SEE JANE LEARN


There is hope. Hope for continuing the web log. After I groused the other evening about my inability to communicate with the outside world, Tim whose feelings were hurt by my griping, brought me to the computer room at the Manor and I learned the simplicity of continuing on. 


I'm not ready to write an entry today........but wait! I'm going to send you my entry for the next newsletter. There was talk of replacing me as co-editor and that spurred me into action.


Here is what is going in to the August newsletter. Anne Van Trigt's entry has yet to be put in (by the co-editor)

"If our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest...........in all its ardour and paradoxes......than our travels. They express, however inarticulately, an understanding of what life might be about outside of the constraints of work and of the struggle for survival. Yet rarely are they considered to present philosophical problems.......dated on advice on where to travel to, but we hear little of why and how we should go, even though the art of travel seems naturally to sustain a number of questions neither so simple nor so trivial, and of what the Greek philosophers beautifully termed eudaionia,  'human flourishing.'

            from  "The Art of Travel" by Alain de Botton

When I hear the word, “August”, I think of vacations which of course is left over from my years of mothering growing chilldren.. August was the month that we locked up our bookshop and pretended to be a normal family of the 1960s when most mothers wore aprons and were readily available all day long.

Some years we ferried to Catalina Island where we langished in a rented cottage for a week; other years we could be found on a road trip........less relaxed as our three offfspring tended to squabble over which kid was privileged to sit in the middle seat.

As the years went by, Mr. Bob and I found ourselves in more exotic places but always with the necessity of getting back home to resume shopkeeping.

One of my fantasies regarding the move to Windsor, involved my stepping to the counter and telling Sandy or Sue that we were going away and would return in six months. Alas, that dream never materialized, but I have

a wealth of memories from the trips we did take;

In Germany when from our hotel, we walked through fields of grain to get to a small village, landing in their beer garden which looked for all the world like a movie set, so artistically arranged it was.

Learning about the rich, traditional music of the lower Mississippi River on an Elderhostel barge trip.

The train trip where during the night, the partition in our bedroom car vibrated open and suddenly we had not only twice the room, but an unfamiliar roommate who was not the least bit amused.

In one of the northern-most states, marveling at the wheel ruts, still visible, from the Conestoga wagons of long ago.

The early morning ascent of colorful hot air balloons during the festival in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Mr. Bob saying, upon our return from a three week motorhome trip to Maine and back again, “I’m not going anywhere with that kid until his voice changes”.( referring to Tim, the nice man who visits me several times a week). Fifteen years later our family was together on a hellish vacation in Hawaii and Mr. Bob came to me and whispered, “His voice hasn’t changed yet.”

And now, from a few of our residents:

I’ve traveled all over the world and all of the trips have been super except for the time the airline lost my luggage.

                          Jeanne Naumann

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It took three attempts before I fulfilled my desire to visit Egypt. The first two times my plans were cancelled because people were shooting each other in that country.

                             Simone

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A vacation was about the last thing in my mind a few months ago. With great friends, food and fellowship right here at Windsor, why would a person  vacate?

One evening a deep voice on my answering machine greeted me with: “Hello, Shirley, this is Will Adams from Liberty, MO after 65 years!” Will and I had dated a bit when I was a kid in junior high. Bill, a mutual friend, was planning a 65th and final reunion of their class of 1947. Will was going and wanted me to go, too.

A month later Will and I met in the home of Bill and his wife. Will and I had both shrunk; he was down to 6’4”.

All of us at the reunion enjoyed the tasty food; then we gathered around Will at the piano. No one had the music for the school song, so we sang some patriotic numbers. After picture taking, we disbursed to our cars.

During the following 3 days, Will and I revisited the old familiar haunts. We went to the location where our old school had been and then to the new school that replaced it. During his teens Will and his brother had put out a small newspaper with articles that revealed how local children felt about current events during those World War II years. We met with the principal and the librarian of the library. Both were thrilled to receive copies of the old newspapers for their archives.

Will stopped at the house where he had lived and was invited in to meet the residents and share information about former owners. He took a picture of me in front of my childhood home. The church next door had been rebuilt and enlarged. In true Philadelphia style, one breakfast menu included scrapple.

I stopped at the Wayne Hotel where my mother had been in charge of the dining room and kitchen during the ‘40s. It had been remodeled and upgraded to a posh, upscale hotel and is now on the National Registry of Historic Buildings. The community of Wayne had been updated to include restaurants, shops and galleries.

We were up early on the fourth morning and whisked to the airport for our flight to Kansas City. Will made a great traveling companion. His height meant we were directed to a wide, open row of seats.

Will’s home, in Liberty, was built in the 1850s. He gave me a tour, offering me any of the available bedrooms. I chose a single with a pull-down queen bed on the lower level. It was a man’s house........8 TVs, 3 computers, even an elevator!

One day we saw the Truman Library and on another we visited the only museum in the world dedicated entirely to the first World War. The last museum we visited was in a 19th century ship dredged up from many feet of mud as the Missouri River changed course through the centuries.The displays were most interesting.

My somewhat whirlwind vacation, with all of its fun and memories, came to an end as I flew to Minneapolis, then Burbank and returned to the warmth of the Windsor family home.

                                         - Shirley Lawson

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ANNE VAN TRIGT’S CONTRIBUTION

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Hopefully your interest in travel has been stimulated enough to dip into an interesting book on the subject. Among the titles offered by our very own Windsor library:

UNDER THE TUSCAN SUN FRANCES MAYES

BELLA TUSCANY FRANCES MAYES

NOTES FROM A SMALL ISLAND BILL BRYSON

TOUJOURS PROVENCE PETER MAYLE

EAT, PRAY & LOVE ELIZABETH GLIBERT

RIDING THE IRON ROOSTER PAUL THEROUX

PASSAGE TO ARARAT MICHAEL ARLEN

TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE AUDREY

                NIFFENEGGER

HOMECOMING

I AROSE THIS MORNING, vowing that there be no tears today. Enough is really quite enough and I used over my quota yesterday. As I do every morning, first thing, I looked at the mail and the blog (always hungry for your precious comments which make me feel so connected to the outside world) and facebook. It was on facebook that I found the following and yes, I've cried already this morning but they were happy tears and I'm not even dressed yet!

Chris HumphreyToday I return home, to help my mother prepare for the first step in her journey as a breast cancer survivor.· · about an hour ago near Fairview, CA ·




Susan Humphrey I am at the Anchorage airport waiting for my departing flight to also return home to help my mohter, father, brothers feel supported during this important time.

GOD BLESS ALL OF YOU.......my cherished family, my dear friends, far and near, some of whom I've never even met face to face. You're all playing such an important part in this unfolding scenario. 


Help's coming, Bob and Tim! 


Thank you.
And again, thank you.


"Homecoming unites

 the past and the present."

                                     author unknown                   

PLAYTHINGS

MOST OF THE RESIDENTS' ROOMS I've visited are not filled with toys. There are a few, here and there, but I suspect we take the so-called cake for having the most. Every room has a storage cage in the basement; in our case, we have two. I've no idea what is in them. Every once in a while we go down to take an inventory, but stop in defeat before we can get past the front row of "stuff". We'll probably never know........it will be up to our children to sort through it....... the final revenge, I suppose it could be called.


After Mr. Bob retired, we splurged and signed up for an Antique Toy Tour in Europe. It was a lovely trip, in which I proved to myself that I'm more drawn to museum quality new toys than I am willing to pay the price of antiques. One of the men in our group paid $100 for an empty box just because it increased the value of the toy he already owned.

Pinocchio was purchased in Switzerland and later, when we brought home the "man in the moon" from a trip to Seattle and hung it on the cabinet, I swear Pinocchio looked embarrassed.

Although I'm not much of a museum person, the buildings that we visited on that trip housed collections of old toys and were of a manageable size. We visited the Steiff factory and the place where Marklin trains are made and had quite a wonderful time.

This mirror was bought on that trip, too. The jumping jacks hung in our old bathroom. 

Red Riding Hood was something we sold in the bookshop. When the string was pulled, up popped the wolf. She lived in our bathroom, too.

I had a wealth of Beatrix Potter designs. I think this tin box once housed soap and toiletries. The only thing I ever sold on eBay was this Peter Rabbit lamp. The buyer was pleased, but I've long forgotten how I went about being a seller, so a lot of those items are in storage here at the Manor.

Let's see if I can shorten the tale of the Hummel girl reading, even though it's a long story. Once upon a time, we entered a window decorating contest at the store. I told my employee who liked doing our display windows that if we won, she and her husband could use the two tickets to Hawaii. I was stunned when she told me that rather than going with her husband, she wanted to go with my married landlord. Indeed, our store took first prize and off they went into the sunset. I'm not sure I've gotten totally over it yet. Upon their return they gave me this Hummel figure. I think I let it go when we moved. Both couples are divorced now and not with each other.

Alice in Wonderland was filled with lavender buds, a natural scent that lasts for years and years. Nice to tuck into the linen closet.

This carving was about 2 1/2 inches tall, a treasure obtained at a Renaissance Faire. I also have some jewelry pieces carved by this artist.

Dollhouse figures. The first Christmas we had the store, we sold all but one little boy doll and not wanting him to be lonely over the holiday, I placed another order even though it was too close to Christmas.

These little figures measure an inch tall. They're sitting on a small flower press that I've always intended to use, but never got around to it.

My given name is Mary Jane and truth to tell, I really, really don't like rice pudding.


This is just a sampling of my playthings. Some day I'll show you some more. One of my fondest memories in the years I had the bookstore, was when a man who often came in to browse, paused at the counter on his way out and whispered to me, "Jane, don't ever grow up!" What a refreshing thing to hear.

"We don't stop playing because we grow old; 

we grow old because we stop playing. "

                George Bernard Shaw 

TRAVEL SKETCHES

I didn't recall this trip being so close to the holidays. What I do remember is having the car break down and needing to rent a vehicle to get to Portland and then being too sick to get off the ship. As we were being towed over the Siskiyou Mountains at night in the rain, we learned from the driver of the  truck how to successfully reheat prime rib. Odd, that. Ask, if interested, and I'll tell.

This was in Monterey and I remember that Mr. Bob said he would never stay in that hotel again. It was a renovated Victorian inn and the elevator wasn't working. These sketches were drawn in a nearby pub.

This was before I'd learned to date every entry. We were on our way to San Diego where we took a 2 night cruise to Baja, California (Mexico) with friends.

How I miss our own stand of sweet peas. Rather than the blooms behind, I gathered a bunch to take with us on a trip to Oakland to see Chris and Frances.

This was the result of "fooling around" on slick paper when I first started dabbling with watercolor. I love the hills of central California, green in the spring and dotted with the dark green of oak trees and I was unusually pleased with the clouds.

We always enjoyed this restaurant when we went north. Their garlicky chicken wings were the best! Another nearby restaurant had unbelievably good waffles. 

I think this was the last time I sketched, but I'm going to make a concentrated effort to start again. 

The same trip as the first sketch above. One should note location, for I'd have sworn this was done on the banks of the Mississippi, but I guess it was the Columbia River. Maybe if you've seen one river you've seen 'em all.......a little like bays and golf courses. Mr. Bob would argue that, but he's asleep.


"I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine."
                                ~Caskie Stinnett

TABASCO!

FOUND THIS on Saveur's facebook page this morning. That's a magazine that I'm thinking of subscribing to again. I miss it even if my cooking days are a thing of the past.

It's pepper harvesting season at the Tabasco factory on Avery Island, LA. These pepper fields have been tended and harvested for sauce-making by members of the McIllhenny family since the mid-1860s, and every family member and factory worker I met had plenty of inspiring stories about Tabasco's legacy. As I toured the fields under the hot afternoon sun last week, I learned how to find the peppers that are ready for picking: only specimens of the very brightest red shade should be pulled off the stem. Novice pickers are given "le petit bâton rouge" — a stick with the ripe red shade painted on it — to match against the growing peppers. If the stripe matches, it's time for the pepper to go into the basket. — Anna Stockwell

 It was interesting to read about something we saw with our very own eyes when we visited the Tabasco factory, the stick with a red stripe painted on it.....the exact color of a pepper ready for picking. Twice we enjoyed Elderhostel programs set in Louisiana. One was studying the music of the Mississippi River area...... blues, jazz, honky tonk, gospel, Dixieland, Civil War music. If you like that kind of thing and we do, we definitely do, it was a wonderful experience. Our mode of transportation both times was the now defunct River Barge and what splendid memories we have. It's easy to get the two trips confused, but I think the visit to Avery Island was when we were studying the Cajun culture.

Mr. Bob frequently tells people about the below picture. We've no idea why his nose matches the red stripe on the stick.  I longed to bring home some of the half barrels in which the Tabasco was cured, but settled for some packages of "red hots", thinking they'd be spicy. I was disappointed when I discovered they were the regular, cinnamon candies. I can't think of any other note of dismay in either trip, though.

“He chopped up peppers, mixed them with vinegar and Avery Island salt, put the mixture in wooden barrels to age and funneled the resulting sauce into secondhand cologne bottles.”

James Conaway

LIVING VICARIOUSLY

CHRIS and his family had the opportunity to visit friends somewhere in the vicinity of Santa Rosa, CA last weekend. The location was off the beaten path and involved getting there on a dirt road.

When I opened my mail this morning, I found this message and the enclosed photos.

Here are a few photos from the trip we took. All of their power is solar and their water comes from a spring. Owen had a fun time even though he started out wearing an eye patch. He had bumped his eye with a coat hanger while getting clothes ready for the trip. He kept rubbing it so we got an eye patch which really helped. From their front porch you can see a nearby Buddhist monastery on a mountain ridge.        

Owen took the last picture of Larry.

                                                                           Chris

Can you imagine living in such surroundings? I'm not very much of an outdoors person, but I'm a good appreciator.

The pictures convey a lovely weekend. Meanwhile, here at home, I'm trying to concentrate on my newly framed poster, keeping calm and carrying on. The telephoned report from the doctor who did yesterday's biopsy did not impart information I wanted to hear, but here's one way of looking at it; Mr. Bob and I have one more thing in common. I'll see a surgeon next Monday at which point I'll have some decisions to make.

"Maybe it's easier to like someone else's life, and live vicariously through it, than take some responsiblity to change our lives into lives we might like."

                                                                                                               Tish Grier

DOODLES

PER SOME of your requests, here are some more sketches from my travel journals.

Hard to believe I was messing about with pen and watercolor nearly ten years ago and now the inclination is gone.

We were on a jazz cruise on the Columbia River and were too ill to get off the ship. I made a very funny movie of the week, inserting Mr. Bob's cough throughout the film to signify how sick we were. The cough even fades away through the closing credits.

When on the Monterey Peninsula we like to stay at Asilomar Conference Grounds, a good base from which to explore.

We headed for Sequoia National Park and were caught in a surprise snowstorm with no warm clothes. 

Details in the lounge at Waksachi Lodge where we were snowbound.

A sketch of our house, drawn from a photo which I didn't usually do.

One of our Sunday visits to the jazz club. The stage held a whole band, but I chose just the banjo player ("What's the difference between a chain saw and a banjo?" " The chainsaw can be tuned")


"I became interested in photography when I found my own sketching was inadequate."                                                              Ben Shahn

MORE OF SAME

YOU WERE SO KIND in your comments yesterday. And I must admit that when I look at my small sketches and dabblings, I, too, am surprised. It was the same way with the movies I took and edited...........astonishing to the point that I named them "Fluke Productions". I've stopped both activities for the past couple of years without any idea of why. It's puzzling.

The above was my first attempt and I surprised myself. It's simple, it's basic. I can't even figure out why I like it. I never worked larger than postcard size. (Paint small and you can't make big mistakes was ....... and is........ my philosophy)

I hope you'll be able to read the quotation I pasted into one of my sketchbooks:

If not, then try double clicking the image. The message is that important, in my opinion.

For years I always had my book in one hand and my pen in the other. Sometimes I added color later, other times not.

Such a typical sight in our travels...... we pull into every rest stop along the road. That's Mr. Bob, in his red sweater.

I may be shamelessly bragging unnecessarily. With my movies, a couple of our children were totally turned off. Tim was held captive and made to watch each one, although he once moaned, "I didn't know a DVD could hold this much" and with the other, early on I just stopped sharing my Fluke Productions. I wonder if they'll be looked at after we're gone or just tossed aside? 

However, if you're really, truly interested you can see all of my drawings by going here.

I'm warning you. There are a lot of them.

SKETCHER'S BLOCK

A LONG, LONG TIME AGO, I dabbled in oil and came up with this small painting of a portion of my grandmother's crazy quilt. That patterned piece a little off center is a piece of my mother's wedding dress. We never thought anything of the rendition and it was hidden deep in a cupboard somewhere until the big move when Tim came upon it and claimed it. The other 2 larger paintings I did long ago found their way to the Goodwill Collection Center.....they were class assignments in high school and not worth keeping around.

painted on half of a postcard

If you are long time readers of the blog, I'm probably repeating something you've read, but we have a few new people and I'm short on subject matter today. As soon as I'm through writing this, Mr. Bob is ready for me to assist on listing numbers for the tax man. The more I write, the longer I can put off what I consider a mundane task.

I recall the feeling when I drew the shadow on the column.
It was an Aha! moment.

Drawn on a tiny scrap of paper

We took a Columbia River cruise and were sick the whole time. The best I could
do was to stay on board and draw what I could see out of the window.

In my journals, I always tried to disguise the vexatious moments. I don't remember the remark referred to in 

Item 3.

It was in October that we arranged to spend a couple of days in the Sequoia National Park and got caught in a heavy snowstorm. I, in my Birkenstocks, without a jacket!

I wonder where our urges go when they disappear?

"Very few people possess true artistic ability. It is therefore both unseemly and unproductive to irritate the situation by making an effort. If you have a burning, restless urge to write or paint, simply eat something sweet and the feeling will pass."

                                                                                                     Fran Lebowitz