Vicki Lane Mysteries
Words and pictures from the author of And the Crows Took Their Eyes as well as the Elizabeth Goodweather Appalachian Mysteries . . .
Monday, December 30, 2024
Sunday, December 29, 2024
Gingerbread Cake and Cranberry Coulis
Saturday, December 28, 2024
Outside of Time
The day never really dawned, as such. Misty, gray, chilly--it wasn't till about 3:30 that a brush of sun showed on the slopes across the river. And that was short-lived.
The day matched this weird space between Christmas and New Year's--I always find it difficult to feel like it's 'real' time. Instead, it feels like a floating, tenuous non-reality.
I did manage to pay a few bills (there's some reality for you) and write thank you notes, as well as reading a novel Claui gave me for Christmas.
It was a "blind date" novel in a plain brown wrapper, labeled as a thriller. My Darling Girl by Jennifer McMahon turned out to be a riveting read for me, partly because much of it recalled my own experience with a difficult, Jekyll and Hyde sort of mother. (Though, I hasten to add, nothing as disturbing as the novel,)
What begins like a Hallmark movie, devolves into psychological terror. And it left me a little stunned--and, suitable to the day--a bit outside of time.
Friday, December 27, 2024
Hiraeth--A Repost
The picture above, taken from Google Earth (2007), was the home of my maternal grandparents. The size of the yard is distorted -- it looks absolutely huge -- but in a way that's appropriate because in my earliest memories, it was huge -- a great, green grassy empire that was all mine.
The new owners seem to have made very few changes -- at least when this picture was taken. I can look at the picture and remember so many different times -- much like Miss Birdie's hall of doors I posted about on Christmas Eve 2014. (HERE) But here the memories are all good.
My earliest memory is of lying in a crib between the two big beds in the master bedroom upstairs while my grandfather in his bed held my left hand while my grandmother in hers held my right . . . and the fresh smell of pillows put to air in the sunny eastern windows . . . and later when my younger brother and I were both there for the night, how we would sit on little stools in the big bedroom and eat apples while we listened to the Lone Ranger on the radio . . .
Above the garage was a bare room, in the late Forties and early Fifties home to a ping pong table and my grandmother's treadle sewing machine -- remodeled in the early Sixties into an apartment where I lived while John was stationed in Japan a year after we were married.
I rode my bike along that sidewalk when I was a gawky pre-teen and later my grandfather took my older son for walks there. I looked out those windows to the right of the front door and saw John (only a classmate and acquaintance at the time (8th grade or thereabouts) driving his go-cart on the sidewalk across the street.
And from the breakfast room windows to the left of the garage, I would watch for John when he came in his Model A to pick me up during our senior year of high school. And our wedding reception was held here and we ran down the front steps in a flurry of rice in 1963 -- just as my parents had in 1941. . .
Of course the memories of this beloved place have crept into my writing. A Christmas post a few years back about an incident when I was young (HERE) surely contributed to Miss Birdie's Christmas memory (though without the bitter part.)
And while I do, indeed, have hiraeth for this lost paradise, I know that I'm where I belong and where I want to be. But I still love prowling that hall of memories. . .
Thursday, December 26, 2024
Wednesday, December 25, 2024
Tuesday, December 24, 2024
Monday, December 23, 2024
Sunday, December 22, 2024
The Traditional Tree
And a tree from Josie's kindergarten days . . .
Saturday, December 21, 2024
Friday, December 20, 2024
Thursday, December 19, 2024
A Discerning Admirer
Oh, look, it's another of those divorced/widowed lonely generals trolling Facebook for companionship . . .