Book Review Time, for the Young at Heart

My dear friend and author, Brenda Erickson, wrote this sweet little story, with the help of Bunny and Mr. Kittens.
My dear little grandchildren became the recipients of this little book at Christmas, and we couldn’t have been more delighted! Bunny’s space suit was perfect for this adventure, and she really brought out his true character here!

As an avid reader, I truly enjoyed this adventure and look forward to perhaps another adventure, Bunny seems to be up to those types of things.
The book is published through blurb.com. Best wishes and congratulations to Brenda and Bunny for this great tale!

NYC Vs. Everywhere Else

I’m not only reblogging this, I’m recommending this site as a great source for NYC on a budget (or almost a budget)!

almostfreeNYC

No one loves their Chinese takeout as much as New York.

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My Story of Mrs. Butterfield

Everyone has a story about something or someone.

My story of Mrs. Butterfield started for me on a road trip across the United States.  It is true there is nothing bigger than a Kansas sky.  While the fields were straight as far as the eye could see, the sky, blue as blue can be and dotted with white cotton ball clouds, was even bigger, and it held my attention a great deal of the trip through Kansas.  But, upon entering Kansas, we stopped at the welcome center, and while there, I picked up a little yellow brochure about buffalo meat, and a farm that produced it.  Later that fall, I contacted the farm, spoke to a Mrs. Butterfield, and chose a quarter of buffalo. I chose a variety of cuts, let’s experiment!   It arrived perfectly packaged, in dry ice.

Later, picking through my purchases, I discovered a package called “Buffalo Fries.”  Hm.  What is this?  I took it out, thawed it, unwrapped it.  Two shiny, white, egg shaped things.  What are they?  As a part of my evening meal preparation, I called Mrs. Butterfield.  The dear lady was very gracious in telling me that, yes, they are TESTICLES.  But, if I slice them while still slightly frozen, I could fry them, serve them, and no one would really know their exact origin.  Except me.  Well, we tried them, they were okay.  I’m sure I could have done better by them had I served them amid onions perhaps, and some garlic, but being a simple cook, I had just fried them.  If there were leftovers, they were not saved…

A few years later, I contacted Mrs. Butterfield again, but with a more modified order:  steaks, roasts, and ground meat.  These orders lasted us almost two years, and it was superb.

Several years passed and my life changed.  I moved to upstate New York.  I thought often of Mrs. Butterfield, and her wonderful buffalo meat and called her.  The years, however, had changed things, her husband’s health had broken and they were no longer in the buffalo business.  But it was lovely to speak to her again, and she DID remember me, which I thought was so amazing.  I have always pictured her as a small, gray haired woman with a bun, wire framed glasses and sporting an apron.  But she could have been tall, with short hair, in jeans and a plaid shirt as well.

Two years later I had a trip planned to Kansas, dropping off a dog and a car for my dear daughter, who moved to Kansas to change her life.  I tried to call Kaye, but there was no answer.

I do not know whatever became of Mrs. Butterfield, or if she is still around.  I do miss speaking to her, but I have wonderful memories of our conversations, and I think of her from time to time.

Thanks for the memories, Kaye Butterfield!

A Man’s Life

Overwhelmed by Emerson this morning, he writes:

…we are not permitted to stand as spectators of the pageant which the times exhibit: we are parties also, and have a responsibility which is not to be declined.  A little while this interval of wonder and comparison is permitted us, but to the end that we shall play a manly part.  As the solar system moves forward in the heavens, certain stars open before us, and certain stars close up behind us; so is a man’s life.

We stand in the light of Ideas, whose rays stream through us to those younger and more in the dark…Today is a King in disguise.  Today always looks mean to the thoughtless, in the face of a uniform experience, that all good and great and happy actions are made up precisely of these blank days.

Let us play our part well.

Market Street

As I was reading this, I wandered through Emerson and stopped when he wrote: “…we are not permitted to stand as spectators of the pageant which the times exhibit: we are parties also…”

Become a part of this glorious Universe…

The Word for Today

I have not many thoughts of my own today, only peaceful feelings from the readings of Emerson and Thoreau.  Sometimes they are too great for me and I have to sit back and ponder.  I don’t know if I told you, I have a little notebook I write their words in. I read and reflect, I keep it close at hand.  I try to add my own, Emerson has encouraged that, although I must admit I am far from his eloquence.

Sit back and ponder with me, if you will…

Thoreau (from Walden, in the Conclusion):

“..and think of your work with satisfaction,–every nail should be as another rivet in the machine of the universe, you carrying on the work….

Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.  I sat at  table where were rich food and wine in abundance, and obsequious attendance, but sincerity and truth were not; and I went away hungry from the inhospitable  board….

As I stand over the insect crawling amid the pine needles on the forest floor, and endeavoring to conceal itself from my sight, and ask myself why it will cherish those humble thoughts, and impart to its race some cheering information, I am reminded of the greater Benefactor and Intelligence that stands over me the human insect.

The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us.  Only that day dawns to which we are awake.  There is more day to dawn.  The sun is but a morning star.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

When I consider that the United States does not deal with terrorism, with their citizens captured and imprisoned, I shudder.  It seems like we are not in the place of power with negotiation on this.  I read (again) an account by a widow.

I do not understand.  What is the bottom line here?  And in a number of these hostage situations, the Americans involved were there on business.  Does the American dollar really dim our sense that much? (Why in heavens name would our government even allow businessmen to travel overseas to foreign soil that is unfriendly?  They tell us everything else to do and not to do, after all.)

This isn’t about an oppressed people, people crying for a Savior to come their way (and we think we are their Savior).  This is about politics.  Politics is about power and money.

I do not have any answers regarding this, I’m just saying that it looks like we are on the short end of the stick, our citizens are trying to make money and more of it by taking the carrot and working overseas, only to be captured, carried off and executed.  I weep when I think of it.

Where have all the flowers gone?

The Power of You

Ralph Waldo Emerson, in The Method of Nature, writes:

The doctrine of this Supreme Presence is a cry of joy and exultation…the admirable stars of possibility, and the yet untouched continent of hope, glittering with all its mountains in the vast West…We cannot describe the natural history of the soul, but we know that it is divine…this one thing I know, that these qualities did not now begin to exist, cannot be sick with my sickness, nor buried in any grave, but that they circulate through the Universe, before the world was, they were.  Nothing can bar them out, or shut them in, but they penetrate the ocean and land, space and time, form and essence, and hold the key to universal nature.  I draw from this faith courage and hope.  All things are known to the soul.  It cannot be surprised by any communication.  No thing can be greater than it…The soul is in her native realm, and it is wider than space, older than time, wide as hope, rich as love…fear she refuses with a beautiful scorn, they are not for her who putteth on her coronation robes, and goes out through universal love to universal power.

This passage spoke to me because, in retrospect of my life, time means nothing.  If it happened twenty or thirty (or forty now) years ago, the memory is as fresh as yesterday.   I do not remember thinking, for example, “I am a little kid and don’t know or understand.”  I always understood.  I always have been me.  When I think about the events of my life, I do not think of them as “I need to learn to be thus and so,” but I have always had the same thoughts and feelings.  Not to discount experiences, for that is why we are here.  (I told a friend the other day:  we make no mistakes, we just have experiences, both good and bad.)  My soul always was, is and will be.  I am immortal.

3% Tax on Tea

Browsing through Facebook I noticed a sign that started “A 3% tax on tea led to a revolution.”  Where are we in standing up for our rights?  Yes, our powers of authority are located on this side of the pond, but that fact should not dim our voices.  White man took away the rights of Native Americans.  Our rights are slowly being stripped away by our government.  Will contacting our representatives make a difference?  I am unsure of that, any contact I have had with them has led to a brief letter, a pat on the head “there, there, we are here to represent you.”