One of my new favorite listens! This is a studio video of “Oblivion” by Bastille. I think I may like this version even more than the one on his record “Bad Blood.”
When you fall asleep with your head upon my shoulder.
When you’re in my arms but you’ve gone somewhere deeper.
Are you going to age with grace?
Are you going to age without mistakes?
Are you going to age with grace,
Or only to wake and hide your face?
It’s January 30. This has been a difficult winter. I know I’m not the only one out there who is ready for Old Man Winter to head back home. I’m not sure if it was the two inches of unexpected snow I woke up to the other morning, the howling Oklahoma wind or the forecasted “winter storm” on the calendar for next week, but I decided I need something to cheer me.
Enter Emily Dickinson. Many of her poems always have a sense of Spring about them. Then I found a poem she wrote about winter. Enjoy!
Winter is good–his Hoar Delights
Winter is good – his Hoar Delights
Italic flavor yield –
To Intellects inebriate
With Summer, or the World –
Generic as a Quarry
And hearty – as a Rose –
Invited with asperity
But welcome when he goes.
If you hang around readers for very long, you begin to see a pattern. Most have read Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice.” Many of those who have read it claim it is, not only their favorite Austen book, but on their list of favorite books of all time.
There have been a dearth of Jane Austen spin-offs, most of which have come on the heels of the very successful BBC adaptation in 1995 with the unforgettable Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy. I, for one, freely admit that I loved “Pride and Prejudice” even more after that miniseries. Colin Firth will forever be Darcy to me.
It was no surprise to me that when I saw the novel “Longbourn” by Jo Baker, I was intrigued. The very name of the Bennet’s home caught my attention. It lingered on my “to be read” list until I was able to procure a copy from my library.
Ah! I am so glad I was able to read this book. It was a joy. First, though, a quick synopsis:
Baker’s “Longbourn” takes the reader below the stairs to explore the lives of the servants working in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and their five daughters. The familiar Mrs. Hill and Mr. Hill are represented, but so are two young serving girls. Baker gives us their names, Sarah and Polly. Sarah serves as the main narrator, although there are various narrators throughout the book.
Just as Sarah begins to lament the lack of change or action in her tiny English town, a mysterious man arrives and becomes the footman at Longbourn. His arrival happens to coincide with the arrival of Mr. Bingley to Netherfield Park.
James Smith, the new footman, quickly becomes a source of both frustration and fascination for Sarah. He also has secrets, keeping him careful with whom he talks and how close he is willing to become with those at Longbourn.
If Austen used “Pride and Prejudice” to explore marriage, family, money and class then Baker uses “Longbourn” to take us even deeper into the topics. Baker takes us into places Austen may have been uncomfortable with and avoided. Every dish served, every dress cleaned and pressed, every message delivered was the work of someone. They are in the cracks and shadows, but they are there. This is where “Longbourn” really shines.
“The room was dull now, and meaningless, with the young ladies gone from it. They were both lovely, almost luminous. And Sarah was, she knew, as she slipped along the servants’ corridor, and then up the stairs to the attic to hang her new dress on the rail, just one of the many shadows that ebbed and tugged at the edges of the light.”
Not only are they there, but they know things about everyone in the home and the visitors. They are able to see the looks hidden from others, hear the words spoken out of ear shot and, are so ignored, they are witness to things others would never see.
It was these details which drew me into the book. There was Sarah’s observation of tufts of hair underneath Elizabeth Bennet’s arm, hygiene not being what it is today. Realizing that every time Lizzie walked through the mud in the fields Sarah would have to scrub the skirt clean; suddenly Lizzie’s habit wasn’t quite so charming. Then the detail Baker offers of how the home works from how meals are made to the cleaning of clothes and rooms.
There were bigger issues for Sarah, Polly, the Hlls and James. There were cracks in the society Austen showed us in “Pride and Prejudice”, cracks that Baker fully reveals in her novel.
Austen’s England is a country at war. Oh, we hear plenty about the regiment and those fine gentlemen in their red coats. Some young men, like the dastardly Wickham, purchase their commissions. If you have the money, then you can be stationed at Brighton and attend balls with lively young women. Those young men who came from no means, but wanted to serve the mighty England, were sent to rot on the continent during the war with France. Men returned from their time at war haunted and often crippled.
Marriage, and the security it offers, was a main theme in “Pride and Prejudice.” It wasn’t only the Bennet girls who were impacted by England’s entailment laws. The future of the servants at Longbourn rested solely on the shoulders of the future owners of the home. Sarah and Polly would not be guaranteed an income with their marriage. Any number of fates could bring uncertainty to their doorstep.
“Sarah, in the crush, was able to study Miss Lucas’s face discreetly, she wondered what it was like to know that you were to be married, that you would have a home, an income, that you were set up for life. To have achieved all this simply by agreeing to put up with one particular man until he died.”
Yet, even with all of the grit and reality Baker offers, there is a sweetness and light to this book. Sarah’s search for love and meaning in her life. Mrs. Hills’ love and tenderness for Mr. Hill, even in a marriage of convenience for both of them. James’ search for peace after experiencing things I could never fathom.
The bonus with “Longbourn”? Scenes where we learn more about how horrible Wickham can be. The secrets of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Learning a little more about where Mr. Bingley’s fortune originates. Scenes from the early days of Lizzie and Darcy’s marriage.
Baker delivers a sweet read in keeping with Austen’s original work, but offering an even more nuanced picture of life in regency England.
“Come around, let’s go found
There’s no words to call
Tonight, you really see nothing of this girl
They work, they don’t know the roots behind
‘Cause I got a knife to cut out the memories
So carefully, too carefully, it’s not necessarily
To be so dark”
There is this little circle of people at work who share music recommendations with each other. The other day I emailed one of the inner circle and said “Warpaint. Go. Listen.” She responded that another friend had just told her about them the day before and she was in love.
Warpaint released a new album this week, but I’d already worn out the two singles they released earlier from the album. Today, I’m sharing “Love is to Die.” It’s dark. It’s light. It’s a treat. It probably isn’t my favorite song from their new self-titled album. If you want to hear more, check them out on iTunes, of course. You can also visit NPR to hear the whole album.
Used with permission from Indiana Public Media.
The road to success is always under construction.”
–Lily Tomlin
The last two posts to this blog have been about wrapping up one year and looking forward to the next. My last post, one word resolution, was really about setting goals. I’ve always preferred goals to resolutions. I’m not sure I could point out why. I tend to be a little anti-establishment, so I just assumed it was that facet of my personality.
I was reflecting on one of my favorite poems the other day though. It’s called “Love After Love” by Derek Walcott. Here, I’ll let you read it with me.
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
There it is. Love yourself. Don’t forget to feast on your own life. I think what I’ve always disliked about resolutions is they are inherently about finding fault and trying improve oneself.
Don’t get me wrong, we all have faults. We all have aspects we need to improve. We all also have amazing traits, aspects and facets. How often do we take the time to explore them? Appreciate them? Why do we always leave it to someone else to point them out, love them?
In this time of resolutions and self-improvement, don’t forget to sit, feast on your own life and all the wonderful you are too.
My mom and I were chatting the other day and she told me about this project her principal assigned all the teachers in her school. The principal asked each teacher to choose a one word resolution for 2014. Rather than a long list of things to stop or start, she wanted them to find a word that would define everything they aim for this year. The teachers were to choose their word, a picture to illustrate it, define it and then write a personal statement. They will be posting these in the cafeteria for the students to see and, hopefully, learn a few new words. I loved the idea. In the past few years, I’ve avoided resolutions and aimed more for goals. This year I’m going to choose one word as my resolution and attempt to fit my goals to it.
So, my word for 2014 will be productive.
pro-duc-tive, adj., producing or capable of producing (especially abundantly), having the ability to produce or originate, marked by great fruitfulness.
In 2014, I resolve to be productive in all aspects of my life, from personal relationships to work to my creative pursuits. This will require discipline to set goals for myself and achieve them. It also means I will need to allow myself the time for reflection and relaxation, so I have the energy to accomplish all that I want to accomplish.
The good thing is we have 365 days. I’ll need to keep Rita Dove’s wise words in mind. You can only eat an elephant bite by bite.
Here’s to an amazing and productive 2014.
I am well behind the curve on this post. In reviewing my blog, it has been a few days since I posted. That should be testament to the craziness that was the end of 2013. Now it is 2014. Before I leave 2013 behind though, I want to remind myself of a few favorite things from a great year.
This is the first Susanna Kearsley book I read. It is fantastic.
1. Susanna Kearsley. I discovered this author in 2013 thanks to my friend Niki. Since then, I’ve read most of her books: “The Winter Sea””, Firebird”, “The Rose Garden”, “Shadowy Horses.” I have a couple more to read and there is her new book, “The Splendour Falls”, which comes out this year. It may be my most anticipated read for 2014. I’m so thankful to have found her works of art.
2. Lord Huron. I featured one of his videos on my blog recently. I’ve found quite a bit of music this year that I love. Lana del Ray, The Civil Wars, Phantogram, to name just a couple. There is something about Lord Huron’s album “Lonesome Dreams” though. Each time I hear it there is some sort of creative catalyst that happens in my brain. I’ve added several of his songs to the playlist for a future novel idea in the works.
3. National Novel Writing Month. This was the first year I participated and it was an eye-opening experience. Not only did I discover that I can write 50,000 words in a 30 day period, it also led to a deeper partnership between my husband and I. He knows I write, but I think it was always a murky hole that didn’t always make sense to him. The goal of 50,000 words in a month was something he could grasp, something he could cheer me on with and a bit of a springboard for him to understand what it is I’m doing when I have a computer in my face or my nose in research books. That, and I totally won NaNoWriMo. Who doesn’t love the game they win?
This is my card wall for my current novel. I’ve blurred to protect the innocent.
4. When I drafted this post it was just the three things list above, but I had to add one more item to my list. I received “Nail Your Novel” by Roz Morris for Christmas. It was on my list. Upon receiving it I devoured it. I can already feel it raising my writing game to a new level. I’m so excited about the structure her techniques are bringing to my craft. E.L. Doctorow said “One’s work habits are small arms against the daily invasion of chaos–which I think is the writer’s mind.” I agree wholeheartedly with this. The chaos of my creativity was getting in my way. Using a few of the tips in “Nail Your Novel”, I can channel all of the creativity into a complete work. More on my 2014 goals in a later post, but you can bet this book will have a lot to do with those.
Today is Thursday. In the past on this blog I’ve posted about books that made an impact on me “back in the day.” I’m not done with those yet, but I’m taking a break.
In the words of Monty Python: and now for something completely different.
I’m going to post something I wrote in the past. I happened upon some old short stories and poems from high school and college. The first seemed really appropriate for December.
Photo by Blair Snow
Phyllis and her daughter walked along the sidewalk, huddled in their simple, black capes as the cold winter wind beat against their backs. The day began as a beautiful December morning, but as the day wore on the weather became disagreeable. Phyllis was quite pleased their shopping had taken only a couple of hours. She glanced to her side and realized April was no longer with her. Her eyes moved quickly to see what became of her daughter. About a half block back, April was stooped to retrieve two bags she’d dropped in their hurry to catch the bus. Phyllis waited for her daughter patiently. April soon huffed up to her mother with white clouds puffing from her mouth after the exertion.
“Now, April, if we don’t hurry we’re going to miss the bus that will get us to the train station. If we miss the bus, we’ll miss the train and I don’t have enough money for a hotel room” Phyllis said.
“I know mother, but I dropped the bag with my new hat. I love that hat.” April beamed at her mother. “Thank you again for letting me get it. All the girls in church will be so jealous.”
The mother and daughter neared the corner of a busy intersection. They waited at the edge of the sidewalk as cars, trucks and busses sped by them. In the blink of an eye a car came screeching into the intersection and crashed into two vehicles. Phyllis let out a scream and dropped her packages. She saw her own horror mirrored on April’s face.
“April, stay here. I must go see if someone needs help.” Phyllis took off into the intersection with only her large bag containing her wallet and other valuables. She reached one of the sputtering motor cars before anyone else. The driver of the guilty car was lying unconscious in the driver’s seat. A small trickle of blood was coming from his mouth.
It was not the blood that drew Phyllis’ attention, instead her eyes were drawn to the most beautifully wrapped package she’d ever seen sitting next to the driver. Before she realized what she was doing, she picked up the exquisite box and slid it into her bag. As she did this, April rushed to her side. She looked with accusing eyes at her mother.
“What are you doing, mother? That man needs your help and you stole his box.” Her voice emerged in a forced whisper.
Phyllis reached out and pinched her daughter’s elbow with force. Then she announced wildly that someone needed to get help. As a crush of helpers converged on the car, Phyllis rushed April down the street to their bus stop. They boarded the bus with haste. As if of one mind, they headed for the back of the bus. Phyllis took one last look at the accident and saw the driver of the car being helped out of his car. People were milling about all over the street. The number twenty-five bus, carrying Phyllis and her daughter, pulled away from the scene.
As the bus put distance between them, Phyllis let out a long sigh and turned to face the front of the bus. April nudged her mother.
“Mother, why did you take that package?”
Phyllis did not answer the girl with words, but instead pulled the package from her bag. The gold wrapping glittered in the fading sunlight. April drew in a breath. The wrapping alone cost more money than their small family ever had at one time.
A thin layer of carefully tatted lace encompassed the present and prevented the package from being opened easily. In each heart that made up the lace was a pearl. All were the same size and shape, but gleamed in the light. A deep red velvet bow, soft and plush to the finger, topped the box. April understood then why her mother was so tempted by this gift. Mother and child looked in awe at each other. April slowly put the box back in her mother’s bag and they turned to face the front of the bus.
Portrait of a Mother and Daughter. Manner of Eastman Johnson [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Since Phyllis’ husband passed away from his heart ailment, she and April suffered much for money. Phyllis earned what she could crocheting and selling eggs and jams in the neighborhood. April was a school teacher, but she was not paid a lot. The mink stole would be the greatest thing to happen for them in a very long time. She wasn’t sure how much the local pawn shop might pay for it, but she was sure it would be enough. The large bus squealed to a stop, Phyllis started from her reverie.
April grabbed her share of the bags, but Phyllis took the one with the stolen gift, and they made their way off the bus and onto the busy sidewalk in front of the train station. Porters hollered back and forth as they loaded luggage onto their carts. The sound of trains and whistles resounded through the station. People milled about waiting for their trains to be called.
Phyllis and April bought their train tickets and waited to board their train home. Within forty-five minutes they were on their way. The train’s melodic rocking lulled Phyllis to sleep, but April continued to think about the beautiful dress that she was sure was inside the mysterious gift.
After one look at such a beautiful box, she was sure it contained a dress, one that would be just as exquisite as the wrapping. She let her mind wander through the rich silks and chiffons, the layers of flounce and flowing fabrics that were inside. She would wear this dress to one of the town dances or even to a church social. Not only would the girls be jealous, but April was sure she would finally get Donald to notice her. She would finally marry and be able to take the burden from her mother. That would be the answer to all her problems.
“Just because Mother stole the package doesn’t mean we’re thieves.” April muttered to herself. “We deserve that gift and all the good things that will come with it.”
April nodded off with thoughts of beautiful dresses swirling in her head.
Both women were ready when the train squealed to a halt. They rushed with all their bags out of the train and through the station to the main road of their small town. They walked the streets and lanes with curiosity quickening their steps as they neared home. Soft light glowed from the windows of people’s homes.
Reaching their own dark house, Phyllis and April went to work lighting a fire and turning on lights. Soon their home was full of warmth. Phyllis started a pot of coffee to help with the chill deep in her bones from the rough December wind.
April pulled the package from the bag and set it on the table in the kitchen. Mother and daughter sat and admired the beauty of the gift. Phyllis slowly unwrapped the box. The red velvet ribbon, folded neatly, was placed on the table. Then the lace was slipped off, with as little cutting as possible. The lid of the package was removed. Phyllis and April peeked into the box and both gave a quick intake of breath.
The clock ticked as they stared into the box. Neither moved or said a word for a few minutes. As the clock struck ten o’clock, Phyllis and April made their way up the creaking stairs to their cold bedrooms.
Sitting in the empty lower level of the house, in the kitchen, on the middle of the table with cups of cold coffee, was the once beautiful gift which held a family album with pictures worth more than Phyllis’ mink stole or April’s fine dress. The album was embroidered with the family name “Garrison.” Phyllis and her daughter went to bed that night as common thieves and hearts as heavy as that family album.
It’s a little odd to think that after this post there is only one more midweek check-in for 2013. Pardon me for a moment while I freak out.
My favorite Christmas movie is Home Alone. We’ve already watched it a couple of times.
December has not been nearly as productive on the writing front as I would have hoped. I should know that Christmas events and preparations will consume more of my time than I plan. You see, I tend to make Christmas gifts for folks. They usually aren’t crafts, but I cook. Homemade bread was the hit last year. This year I tried my hand at homemade beauty products. Peppermint scented body butter, sugar scrub and foot soak. It was a fun project my kids and I worked on together.
This year’s Christmas gifts are homemade peppermint beauty products. Here are the cute little jars I’m giving.
Bottomline: I need to use my time off next week to get caught up on my writing.
On the upside, a new book idea has popped into my little head. Many ideas are being jotted into a notebook. I’m very excited, but before that can be started I must finish a first draft of my current project.
Word by Word 