) lawyer getting his start in 1910, thanks to a recommendation from his father, now Sir Thomas Pitt, who remains head of Special Branch. It's strange for me to read about Daniel since I feel as if I've watched him grow up--in a way, I have, as far as characters go.

Daniel is involved in his first real cases--both of which involve possible death penalty outcomes. The novel starts in the middle of the first case which then leads into the second case of a man accused of murdering his wife and burning her face so that she was unrecognizable. The man is decidedly unlikeable, but Daniel knows that he must do his best to prove this man innocent. Instead, a guilty verdict is handed down, and Daniel has twenty-one days before the man's hanging to find mitigating proof of his innocence.

In his quest for proof, Daniel comes across a damning manuscript written by the condemned man regarding Victor Narraway, his father's former boss at Special Branch, and Narraway's wife, Lady Vespasia, an elderly but powerful woman in London society and politics who was also related to the Pitts by marriage and assisted Thomas on many of his cases. With both Narraway and Vespasia dead, the fault for much of the implied wrong would fall on Sir Thomas Pitt, Daniel's own father. What is Daniel to do? And is there a leak at Special Branch?

I found this book as captivating as the entire Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series--in some ways, almost more so. Daniel is young and knows that he will inevitably make mistakes, but he has his mother's crusading spirit and his father's logical mind to fall back on, as well as the elderly head of the law firm who is an old friend of Daniel's father and sees the beginnings of a brilliant lawyer in young Daniel. Other new characters step in and out of the story, brilliant characters who attract our attention (and our hearts) and are instantly believable.

Anne Perry has always drawn amazing characters--memorable and lovable characters with weaknesses amid their strengths--who surprise us and involve us in their very thoughts. Perry is a masterful writer of the mystery genre, and this book may be among her very best yet. I rarely give "5" scores to books that are not classics, but this book definitely deserves this designation--the first of what I hope will be a long series of mysteries involving Daniel Pitt.


Mischief by Amanda Quick
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I have seen Amanda Quick's novels often on our library's shelves, and when I had nothing to read, I snatched this one.

I enjoyed the Regency setting and the idea of Matthias' archaeological trips which resulted in the discovery of the lost island of Zamar and all the details of this "lost culture." I enjoyed Matthias as a character: his seeming coldness (nicknamed "Cold-blooded Colchester") is quickly warmed by Imogen. I appreciated the various mysteries they solved together, including the death of Imogen's friend and the murder of Lord Vanneck whom Imogen believes was the murderer of her friend, his wife.

However, I didn't care for Imogen's stupidity. She's an obviously intelligent woman, given her research into ancient Zamarian culture and her ability to read Zamarian script (only she and Matthias are true scholars of Zamar although as a woman, she could not join the archaeological explorations), but she is at the same time unbelievably naive about people and society to the point of absolute stupidity. I found her obtuseness quite annoying. And the intimate scenes between Imogen and Matthias were just...weird. I don't care for such scenes anyway, enough so that I doubt I'll pick up another book by this author.

I enjoyed the various mysteries as they unfolded, and I really enjoyed Matthias' character opening himself up to Imogen despite (or perhaps because of) her reputation as "Immodest Imogen, but her consistent belief that she was always right despite being dead wrong most of the time was annoying. She saw what she wanted to see and believed only what she wanted to believe despite the truth of the matter being right smack-dab under her nose. I also didn't care for Matthias' half-sister Patricia who appears partway through the story and flip-flops in her dislike for both Matthias and Imogen so often that I couldn't keep up with her.

So it was the various mysteries that drove this novel forward for me and kept me reading despite my annoyance at most of the female characters.



Netherfield: Rogue Dragon: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Maria Grace
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I was fortunate enough to be allowed to proofread this and the second Jane Austen's Dragons book by Maria Grace, and I have to say that I ADORE this series. Out of the 600+ Austen variation novels I've read over the past five years or so, this series is my absolute #1 favorite of all time!!!!!!

Seriously.

No exceptions.

It's a brilliant world Maria Grace has dreamed up and researched meticulously. Each type of dragon in this series of three books thus far (and a fourth coming out soon--a prequel to this trilogy) has been based on dragon lore of Britain, Scotland, Ireland, and northern Europe. And the Blue Order--the association of dragons in Britain and the dragon-hearers--those who see, hear, and care for the hundreds, perhaps thousands of dragons in England--is simply brilliant.

In this third book of the trilogy based on Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Darcy and Elizabeth have been declared engaged by the Blue Order Council in order for both of them to care for young Pemberley, the baby firedrake who hatched in mysterious circumstances in Book One. But a rogue dragon--one not subject to the Pendragon Treaty to which all dragon and human members of the Blue Order agree--may be living at Netherfield Park, just outside of Laird Longbourn's territory. Elizabeth is charged by the Blue Order to discover this rogue dragon and to bring it into the Blue Order while Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam travel throughout Britain, quieting dragonkind who are upset at the idea of a possible rogue dragon and searching for clues about its provenance. Lydia, who apparently just started to hear dragons (which can occur later in life) is missing from Netherfield which she was caring for while Jane and Bingley (both dragon-deaf) are honeymooning.

In addition, Elizabeth has been banished from Longbourn's territory for refusing to marry Mr. Collins and for leaving Longbourn to care for baby Pemberley at Rosings Park where she was pining for "her" (Elizabeth). Mary, the other Bennet daughter who can hear dragons, is installed as Junior Keeper under Mr. Bennet, Historian of the Blue Order. Mary and her father are charged with the education of Mr. Collins, now affianced to Mary, as the Longbourn Estate (and its dragon) are entailed to him.

So with the very future of the Blue Order and the Pendragon Accords in jeopardy, Elizabeth and Darcy and the dragons assisting them, seek to keep peace between humanity and dragonkind within England...while trying to pursue their own future as co-Keepers of young Pemberley who will become a very powerful dragon in the Blue Order due to her rank within dragonkind.

And I'll leave my description here now that the background is clear (I hope). Just read the whole series; it's absolutely brilliant!!!!!!!!!!

* * * * *

Thanks for reading my reviews...which are a teensy more eclectic than the norm with two books NOT Austen variations although two are by Maria Grace. 

I'll be posting and also writing more reviews coming up. I had quite the list for the Summer Reading Program at our county library branch and managed to win our daughter a Kindle Fire 7 for her business. Last time I won something from the Summer Reading Program, I won a toaster oven which we just installed a month or two ago when the previous one decided to catch fire for some reason... Thus, I can tell my husband that reading really DOES PAY!! :D 

Warmly,

Winter Arrives--and My Review of What Angels Fear

Winter in Pine Valley

As winter finally arrives in Pine Valley with snow flurries and what we call "snail"--hail-like balls of ice that float to the ground like snow--reading in front of the fire with a cup of tea is the epitome of bliss. It's been a mild, mild winter so far, with highs usually in the 60s and even the 70s through most of December and January. Then finally in mid-February, winter decided to pay us a visit with lows in the mid-teens and highs in the 30s.

The woodburning stove is burning nearly 'round the clock, and the new wood splitter that Keith bought with our Christmas money from my parents is getting quite the workout. The huge pile of wood that Keith accumulated over the summer and fall months is slowly being split, the older stuff first, of course. Then we wheelbarrow each load to the front porch and from there we bring armloads into the house. 

So here's my newest read--the beginnings of a wonderful series set in the Regency period in England. I love the characters already and am looking forward to their next adventure. 


What Angels Fear by C.S. Harris
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Set in 1811 London, What Angels Fear is a very interesting mystery (the first in a series) in which Sebastian St. Cyr, Viscount Devlin, is accused of the horrendously violent rape and murder of a beautiful eighteen-year-old stage actress--in a church, no less. As he seeks to clear his name, Devlin is forced to work with Kat Boleyn, also an actress and the woman to whom he proposed marriage six years earlier, who left him so that she would not ruin his life. Meanwhile, more and more "evidence" seems to pile up against the Viscount, and his intelligence work in the Napoleonic Wars serves him in good stead as he seeks the true murderer. All these events occur in the days prior to the Regency of the Prince as his father, George III, sinks further into madness.

Surrounded by political intrigue, familial ties that bind too tightly, his continued love for Kat as they work together to solve the murder of her friend and fellow actress Rachel, plus the fear that the killer will strike again, Viscount Devlin, along with the sneaky and bright urchin, Tom, peels back the layers of this crime only to find himself and Rachel in mortal danger as the end of the book approaches.

Well-written with deep character development and compelling suspense, I will continue reading this brilliant St. Cyr mystery series.

View all my reviews

Reading with you,

Quotation of the Week on a Snowy Sunday

Our front yard this morning, as the storm continues to roll in....

This Sunday our family was snowed in, unable to attend church. Six inches of snow may not sound like a great deal of the wintry white stuff, but then this is Southern California.... ;)

So I prayed from my Book of Common Prayer 2011 this morning, including the Collect for the Fourth Sunday in Lent:

GOD of all mercy, who knows that we are justly punished in all that comes upon us for our evil deeds; In your mercy, grant that we may be relieved by the comfort of your grace; Through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who lives and rules with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

I also prayed the Psalms for the Eighteenth Day which includes Psalms 90-94. Psalm 92 contains some wonderful lines that I prayed while the snow fell in large, fluffy flakes while our family gathered around our roaring fire:

It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
to sing praises to your name, O Most High;

to declare your steadfast love in the morning,
and your faithfulness by night,

to the music of the lute and the harp,
to the melody of the lyre.

For you, O Lord, have made me glad by your work;
at the works of your hands I sing for joy.

How great are your works, O Lord!
Your thoughts are very deep!

But as I meditate upon my Lenten journey which has been quite the exercise in self-control, I can only pray with Paul's Second Epistle to the Church at Corinth:

"And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another."


--2 Corinthians 3:18

So as we continue through the second half of our Lenten journeys, may God strengthen us as we behold His glory, transformed into His image from day to day as we grow in the grace and knowledge of our Savior!

Journeying with you, this Lent and always,

Thankful for Autumn

This week autumn made itself felt. Our first winter storm came through, bringing rain and high winds, and the boys carried in wood and built the first fire of the season. Each morning I have to scrape frost from my windshield. I've put away the capris of summer, pulling out jeans and sweats and wool socks.

Autumn is my favorite season. The heat of summer wanes into crisp, clean days, a few cirrus clouds spreading across the skies, filmy mare's tails. The days grow shorter, and the apples ripen, blushing on the branches of our Pippin tree. The days are warm and pleasant; the night cool, often downright cold. We add another quilt to the bed at night. The boys stop watering the garden and start hauling firewood, our main source of heat in the house. I open the windows in the mornings to warm the house with temperate breezes, closing them when the sun dips, bringing coolness of evening, the opposite of summertime in which we open windows at night to cool the house and seal it up tight in the mornings to keep the rooms as comfortable as possible.

So with the arrival of autumn, I continue on the journey to One Thousand Gifts with the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience as I thank God this day...

671. for the nearly full moon shimmering through evergreen branches in deep dusk

672. for midnight-blue skies illuminating silhouettes of pines in dusky twilight

673. for the neighbor strumming guitar, practicing Christmas music in early October evenings

674. for the first frost of the season icing morning windshields

675. for harvest of pumpkins from community garden

676. for persistent toad who keeps returning to visit my spa

677. for new milestones for my stories

678. for first winter storm, bringing oh-so-welcome rain

679. for warmth of wool socks and UGG-style boots

680. for late lazy sunrises and early sunsets as autumn days wane

So as pumpkins are harvested and harvest moons wink in chill evenings, I count the days of autumn, treasuring each one. We make popcorn, apple cider, and hot chocolate in afternoons, and soup reappears on our dinner menus. And we look forward to Thanksgiving, the day set aside here in the States for gratitude for the good gifts of God.

Journeying in gratitude, now and always,

Rainy Day Gratitude

Grey day across the meadow behind our home, after the rains

Insomnia has been my companion all summer. If I go to bed in the middle of the night, around 3 AM, I can sleep soundly for four to five hours. If I go to bed around midnight, I won't fall asleep until two-ish, then wake every hour. A dilemma indeed.

It's been a very difficult summer, to say the least.

This morning as I turned off my laptop and warmed my microwavable neck pillow before heading upstairs at 3:15, I heard it.

The gentle fall of rain, pattering quietly on the metal roof of our screened patio.

I opened the sliding glass doors all the way, and the previously muffled sound engulfed me. Leaving the doors open, I moved to the front door, switched on the porch light, and strode barefoot across the wooden planks to the three concrete steps. I raised my hand out beyond the protection of the porch roof, and there it was.

Raindrops, the circumference of a quarter, caught in my upturned palm.

And I breathed in grateful gasps of the strange yet unforgettable scent of rain hitting warm pavement.

In dry Southern California, our rainy season is November-April. Summer rain in July is not uncommon. But September rain? That's a rare blessing, a gem sparkling in the single bulb of porch light, a liquid diamond.

I hefted myself upstairs a few moments later after closing and locking doors, smiling to myself. I had heard and seen and smelled and touched and (yes!) tasted the blessing.

And it was very good.

The rain returned around 10:30 this morning, and all of us enjoyed it. We threw open doors and windows that usually stay closed all day, locking in cool night air as long as possible--our old-fashioned version of air conditioning.

But today the welcome rain cooled the air for us, and we inhaled its clean, sweet fragrance, thankful for the grace of it all.

Through the day, clouds hung heavy, protecting us from usual September beating of hot sunshine. Humid air wafted vanilla-scent of Jeffrey Pines through screened windows, and we wiped perspiration from our necks as we worked.

This is grace, this rain. A gift we do not usually receive in September, Southern California's hottest month.

So I continue on the journey to One Thousand Gifts with The Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience, thanking God this day....

641. for the crescent moon glowing against deep cerulean skies at dusk

642. for overcast mornings, sunlight diffused and dappled

643. for tart green apples, bunched grape-like on Pippin tree

644. for writing to be done, life's work with pen in hand

645. for all four kids and husband gathered into small bunk-bedded room, familiar tunes fingered on newly-repaired keyboard

646. for summer rain on an early-September morning

647. for sweet blueberries, plumply grape-sized, eaten for breakfast

648. for swishing of car tires on puddled, rain-dampened streets

649. for low grumbles of thunder rolling through silver-grey clouds, charcoal underbellies reverberating

650. for gentle drip-drip of rainwater from serrated oak leaves as showers shift westward

As skies remain grey, silvered by diffused sunlight creeping toward western peaks, the fresh scent of the day's rain sweetly remains, promising a cool, crisp evening ahead.

Grateful for the rain, this day and always,

Storms of Life

When the summer storms descended upon our small mountain town earlier this week, we rejoiced. Rain is a rare commodity in Southern California, and we look forward to our summer storms with unparalleled anticipation.

When the storm clouds folded atop one another after lunch, Keith peered at the darkening skies and decided to work from home for the remainder of the day so that he wouldn't miss the spectacle.

And what a spectacle it was...for us Californians at least. Those of you who live where summer storms are an ordinary occurrence do not realize the joy we desert-dwellers find in a simple summer storm.

The flashes of lightning, the roars of thunder, the winds whipping tree branches this way and that, the sheeting rain, and even the occasional bloom of hailstones--these events occur once or twice per year here in San Diego County, albeit a little more commonly in our mountains.

Really, it's akin to a fireworks display--a free one, courtesy of Mama Nature.

We thrill to each rumble and roar and flash the way kids hype themselves up for a trip to Disneyland. Everything in our household stops, and we gather on the porch to watch the large drops cascade down the roof, puddling in our front yard, watching with wide eyes and ooohing and aaahing over each flash from sky and rumble that shakes the porch boards under our feet.

After the first thrill waned and the kids returned to their common activities, Keith and I curled up on the wicker sofa on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, and watched the rain and the flashes of lightning in silence.

It's the kind of comfortable silence borne of over a quarter of a century of marriage...almost sixty percent of my life. We did chat a little about his almost-completed stained glass window, about the newest handyman job he's doing, about the kids and their quirks and habits and plans for future.

But in the lulls between the conversation settled the comfort of his arm resting behind my shoulders along the top of the sofa, of our bodies turned toward one another. It's the same comfort as his casual touch on my hair as he walks behind my chair in the kitchen, or my ruffling his gray head as I move behind his desk chair.

So we find comfort in one another while skies darken and winds buffet and rains sheet and thunder crashes.

And we know that the comfort we give one another through the storms has a Source beyond us.

Comfort in the storms--isn't that how life should be?

"Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people and will have compassion on his afflicted." --Isaiah 49:13, ESV

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort." --2 Corinthians 1:3-7, ESV

Seeking and finding God's comfort in the storms of life,

Poems for Spring

Daffodils in front of our porch

Spring creeps slowly into our mountain valley. This morning the clouds shield us from the sun, and winds buffet the vanilla-scented Jeffrey pines that surround our mountain cabin home. Rain is forecast, and the memory of basking in the sun while reading and writing in a beach chair on the front lawn Wednesday seems unreal. The house carries the chill of last night's cold this morning, and I reach for a second cardigan with a shiver.

But our town's main street is flanked with cheerful daffodil banners, and the flowers themselves wave happily each time a car passes. Despite the fact that we receive the vast majority of our snow in March (and did this year as well), March still heralds spring as minuscule buds form on the branches of our Pippin tree and pale blooms emerge on the young peach tree, which we hope will fruit for the first time. I inspect the lilac bushes and am heartened by the greenish-brown buds forming, a promise of fragrant white boughs to come.

And so with spring in the air despite the storm marching its way up the mountain, I thought I'd post a couple of spring poems for your enjoyment.

This one appeared in my inbox this morning, a daily offering from Academy of American Poets:

The Enkindled Spring
by D. H. Lawrence

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, ashadow that's gone astray, and is lost.

And, of course, my favorite spring poem of all time, written by my favorite poet of all time:

in Just-
by e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and
the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

So I bid you all a happy spring, whether the actual conditions agree with the month of March...or not. And please feel free to share your favorite spring poems in the comments section. We can always use more spring!!

Spring blessings,

Nov PAD Challenge Day 6: "Looking for..."

the meadow just outside our property in early autumn

Our prompt for today's Nov PAD Poetry Chapbook Challenge (Day 6) is to write a poem with "Looking for..." as the title. So with the summer weather we've had this past week (like downtown San Diego with a high of 100--a rarity), I find myself looking for fall, hoping it comes soon as the summer heat drains me, sapping strength and robbing thought. But I push onward, trying to write.

Looking for Autumn: A Poem of Southern California
the heat gasps, shimmering
faint mirages across pitted asphalt.
the mercury pulses upward,
measuring July rather than November.
yearning for cosy fires, cups of
comforting tea, velour throws,
we instead consume lemonade,
beads of sweaty condensation
forming against slick glass.
tonight we "fall back," adding
an hour to our sleep, beckoning
dank darkness, acclerating
day-dawning. the leaves swirl
from yellowed locust branches
despite afternoon swelter as
I await autumn's slow arrival.

Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett

Pushing myself to write,

Sapped by Summer

Summer. It's my least favorite season.

Here in Southern California, everything turns brown, scorched into wilted ugliness by the hot sun. We live in a glorified desert anyway (San Diego receives less than ten inches of rain per year), and summer not only points to the ugliness; it screams it. Rather loudly, too.

The verdant green of our mountains in spring is now a dull beige...a few hardy blooms attempt to add color but fail dismally. The smell of smoke in the air sends a frisson of fear down one's spine; the danger of fire is on everyone's minds from now until the November rains arrive to save us. Our small town has been endangered three times in the past seven years by fires swooping through the canyons and ravines between the scrubby hillsides. One can only bow head...and pray.

The days seem to blaze together, one into another, passing in a blur of fans and sunscreen and Otterpops and iced tea. No day seems to stand out--all become one long, seemingly-endless day of sweat itching its way between my shoulder blades, of hair pulled back and up, stiff with perspiration, of downing glass after glass after glass of water--and still being thirsty.

I don't do well in the summer heat. I melt rather easily, in fact.

Heat is usually welcome to me. I need a heated pad on the back of my neck each night. To help me sleep each night for the past seven years, I relax in my jacuzzi made especially for people with rheumatoid arthritis. I love to curl up under the weight of blankets.

All three of these modes of relief do not work too well in the summer...to my detriment.

I freeze the neck pad, but it just doesn't offer the same level of relief as 90 seconds in the microwave does. I turn the jacuzzi down from 99 to 95, but it just doesn't relax my tight muscles enough to permit deep sleep. And blankets...forgetaboutit.

Sigh. I walk around zombie-like, sleep-deprived. But mid-day naps are impossible since my upstairs bedroom is the temperature of a boiler room.

I do love the time off from home education...the days at the beach...the freedom...the opportunity to rest my body. I wish that my long break came in the winter months (all except the beach...naw, even that!) when I can curl up with a hot cuppa Irish Breakfast and relax in front of the fire with a fine novel or with a journal, pen, and ink. Now that is relaxation!

The stuffiness of summer heat makes me lightheaded. We don't have air conditioning in our Southern California mountain cabin--although this past week we installed an attic fan...right in our bedroom window. It's loud but somewhat effective. But I am still drained by the heat, wilted by the blazing sun. And out hottest months here, August and September, are still ahead of us.

I have projects brewing...writing projects, cleaning/organizing projects, gardening projects, reading projects...and I get to them once in a while. But the summer heat leeches away my joy and melts my enthusiasm into mere puddles around my feet--it's rather disgusting, actually. Pretty darn gross.

And sad. So sad.

Melting into a puddle again,

Alas, Poor Spring--I Knew It Well...

(our front flowerbed...in years past)

Spring usually peeks her comely face around the corner of the fence around mid-March. She may flit in and out of our small mountain town a few times in the month to come, often chased away by seasonal frosts and the occasional snow.

But this year spring has been extremely shy. Here it is, a week before June, and despite pansies and Sweet Williams in my porch flower pots, I am bundled in sweats and two cardigans with a space heater humming at my feet. The sun is weakly shining outside today, but the highs are forecast for the 50's and a slight chance of rain looms for the afternoon. Last week the temperatures dipped below freezing several nights in a row, and I was regretting the change from flannel to cotton sheets in our often too-warm-in-spring upstairs bedroom and wished for my down comforter. Reluctantly, the boys were back to hauling firewood and stoking the stove to keep the house above sixty each morning. Our high temperature on Sunday afternoon was in the 40's.

Fortunately, the delphiniums, Sweet Williams, lobelia, snapdragons, poppies, and larkspur that I've potted and tucked into flower beds thus far are all frost-resistant; I never plant my more delicate friends until mid-June when all chance of frost is behind us. This year, however, I may be waiting until July 4th to tote home cosmos, parlsey, cilantro, mint, and other assorted flowers and herbs. I love a wildflowery garden, mixing herbs and flowers into untidy borders, and I hope to do more with my little garden areas than I have in the past, mostly because our boys are big and strong enough to tend to the difficult work I can't do.

So spring hasn't fully arrived in our little hamlet which is nestled into a cozy valley halfway up the mountain, within an easy hour of San Diego beaches and another easy hour to desert dunes. Spring flirts with us still, beckoning with a come-hither look one day, then is completely obscured by threatening gray clouds and the sharp scent of snow the next. And we remain watching the uncomfortable tango as winter refuses to yield the lead and fade into the background, and spring seems too timid to whirl us into summer days....

Wrapped in sweaters and sweats, I wait for the dance to become one of decided passion and zing, declaring that spring is truly here to stay, bringing her beauty and sunshine to grace our little valley once more.

When Lilacs Last on My Kitchen Table Bloom'd....

(Lilac in our backyard last spring)

As I finish lunch on this beautiful Sunday afternoon and prepare to hunker down and work on my online Shakespeare class at Brave Writer, the bountiful bouquet of white and lavender lilacs fill my kitchen with their distinctive sweet-n-spicy scent. With apologies to Walt Whitman and his lovely poem from which I stole my title, I can't help feeling a quiet joy each time I inhale the lilac-perfumed air.

Yes, 'tis the blessed season for the mountain lilac which blooms fragrantly all over our small town--in front yards, over fences, along back decks, even wildly in the few vacant lots around town. Their appearance is all-too-brief; in another week or two they'll be gone, shriveled brown reminders with the merest whiff of fragrance remaining. Because our two lilac bushes are in a very shady spot in our yard, they're among the last to bloom in town, often several weeks after the sunny-climed bushes have long lost their white and purple blossoms.

Mountain weather is so changeable. On Tuesday night I wore heavy jeans, a long-sleeved sweater, boots, and a suede jacket to our monthly writers' workshop meeting and the mercury dropped below freezing overnight while today the front porch thermometer reads 90+ and after church I donned shorts, tank top, and flip flops. The boys flopped onto the sofa, claiming how hot it is...as they will do every day throughout the summer.

Today also marks the official "changing of the guard" from winter to summer as I stripped off the uber-warm red flannel sheets from our bed and laid out crisp, palest blue cotton sheets, perfectly fit for summer. Off goes the red-flowered and green-leaved cream flannel duvet cover, buttoned around our down comforter, and on goes a thin cornflower-blue and white quilt. I plumped the feather pillows, removing red flannel pillow slips and replacing with eyelet-edged white slips. The green electric blanket will be packed away and replacing it is a thin blue blanket for cooler nights. Soon the oscillating fan will be turned on as we face the four-five months of summer heat which are blessedly relieved by cool mountain nights. This seasonal change is unheard-of "down the hill" in San Diego where the weather so rarely changes. The joke is that native San Diegans claim that temperatures under 65 are cold, and temperatures above 75 are hot. Spoiled rotten, we are.

My fingers itch to be out in the garden today, pulling weeds, trimming and tying back roses and "hockey pucks" (what Keith calls my hollyhocks). The boys managed to get the lawn mowed yesterday--we had to replace the battery and pump up the tires to get it working; meanwhile, our yard turned into lush jungly grasses--savannah-like, actually. It's a relief not to have to bushwhack my way around the yard any longer. The boys will do more weed-eating this afternoon after the temperatures cool--and after they clean the house while E is at work, housekeeping at the nearby Bible camp. But Shakespeare calls, so to work on Hamlet shall I go.

So now, with lilacs blooming on my kitchen table, a lovely arrangement we used on our Pine Valley Community Gardens bake sale table at the plant sale yesterday, I will hie me off my blog and back to discussions of Hamlet's apparent insanity. I leave you with the Collect for the Sunday after the Ascension from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer:

O GOD, the King of glory, who hast exalted thine only Son Jesus Christ with great triumph unto thy kingdom in heaven; We beseech thee, leave us not comfortless; but send to us thine Holy Ghost to comfort us, and exalt us unto the same place whither our Saviour Christ is gone before, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the same Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

NaPoWriMo Poem #19: Late April Snowfall

(our front yard, under a thin blanket of snow)

On Wednesday morning we woke to huge flakes of snow falling, the latest snow we've experienced in our almost nine years in the Southern California mountains. This morning we woke to a near-blizzard, with snow sticking on the very wet landscape. Driving in the snow wasn't easy this morning, although the snowy landscape was simply lovely to behold.

So with Southern California snow falling this week, so very late in April, a poem was definitely in the making:

Late April Snowfall
Spiraling down
through menacing grey skies,
the flakes,
like dancers,
float and twirl,
seemingly weightless.
A late April surprise,
this snowfall--
which usually ceases
its visits by mid-March--
this spring
the wintry snow chose to spend
an extended holiday
in Southern California,
swirling to the valley floor
and alighting on my potted blue pansies,
now drooping under the snow's
icy touch.

Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett

Yes, a Wee Bit Behind.... and Spring!

Yes, I'm four poems behind on National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)--four poems behind on writing a poem a day for a month. Busy-ness has rudely taken over, wringing all poesy from my soul with its work-roughened hands. So rather than jotting four rushed haiku poems and calling all "GOOD," I'm going to write two poems a day for the next four days, including today.

Tonight I shared one of my NaPoWriMo poems with our local writing workshop: An Easter Life. A few changes were suggested by the group, and I've already implemented the suggestions as they were all "spot on" -- small word shifts like "sterilized" to "sterile" and "unhinged" to "yielded." Little improvements can make a marked difference in flow and mood, and I'm unspeakably grateful to our little group o' seven souls willing to listen, read, ponder, and comment, as we nudge one another toward powerful and true writing.

So another poem tonight. I asked my 4th-6th grade poetry class to compose acrostics for homework, so I may as well share one I jotted down with them and have since revised--a fitting little thing after planting Pansies and Sweet Williams in my porch posy-pots this weekend:

SPRING
Spring comes calling,
Peeking around corner of
Rain, wind, storm
Into greening warmth.
No further frost, snow, or ice--
Gardens may birth their beauty.

Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett

A Short Hiatus

(Thunder Mountain Railroad in Adventureland, Disneyland)

Well, I shall be taking a short hiatus from posting while the four kids and I join my parents, my brother, and his two kids on our annual Southern California amusement park trip. We usually alternate between Disneyland and Knott's Berry Farm, but last year we purchased annual passes for Disneyland/California Adventure which was the same price as our three-day passes. So this year we are returning a few days earlier to use the annual passes again before they run out -- which saves my parents oodles of money. And I prefer Disneyland, anyway -- it's just more magical.

These annual trips are my parents' birthday present to everyone in the family. With my brother and I sharing an early March birthday and my dad's and sister's birthdays in mid-April (not counting all the March/April birthdays among the grandkids), taking a trip together each spring makes for an excellent gift that we can all enjoy together. My sister and her family moved to Montana a few years ago and haven't always been able to enjoy the spring trip much, but Mom and Dad fly in to see them and take them places, too -- like Yellowstone last year. Keith, who doesn't really enjoy amusement parks, will be staying home with our little dachshund and work. We'll miss him, but he will definitely enjoy a QUIET house this weekend.

So, despite finishing one Brave Writer class today (One Thing: Poetry) and starting One Thing: Grammar on Monday, the timing of the trip could be better, but it does look like we should skirt most of the major rainstorms threatening to drown us at "The Happiest Place on Earth." At least my other deadlines are all past me, and an engagement for tomorrow morning was canceled, so after I take J down to "jam" with the Free Teen Guitar Class tonight (and do several loads of laundry), we should be ready to finish our packing and get cracking on up to Anaheim and all the Disney fun.

And I will return just in time to celebrate my birthday on Tuesday!

Look out Matterhorn; here I come!

Creative Mayhem....

The storm clouds cleared; sunshine streamed through our windows this morning. When I made my way downstairs, the three boys were already outdoors, playing in the couple inches of snow deposited by the fifth storm this week. Grateful to be outdoors, the boys discovered a creative and energetic outlet in making snowmen. The large one they started yesterday was finished, and plans were made for its imminent annihilation. When the destruction flopped, T channeled his creativity into re-creating classic snowmen from the Calvin & Hobbes comic strips.

You may view these creative (and rather sick) snowmen on my photo blog: Susanne 365.

Snow Falls...

This morning we awoke to a change in the weather. Instead of the deluge of rain we've experienced all week, snow blanketed our front garden. I snapped a photo from inside our cozy house, looking out through our porch and across the meadow outside our gate.

Our little mountain town, elevation 3800 feet, is only fifty miles east of (usually) sunny San Diego, yet we experience all four seasons much differently than the usual San Diegan. We receive a few snowfalls each winter, usually in January and February; an inch or two is normally all we receive, melting within a few hours.



Around 7:30 this morning I stepped out onto the porch in stocking feet to capture the falling snow. The snow stopped mid-morning, so I took the two younger ones 15 miles down the mountain to Alpine for Morning Prayer and Holy Eucharist with Father Acker at Victoria House where Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity meets on weekdays. Following Communion, Jonathan had his guitar lesson with Father Acker until 10:45.

Deciding to skip a trip all the way into San Diego for my chiropractic appointment, we turned eastward and started back up the mountain. Snow started softly falling on my windshield as I boarded the freeway, and we passed a very serious car accident as the snow began to accumulate under my slowly-turning wheels. I took the next exit, deciding to enter our town "the back way" on smaller highways rather than via the slippery Interstate.

But the narrow, winding highways were also snow-covered, so I slowed my speed to 20 mph as "Molly," my beloved '91 Corolla, attempted to keep her balding tires on the slushy road. The snow drifted down in increasingly larger flakes, falling furiously and reducing visibility. I could feel the tires slipping along the paving, the back of the car fish-tailing slightly. Then the snow began to fall in earnest, creating blizzard-like conditions, something definitely NOT seen often in San Diego County. While I started praying under my breath, "Molly" skidded slightly as I edged her up the mountain and into the small community of Guatay. Deciding that conditions were not safe enough to continue, I pulled "Molly" into a parking place in front of the tiny hardware store.

Whipping out my cell phone, I planned to call my husband to fetch us in the van for which we have snow chains, but my cell could not receive a signal. Sighing, I told the boys to stay put in the warm backseat and, taking my cane with me, struggled through puddles and snow to the front door of the hardware store where they allowed me to call home, only five miles away. Keith assured me he would come, so I muddled my way back to the car to wait with the boys.

Ten minutes later, we heard someone from the hardware store calling my name, telling me that my husband was on the phone. I managed to slide my way through the snow drifts again to pick up the phone; the van wouldn't start and Keith told me I was on my own and to drive home slowly. Fortunately, while we were waiting, the snow had slowed, falling now in smaller, tighter flakes that allowed for far better visibility, plus several cars had driven past, leaving melted tracks on the snowy highway.

Turning in my seat, I held a hand out to the boys who placed their hands in mine while I prayed for our safe home-going. I managed to persuade "Molly" to back out of the snowbank that had accumulated during our wait, and somehow she found enough traction to pull us back onto the highway. We proceeded home at 15-20 mph, thankful for the wet tire tracks through the now-slushy snow and the greatly improved visibility for driving. We edged down the hill into our whitened valley, sloshing across the meadow and parking "Molly" in our driveway with grateful hearts.

We certainly experienced an adventure today. The snow continued to fall off and on all day, and many events in our town have been canceled, including our art council's program tonight. I'm thankful to be home, in a warm house with a hot fire in the wood stove, and steaming ham and bean soup for dinner. The word "thankful" seems inadequate to express the relief, the joy, of being home safely.

Gratitude swells in my heart, through my fingers, and onto this blog. Thanks be to God for His guiding Hand in bringing us home safely through the blizzard conditions, something we are not at all used to in Southern California.

"It Never Rains in Southern California..."

Today's storm was the fourth this week. Winds howled around the corners of our home, occasionally screaming down the chimney, violently bending the pine, oak, and cypress trees that surround our mountain home. Rain poured from the gray skies, then hail pounded sideways in the gale. Our front yard filled with puddles, then ponds, then lakes. I could barely open the front door with the winds pushing it closed.

Nine red flag weather warnings for our county scrolled down my computer screen. Wind warnings to 85 miles per hour. Flood warnings along the coast and valleys through Saturday morning. Ocean waves to 15-20 feet. Tornado warnings. Severe thunderstorm warnings. Rivers flooding their banks. Reports of 73 mph winds in La Jolla. Trains between San Diego and Los Angeles were shut down this afternoon. Southwest Airlines canceled all flights in and out of San Diego today, stranding my dad in San Francisco; my mother at least was not alone last night since her brother stayed with her because he couldn't get out to the sailboat he lives on in San Diego Bay. Cars were stranded up to their headlights just a few blocks from my parents' home.

A levee broke in South Bay, in the Tijuana River Valley. More than a dozen power outages struck the county. Many cars were swept away in North County, and news crews filmed kayakers traveling up Mission Boulevard in the beach communities. Many trees fell across roads throughout the county on this fourth day of storms. Mudslides after last summer's wildfires are a real danger. Sea World and Legoland closed today, and at least Sea World will be closed tomorrow.

Tonight the rain descends almost horizontally among the violently tossing trees. Thunder echoes above our home, the lightning waking our boys this evening. Weather experts are predicting five to eight inches of snow in our mountains overnight; our town is right on the edge of the prediction. Rain and hail still tumble from the sky, pelting our roof while the winds continue to shriek around the house and down the chimney as I type.

This is not the sunny San Diego County we know.

During school we drew near the fire, with Timothy doing his copywork at the hearth. In preparation for the storms, the boys stacked firewood on both sides of the woodburning stove, our only heat source besides a couple of electric heaters. Today Keith stayed home from work at my mother's insistence; he was planning to work on my parents' elevator project, but the flooding in the beach areas was serious. He made savory ham and bean soup for our dinner tonight -- perfect for a stormy night.

San Diego's annual rainfall is 10 inches; in the mountains, our annual rainfall is 23 inches. In the city they've received half of the annual rainfall in the past four days. The predictions are for up to 20 inches here in the mountains for the week. The El Nino that is bringing us this southern jet stream and these storms hasn't been this strongly since 1997-98, and perhaps not since 1983.

And another storm is due tomorrow morning.

Trying to stay safe and dry in (usually) sunny Southern California,

Summer Blues

Summer is my least favorite month in the mountains. The constant heat saps my strength, clouding my mind, making it difficult to accomplish much at all. Summer is also a time to rest, to kick back and allow time for "vegging" -- for doing nothing. With my online class at Brave Writer completed, I am taking this week as a bit of time-off before I start preparing for the start of our new school year that begins in less than three weeks, on August 24.

It's been an odd summer for us. The kids and I have been tired and lazy. Half the time the kids stay in their pajamas all day, forced inside by the 100-degree temperatures and dust-blown winds. After a very busy school year, none of us have felt much like doing anything. The boys take their turns with their ancient X-Box, playing Star Wars Battlefront and a few other games. In the heat of the afternoon we sometimes watch movies. It's indeed been a summer of resting body and soul, of regathering strength and enthusiasm for fall activities. The boys have been watering the flower beds only, so our front "lawn" has become dirt with patches of dried grasses, weed seeds from the expansive meadow outside our gate always blowing in and nestling into the soil. It's so hot all of the time that even typing seems draining, that moving at all seems like too much work. Perspiration clings to the back of my neck at all hours unless I pull my hair into a ponytail clip which provides minimal relief.

The boys are in Sports Camp this week, so each afternoon at 4:15 they hop on their bicycles and head to the park where the Pine Valley Community Church hosts their version of Vacation Bible School (VBS) each summer. Each child aged 4-12 chooses a sport: soccer, baseball, basketball, tennis, or, new this year, cheer. Timothy is older this year, so he has elected to help the younger kids as an assistant coach. The first day, yesterday, all three boys had chosen soccer, but today both T and B are considering changes, T to help with basketball and B to learn baseball. Intermixed with the sports coaching are singing songs, prayer, and Bible lessons. Many kids who aren't involved in church at all come along, eager to spend time with friends and play sports. All participants sport T-shirts, learn memory verses, and on Friday evening after the last day of camp, all the families gather for a dinner and award night in the town hall. So for now, the boys are active in the afternoons at least, and E and I enjoy some welcome quiet.

Elizabeth is preparing for our long-anticipated yard sale this Saturday at Keith's sister's home in El Cajon with boxes strewn across the living room floor this afternoon as she goes through all the stuff set aside over the past year. I am also looking forward very much to this yard sale as I'm hoping that we'll make enough money to pay for most of the kids' textbooks for our next year of school. More than that, I will be ecstatic to have all those boxes out of the bottom of my closet!

So next week I will dive more enthusiastically into school planning, but this week is my week to kick back and relax a little. This school year will be far busier than I like to think about, and I hope that a little resting now will make the busy-ness a little easier to bear. I wish I could get away for a few days to someplace quiet and restful, but it doesn't seem possible at this point to do so.

Meanwhile, the sunshine glints off my parked Corolla and my flower garden fades in the afternoon heat. We still have fire season ahead of us which experts are predicting will be a bad one. This summer is our eighth in the mountains, and three of those summers we have been forced to evacuate because of fires endangering our town. Fires and earthquakes are both facts of life in Southern California, especially so here in the mountains where we are surrounded by fault lines and extremely dry conditions. I don't believe that we have received our average rainfall of 15 inches since moving here, and even if we had the funds to pay for watering our lawns, we wouldn't as the town wells are lowering too rapidly. The city of San Diego is also experiencing water rationing as well as expecting a bad fire season. With the infamous Santa Ana winds that often whip up in September and October to 60-100 miles per hour pushing from the mountains toward the coast, the city is in as much danger as we are in the mountains.

Prayerfully I wait for the soaking rains of November and December to halt the fire danger and bring some welcome green in place of sundried browns to our mountain palette.....

Pine Valley Day

The Pine Valley Parade started at nine in the morning in humid heat -- sitting in the shade was a necessity. My parents and brother came down from the cabin on Mount Laguna and staked a claim just outside the park in the shade, just where the parade started. As always, the Pine Valley Days Parade commenced with the color guard followed by the Mountain Empire High School cheerleaders bearing the Parade sign. Much clapping and cheering accompanied the start of the parade, and thus the beginning of a long day of celebrating our beautiful small town.

Our three boys enjoyed being on the troop transport for Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity. Advertising the Free Teen Guitar Class ministry, Father Acker and Jonathan played their guitars while Timothy, Benjamin, and others tossed candy to the children along the parade route.

I love a small town parade in which the Grand Marshall is none other than the 90+ year old head of the Friends of the Library, Gramma Stickel. Beloved by the children of our town, Gramma Stickel plans fundraisers and outreaches for the local library. She is such a sweetie!

The Miss Alpine Float was colorful and fun -- probably the most creative and beautiful float of the parade.

My favorite part of the parade each year (besides seeing the kids in the parade) is the bagpipers. I absolutely adore the music of bagpipes, and this group is quite large and really, really good. It's definitely a highlight for me each year.

And the parade would not be complete without the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. I have a childhood fondness for Der Wienerschnitzel: twice in my middle school years my brother, sister, and I were on the Wienerschnitzel float in the Mother Goose Parade in El Cajon -- the second largest parade west of the Mississippi (after the Rose Parade). So seeing the Wienermobile each year in our own town's little parade brings back some fun memories.

After the parade which lasted for the greater part of an hour, everyone converged on the county park where the craft booths, snowcone stand, grilled hot dogs, climbing walls, horse shoe tournaments, and kiddie rides were. It was hot, hot, hot for the first half of the day until some high clouds provided relief from the burning sun. At the Mountain Empire Creative Arts Council (MECAC) booth we had a bake sale with fresh limeade that brought in over $60 for children's art programs. Elizabeth sold a few pieces of jewelry and also helped with a free bracelet-making craft. Timothy was a great salesman, carting our baked goods to sellers who couldn't leave their booths. We didn't sell any T-shirts or stained glass, however, but we did get some people interested in what we do for the community -- which is the main reason we set up the booth each year.

The day was made extra-special when our dear friends Carmen and Jeff and their daughters drove up from North County to enjoy the festivities. Carmen and I attended grad school together at USD, and Keith and Jeff have always been great friends, too. (I think the guys talked more than we women did!) Elizabeth sat down with their girls to make jewelry while we adults chatted. It was just a perfect note to a very fun but busy and hot day.