Elizabeth Varadan's Fourth Wish

An Overdue Post About Tui, Spain

2013-05-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

A side street in Tui

Since we returned from Galicia last October, revisions, dog problems, and health issues in my god-family interrupted my posting about the trip. Because of our dog's age-related condition we are staggering our trips this year, and it occurred to me it's time to finish the post I promised: the trip to Tui, pronounced "Twee". (My husband just came back from his trip to Galicia two and a half weeks ago, and I'm leaving for my trip June 8th. I'll be posting while I'm there, though.)

But—returning to the trip to Portugal last fall—we spent an afternoon in Tui with our friends, David and Terri, on the way back from Porto. Porto, a bay city and a port, is on the Río Douro (the Portuguese name for Río Duero in Spanish); Tui is on the Río Minho (the Portuguese name for Río Miño, and pronounced the same way.) The Río Minho partially divides Spain from Portugal. (You can see a map of the Iberian Peninsula and the Río Minho HERE ).

Walking around Tui

Typical balconies

One view of the Cathedral.

As is always the case in Iberia, it was a lovely drive from one city to the other. Once we reached Tui, we parked and spent the afternoon walking around. Tui is a cathedral town, as well as an old fortress town from the 12th and 18th centuries. The original city was enclosed by a crenelated stone wall. We started at the old quarter that clusters around the huge cathedral and ancient hospital for the poor (as well as for the peregrinos, or pilgrims—Tui is one of the pilgrim stops on the way to Santiago de Compostela). The cathedral was started in the 12th century and finished in the 17th century, and thus reflects a variety of architectures. It also has a cloister. And the front entrance, the portal, is truly awesome with fantastic stone statues of saints:

Then we walked from the cathedral area with its adjoining buildings, down to the river, which was smooth as glass. The river walk along the Río Miño turned into a series of reflected scenes, as if on a mirror. On the opposite side was the ancient fortress city of Valença (pronounced Valensa) in Portugal. You can see we had good weather that day.

There was also a small exercise park at one point; a "playground for seniors". And then, just as we thought we were coming to a dead end, we saw a road going back up to the Cathedral. By that time, we were all hungry, and David found a charming cafe (A Muralla) that overlooked another street and had outdoor tables covered by awnings, from which you could also see across to Portugal. (A nice view of the balcony section of the restaurant can be seen at A Muralla, Tui - Opiniones de restaurantes - TripAdvisor.) The food was delicious. And a very nice waiter took our picture before we left.

Senior playground?

Starting back to the old quarter

A great end to the afternoon!

I hope you enjoyed this little taste of Tui. (Tui is in Galicia, in the province of Pontevedra.) I am always so amazed by the ancient stone buildings, the sculpture work, and the general architecture, that I see in that region. But I suspect much of Europe is like that.

For those of you who have traveled to other parts of Europe, I'd be interested in similarities or differences you've noticed in the places you've visited.

Time Out For Another Week While I Finish a Re-write

2013-04-16T12:14:00.001-07:00

Dear Blog Friends,

Please excuse my being remiss in posting. I'm finishing up a re-write and should be done next week.

Please come back after April 23rd. Thanks.

OOPS! A LITTLE BIT LONGER, AFTER ALL. I SHOULD BE FINISHED MAY 15TH. THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE.

Quartet and Some Thoughts about Opera

2013-04-03T13:53:00.000-07:00

A more realistic photograph of the composer.

Verdi, who's birthday becomes the focus of this wonderful story.

I don't usually review movies, but the recent movie, Quartet, a movie about opera, opera singers, and so much more, has special resonance for me.

My mother was an opera singer. Not a famous one. You could say she was a failed opera singer. In her head she was simply an undiscovered one. She never got beyond parts in light opera at the Maya Theater in L.A., concerts in Mexico, and understudy at the San Francisco Opera Company for the role of Marguerite in Faust. The family legend was that she turned down that contract when she learned it meant she would have to put me and my middle brother out for adoption. (My older brother from a previous marriage was being raised by my grandparents in L.A.)

Opera never left my mother, not for a minute. A single mom raising kids from more than one marriage, ill-trained for the working world, she held numerous jobs through the years from clerking in music stores and bookstores, cashiering for the Greyhound bus station, playing piano in cocktail lounges, to sometimes opening vocal studios. All the while, opera continued to play in her head, exerting its promise over her imagination—overtures, arias, duets, heartbreak scenes, applause, curtain calls, the overall magic that made the stage more real than ordinary life.

Quartet, the movie directed by Dustin Hoffman, has a magnificent cast, glorious music, a tender plot, some funny, funny scenes, and a sweet, happy ending. But what moved me so much that I had to see it twice, was the way Quartet brings to life the essence of what opera means to the singers, and what aging means to someone who once held audiences in thrall by the delivery of an impeccable high note.

A group of world famous musicians live in a retirement home for opera singers. Each year on Verdi's birthday they stage a musical performance as a fundraiser for the home. This year, the home is in danger of closing. What to do? Then the diva Jean Horton (Maggie Smith) retires to the home, and the director of the performance, Cedric Livingston (played wonderfully by Michael Gambon) has a brilliant idea: Jean, along with 3 other famous singers in the home should perform the quartet from Rigoletto.

However, Jean was married to Reginald Paget ("Reggie", played by Tom Courtenay), and the marriage ended badly. The other two singers, Cecily Robson ("Cissy", played by Pauline Collins) and Wilf Bond (Billy Connolly) offer humorous counterpoint to the emotionally fraught moments between Jean and Reggie: Cissy is on the edge of dementia and sometimes tips over into it in a way that is sweet and funny; Wilf is a wickedly endearing roué, always propositioning the female nurses and doctors. In earlier days, these four singers sang together in one of the most lauded performances of Rigoletto. They sang "the quartet", and it is Cedric Livingston's hope that performing it again will save the home.

Under Hoffman's direction and the splendid acting by all, Quartet opens up the world of opera that lingers long after the glory days onstage are over. Those days may be gone, but not a single singer in the movie has forgotten them. Cissy carries around and listens to a recording of their earlier Rigoletto. Jean furtively plays LPs of her own performances in her room. Each singer's room is decorated in posters and photographs showing their most famous moments. In the communal dining room another soprano, Dame Gwyneth Jones (Anne Langley), and Jean Horton trade snipes in cultured put-downs about high notes and curtain calls. Through it all, music continues to pulse through their hearts and minds, along with memories of their rarified lives. And rarified is the word. Instead of knitting for grandchildren, or making birdies in golf, their memories are about waiting in the wings, slowly losing oneself, then stepping out into the music and letting the voice blossom forth.

My mother once told me she only felt fully alive when she was singing. At first I found that melodramatic. But when I thought about it some more, it seemed a reasonable statement for someone who cared so passionately about opera: You could say when one plays a piano, the piano comes briefly alive: Hammers strike the hidden strings, and music flows out and touches listeners. When silent again, a piano goes back to being simply a piece of furniture. In opera, the singer is the instrument. Music flows through the chest, the throat, the face, making the singer a vessel, a conduit. In essence, singers breathe music. When the music is over, they simply breathe. Alive, yes, but not the same kind of alive.

When my mother was 83 in a nursing home, I arrived one day to take her to lunch. I walked into her room, and stopped. She was listening to the radio (on earbuds so as not to disturb her room-mate). Her face was radiant. After a moment (the music over) she took out the ear buds and smiled at me. "That was the Queen of the Night's aria," she told me. (From Mozart's The Magic Flute.) "I could follow along in my head," she exulted. "I didn't miss a single note!" And for a moment her face was young again, the future still a promise, the past rich with memory. Quartet gives you a kept promise.

If you haven't seen the trailer for this wonderful movie, go here: (Just be patient through a brief ad)

For some good listening you can hear the famous quartet here.

My New Blog Is Launched

2013-03-18T15:30:00.000-07:00

So I've done it: I've started a new blog called, Victorian Scribbles, a historical blog about the Victorian Era in England, as well as the Victorian Era/Gilded Age in the United States and La Belle Époque in Europe (they overlapped). Please click here or go to the top and click "My Other Blog" to read the first post.

I hope you will read both blogs whenever you have time.

Whichever blog you return to the most, I hope you will comment and leave information about yourself, so that I can read your blog. I love meeting new bloggers and keeping in touch with old blogging friends.

Ciao for now,

Liebster Award

2013-03-13T11:25:00.000-07:00

Out of the blue, I was recently (and kindly, I might add) awarded The Liebster Award, by Murees Dupé at Daily Drama of an Aspiring Writer.

Here's how it works:

Liebster Award Rules:

1. Thank the blogger who gave you the award and link back to his or her blog.
2. Answer 11 questions from the presenter; list 11 random facts about you and create 11 questions for your nominees. (Whew, this part is a lot of work, which is why it's taking me awhile to complete.)
3. Present the Liebster Award to 11 bloggers whose blogs have 200 followers or less and whom you feel deserve to be noticed. Leave a comment on their blog notifying them of your nomination.
4. Upload the Liebster Award to your own blog.

Murees's Questions for Me:
1. What is the worst job you ever had? A laundry I worked in, once. The biggest problem was boredom.
2. What is your favorite snack? Cookies. Any kind. I love them.
3. What is your favorite TV series? Downton Abbey. I confess, I'm hooked.
4. Who would you like to meet? (Person could be dead or alive.) Hmm. Perhaps Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Then I could ask him why he felt his Holmes stories weren't literary.
5. If you could be any animal, what would it be? A dog. They are such noble creatures.
6. What are you most grateful for? My marriage, my extended family, and my friends.
7. What do you hate? I don't hate.
8. Do you include exercise into your daily routine? I should, shouldn't I . . . Does gardening count?
9. Do you like animals? Dogs, cats, horses, for sure. Maybe not octopi.
10.What is your favorite season? Fall, but Spring runs a close second.
11.What is your favorite food? South Indian cuisine. So many delicious dishes. So much variety.

Eleven Random Facts About Me:
1. I love to read a good mystery, whether for adults or for children.
2. I love poetry, both reading it and writing it.
3. So, it follows that I hang out at book stores and libraries, right?
4. I love the French Impressionist painters.
5. I'm hooked on the Victorian Era. So much so, that I'm starting a second blog, called, Victorian Scribbles. It's still in construction, but it should be ready for visits by next week. Take a peek.
6. I love opera. Especially Puccini's operas. Especially La Boheme, Madame Butterfly, and Tosca.
7. I once nibbled a dog biscuit just to see what the appeal was for my dog. I don't recommend it; not my kind of cookie. Probably not yours, either.
8. One of my ambitions in life is to walk a part of the pilgrimage road in Galicia that leads to Santiago. To get a certificate, you have to walk 100 kilometers on it. (Hmm, maybe I should start exercising. See Murees's question #8.)
9. I drink a cup of hot chocolate every morning. It's a great way to start the day.
10.That said, I'm not particularly keen on chocolate per se. I mean, I enjoy a piece now and then, but I can have a gift box of chocolates on the shelf for a good six months before its contents are finally gone.
11.Some day I would like to go to Ireland. It's a land that seems (to me) both haunting and haunted.

Here's My List of Questions for My Award Recipients:
1. Who is your favorite artist?
2. Favorite author?
3. Have you ever interviewed someone? If so, who? and about what?
4. What is your favorite genre in literature?
5. Do you speak any languages other than English?
6. If you were 19, what career would you choose—the one you did choose, or another?
7. Which deceased author would you most like to meet, and why?
8. Which living author would you most like to meet, and why?
9. What is number one on your bucket list?
10. Do you believe in Hobbits?
11. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?

And Here Are My Picks for the Liebster Award:
(Go check out their sites; they write good stuff!)
1. Rosi Hollinbeck - The Write Stuff
2. JaNay Brown - JaNay With Words
3. Richard Hughes - Writing and Living by Richard P. Hughes
4. Victoria Lindstrom - Writ of Whimsy
5. Julia Hones - My Writing Life
6. Catherine Winn - The Writing Room
7. Julie Luek - A Thought Grows
8. Joanna Marple - Miss Marple's Musings
9. Linda Jackson - Writers Do Laundry Too
10.Shannon Lawrence - Writing from the Peak
11.Kenda Turner - Words and Such

Ciao for now . . .

Return to Portugal

2013-03-01T09:41:00.000-08:00

A city of cathedrals

Porto from the river.

An amazing wine shop/bar.

It's time for Portugal again. Our dog has improved. My godfather's health is improving. And now I'm ready to return to O Porto, albeit only in memory and in pictures.

For those of you who lost the thread of that journey, on our fall trip to Galicia my husband and I went with friends Terri and David to the old city of Porto, for three days and two nights. Porto is like an aging beauty queen: Despite the make-up and glittery clothing of main streets and the wharf side cafes and shops, you can see the "wrinkles" on back streets. But Porto has an air of grandeur, of lost days of glory still sparkling on tiled walls and statues, on the gleaming waters of the Rio Douro where boats bob on rippling water and reflections of colorful buildings on the far bank shimmer below on the wet surface. Just writing about it brings it all back. You can see why:

A city of statues.

The wharf-side

A back street.

The far bank.

You can scroll back to read the earlier post about our first day there and where we stayed. And also the fabulous restaurant where we ate: O Forno (which means "the oven"). Also, in the earlier post you can see the lovely tile work of our hotel and the wonderful garden grounds.

The second morning, when we headed out to sightsee, we noticed a school across the street, and several young girls were crowded at the window, waving at us. Then the teacher must have told them to sit down, because a moment after the picture below, they all vanished.

On our way to the wharf, we passed the wine shop you see above, at the beginning of this post, and again below. The owner is from Brazil. The shop was absolutely tiny, with a small bar that would seat four at most, and the shelves were lined with every kind of bottle of wine you could imagine. We stopped by on the way back and enjoyed a glass of port. I am not really a port drinker, but it was good to try. After all, Portugal is the inventor of port.

Rajan photographing the wineshop.

School of curious girls.

On our way up the river.

Once we got to the wharf, we could not resist the call of the river. So we boarded a boat for an hour-long river cruise.

And what wonderful sights we did see! Below are just a few samples.

Leaving the wharf.

I love the woods behind buildings.

A hidden castle in those woods.

So much color!

Awesome bridge for sure.

For every one of these, we have oodles more. It was a splendid sight up and down the river.

A truly grand view.

Two rather interesting boats, we thought.

With the wind rippling against our faces and the smell of freshness surrounding us, once we returned to land, we were hungry. So we ate at a charming little restaurant with great atmosphere at the wharf—its name eludes me, alas.

The restaurant.

Our server.

The atmosphere.

And then we walked around the city some more, before going home. Later, of course, we ventured out to eat a late supper. And then the next morning we left so that we would have time to stop in the city of Tui on the Spanish side of the Rio Minho (Portuguese) or Rio Miño (Spanish). Tui, in Spain, is an old castle town with a huge cathedral, and is across the river from Valença, an old fortress town in Portugal. But that will have to be for another day.

Meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed this little (and limited) trip to Portugal.

Life Is Complicated Right Now

2013-02-15T11:44:00.003-08:00

No travel or writing post today, but it seemed time to post. Our dog is improving, but still acting weird, and I don't think he'll ever quite come back to where he was before his episode. His head still waggles when he looks up at you. He lurches from side to side when he walks. And he can laboriously climb the four stairs to our back door, with one of us hovering near by, but we have to help him down the stairs or he loses balance. I think this will be the pattern for the short rest if his life, but he still has his sweet personality.

But there are other concerns in my life and my husband's as well. My godfather has been quite ill with pneumonia. He's out of hospital and into a "restorative care" facility, but it's a bit touch and go as to how "restored" he'll be. He's on an oxygen tank now, and when he goes home, it will go with him, and his wife will need some assistance with the times he needs to get out of bed. He's 97 and has had a blessed life. He and my godmother are incredible people who have impacted so many lives. They live about 90 miles away from us, so the past few days my husband and I took turns going to the Bay Area to visit.

Though it's sad to see him so helpless (and it really bothers him -- even at his age, he wants to be up and about), it's also an inspiration to see him and his wife. They have a wonderful, loving, even romantic relationship after 65 years of marriage. They laugh and tease each other and hold hands. (The whole family is like that. Their son and daughter and their spouses are as near and dear to us as they are, and even while visiting the facility, a lot of laughter fills the air and keeps all the attendants chuckling as well.) And, behind all the laughter, they have always been deeply philosophical folks, so the conversations get profound at times as well. You can see their spirits in the pictures above taken just a few years ago.

It's nice to write about this, because I walk around thinking about them all the time. Writing about anything else (travel, writing posts, book reviews, etc.) just doesn't seem, well, meaningful right now. It seems a time to be away from all that; a time for introspection and appreciation of the part they've all played in my life.

All this by way of saying that I won't be posting for awhile, though I'll definitely be back. And I will take time to read your posts when I can. Meanwhile, I wish you all happy writing until I "see" you again.

Ciao for now.

Dog Worries

2013-01-25T15:22:00.002-08:00

I certainly hoped to be back to posting about our Portugal trip, but I've been working on Book Two for my series, writing articles, and making school visits for more information for my articles. Then, just when I thought I could post again, our dog came down with another attack of "idiopathic vestibular disease" or "old dog disease."

Cezar will be 15 years old in a couple of weeks, and he periodically comes down with these attacks. This was his 3rd (they are happening more frequently), and this was quite severe. Something in his middle ear doesn't function right and his vertigo causes nausea. Consequently, in the throes of an attack, he can't stand without falling down, and he can eat or drink because of the nausea. So we were in and out of the vet's office several times, getting him hydrated and having shots to counteract the vertigo. He's just started eating and drinking on his own again, and yesterday and today he was able to stand by himself and walk by himself, though not very far, and with weaving steps. The odd thing about this disease, is that an attack gives symptoms very much like stroke symptoms, but then it just clears up unaccountably after some days, and he's fine until the next time. And it's something that frequently accompanies a dog's old age.

I hope to be back to posting about our travels and books and writing soon. I do miss it. But first things first.

Till then, hope the writing goes well and look forward to reading your posts in the near future.

Back to the Iberian Peninsula!

2013-01-03T20:19:00.000-08:00

Top left corner is Galicia.

It's been such a busy time since we returned from Galicia at the end of October. I only managed one post on return, and then there was the announcement of my husband's photo website and contest, announcement of the winner, a friend's book launch, a family reunion in Raleigh, North Carolina, another friend's book announcement, and then Christmas (which was just lovely but where went the time?) All the while Galicia has been on my mind, but I've been pouring my responses to it into poetry. So it's nice to be back to blogging about the place we love so much.

Today's post, however, is about a trip we took with our friends, David and Terri, to Porto, or "O Porto", in Portugal. Portugal is directly south from Galicia and is like a continuation in many ways. If you look on a map, you can see that one flows into the other, and, indeed, Gallego and Portuguese are "sister languages". For the most part, a speaker of one can understand a speaker of the other with very little difficulty.

But when I think of Porto, I remember tiled walls, a feature, I have to say, of any Portuguese city. (We went to a walled border town, Valenca, a few years ago, and were struck at that time, too, by the many artistically tiled walls.) Along every street, whether old or restored, buildings gleamed with colorful tiles. We stayed for two nights, and the day we arrived the weather was overcast, but that made no difference. In sun or mist or rain, Porto is a beautiful and colorful city.

We stayed at what a brochure described as a castle, appropriately named Castelo de Santa Catarina. We've also been told it was a mansion built by someone from Argentina, who later returned to South America. It's a beautiful place, as you can see from the pictures below. There is a central crenelated tower that certainly epitomizes a castle tower,
and also a separate chapel (which was typical of castles in olden days), but the rest of Castelo de Santa Catarina branches out in wings with tiled walls, and gardens at several levels. My husband and I both went crazy with the cameras. Below is just a sampler of what this amazing place looked like!

Neither Terri nor I could resist the opportunity in one of the gardens to sit with ancient pharaohs:

(Do you get the feeling they're ignoring us, though? That's just like those ancient pharaohs!)

The first day, despite overcast weather, we headed down to the river (the Río Douro), where the cafés and shops are. It was a nice walk from our lodgings, ever downward toward the river, and finally down a flight of stairs to the river level and the main wharf area—a convivial sight to say the least, flocking with tourists. Lots of handmade items in some shops. I picked up a few souvenirs there to bring back.

Before returning to Castelo de Santa Catarina, we had a really fabulous dinner at a restaurant close to our lodgings: It was an unbelievable meal, enhanced greatly by one of the servers who had a truly funny sense of humor. Here we are, having a grand old time at O Forno:

O Forno

Rajan, the server, Terri, and David

Me, Terri, David, & Rajan

After our meal we returned to Castelo de Santa Catarina: And another artistic experience greeted my husband and myself:

Our bedroom.

Our bathroom.

The breakfast room next morning.

And with that, I bid you goodnight for now. Coming up: A wine shop, a river cruise, a school, and a fond farewell to what we will always remember as "The City of Tiles."

Meanwhile, is there anything else you would especially like to know about Porto? I'm so enamored of the trip I'd be more than happy to look it up.

A Miracle Under the Christmas Tree

2012-12-12T11:51:00.002-08:00

I am pleased to announce the exciting news that Rosi Hollinbeck's Christmas memoir, Christmas Without Snow, is included in the new Christmas anthology by Jennifer Basye Sander, A Miracle Under the Christmas Tree, along with many other wonderful stories. This book will make will make great holiday reading. Order information is at the bottom of this post.

Rosi also hosts a wonderful blog called The Write Stuff which you can read by clicking here. (It's also shown again at the bottom of this post.) A little about her story:

CHRISTMAS WITHOUT SNOW by Rosi Hollinbeck

Living in Minnesota has some drawbacks: the sweltering dog days of August filled with mosquitoes the size of Buicks, and Februarys that seem to freeze even time. But one of the true joys of being a Minnesotan is being there at Christmastime. It just seems so right. Minnesota is a Christmas kind of place. Cheeks and nose-tips redden in crisp, cold air. Soft, fresh snow nearly always blankets the ground on Christmas mornings. Frost covers everything turning trees and bushes in jeweled ice sculptures. The daytime sky is such a pure, hard blue, it hurts to look at it, and the sun casts purple shadows across the snow. The sweet smell of burning hardwood permeates the air through the long evenings. . .

About Rosi Hollinbeck:

Rosi lives in Roseville, California, just east of Sacramento. She is active in the Society of Childrens Book Writers and Illustrators as well as the California Writers Club. She has work in up-coming issues of Highlights and Highlights High Five magazines. Her historical short story, Helen’s Home Run, won first place in the 2011 Foster City International Writers Contest Children’s Division. Her middle-grade novel, The Incredible Journey of Freddy J., was a finalist in the Grace Notes Discovering the Undiscovered contest. She writes book reviews regularly for the Sacramento Book Review and on her blog. You can find out more about her at her blog at http://rosihollinbeckthewritestuff.blogspot.com.

Purchase Links: A Miracle Under the Christmas Tree is available from Barnes and Noble as a paperback or Nook book or from Amazon as a paperback or Kindle book. Here are the links:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-miracle-under-the-christmas-tree-jennifer-basye-sander/1111401884?ean=9780373892631

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=a+miracle+under+the+christmas+tree

Today is Launch Day for MAKE BELIEVE, the Story Collection Where You Can Read Lynda Young's Short Story: BIRTHRIGHT

2012-12-03T07:53:00.000-08:00

Lynda R. Young’s short story titled Birthright has been published by J. Taylor Publishing in the Make Believe anthology launched TODAY! Virtual cake for everyone!! Make Believe is currently available in e-book format and includes Paranormal Romance and Fantasy stories inspired by the image on the cover. This will make great holiday reading.

Birthright by Lynda R. Young

Christa can mask the pain and hide the scars, but running from a birthright is impossible.

She’s tried to escape her grief by fleeing to a small town in Florida. Much to her frustration, the locals think they recognize her even though she's never been there before. To make things worse, a man named Jack spouts outrageous theories about her.

Both spur Christa to bolt, to start fresh yet again, but there’s something about Jack that intrigues her enough to stay. The only problem? Someone else wants her to leave, and they won’t stop until she’s dead.

Go this minute to the J. Tayor Publishing Make Believe website HERE to read blurbs about all the stories in this wonderful collection, as well as how to order it.

About Lynda R. Young:
Lynda R. Young lives in Sydney, Australia, with her sweetheart of a husband who is her rock, and a cat who believes world domination starts in the home. She writes speculative short stories and is currently writing novels for young adults. In her spare time she also dabbles in photography and all things creative. You can find her here: Blog, Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads

And the Winner Is . . .

2012-12-01T20:01:00.002-08:00

The winner in the recent photo contest for a free print from my husband's Galicia Gallery is:

JaNay Brown-Wood. Congratulations, JaNay!

My Husband's Photography Website & a Contest

2012-11-09T16:00:00.000-08:00

Monastery

Ribeira Sacra Doade

I am pleased to announce my husband's new website, VARADANARTFOTO.COM

featuring his black and white art photographs.

Many of you have commented on the photographs of Galicia posted in my blog. Most of them were done by my husband, Rajan Varadan, whose specialty is actually black and white photography. Ever since we’ve been going to Galicia, he’s been captivated by the beautiful old stone buildings and walls (some of them in ruins, and some in beautiful repair). And the countryside especially offers beauty because of the various textures in the landscape (vineyards, forests, pastures, and rising mist).

A Small Vineyard

For about six years he made calendars featuring 12 of the particular year’s best. Then last summer, our friends in Galicia, Terri and David Anderson, arranged for an exhibition of those 60 photos at the Concello in Ferreira, a town near where we live. We weren’t able to be there, as we’d returned from a trip in the spring, but they sent pictures of the exhibition, and I blogged about it in my May 28th post this year (you can click on it at the right margin.)

Now he has started an online gallery with photos to share: So far he only has the Galicia gallery up, but in the future, he will have a California gallery and a gallery with photos of places in India. (He’s from India, and is especially enamored of the Belur Halibid temples with their many exquisite sculptures and carvings.)

Sheep Grazing in Bramble

At present he is featuring 62 black and white photographs of Galicia, many of which were not in the show. The website is VARADANARTFOTO.COM When you go to the site, click first “Portfolio” and then “Galicia”.

A Path through the Village

The Gathering

Scroll through all the photos, each of which has a name and number.

The latter is important, because we are running a contest! Whoever wins gets an 8-1/2 by 11 print of their favorite photo free, including free shipping -- from wherever you are.

Here is how to enter: Each one of the following is a "point" and your name goes into the hat.

1. Comment here.

2. Tweet this post.

3. Share it from here on Facebook.

4. Leave a comment on HIS website in the “contact” section about your favorite photo (the one you want to win.)

That's your name in the hat four times already.

On my Facebook you can get more points, spelled out by my post on my timeline. When the contest is over, I use a randomizer to pick the winning number.

Contest starts Saturday, November 10th (tomorrow!) at 1:00 a.m. PST and ends Saturday, December 1st, at the stroke of midnight, PST.

Meanwhile, scattered throughout this post is a sampler of photos to enjoy. And remember, you can see 54 more pictures and pick one to win on his website.

Country Lane in Mist

Broken Steps

Trasulfe, the Village We Love

2012-11-01T10:18:00.001-07:00

Trasulfe in the far upper right; lower, to the left is a neighbor's farm. (The neighbor who brought us the quemada described later in this post.)

When people learn how often we go to Galicia, Spain, they often just hear "Spain", and ask us if we've seen Madrid, Barcelona, Sevilla . . . No, we haven't been to any of those places (except for the Madrid airport).

Somehow Galicia has cast its spell over us, and, except for two short trips to Portugal (which we loved, and I'll write about in a later post), we haven't gotten out of Galicia. There is, of course, the famous city of Santiago, destination of pilgrims from all over the world, with a beautiful cathedral and an interesting old part of the city (as is the case with so many of these ancient cities in Galicia.) And I wrote about Lugo my previous post. But what captures our hearts so completely is the tiny village of Trasulfe. We bought a restored house there from friends, and the people of Trasulfe and their way of life have become an integral part of our lives.

One of the bends in the road on the way.

The road we take is on the other side of this building

And there it is: The village we love.

Trasulfe once had a population of 84 people (counting the children) and a couple of grand houses that have fallen to ruin. Many of the stone buildings are in ruins. It is a rural area, and for years young people have left for the big cities or even gone out of the country to find jobs. Our neighbor across the lane worked for many years in Switzerland before returning home to care for his mother, and now he tends sheep. The couple down the hill lived in Barcelona for many years, but are originally from Trasulfe. The man who built our garage lives in a nearby town/village of Turiz, (or Toiriz in Gallegan), but his wife is from Trasulfe, and he tends his cows in a pasture nearby. And our neighbors down the lane who have had such an impact on us, Eva and Manolo, are both from Trasulfe. All of them have siblings, cousins, or grown children, who are living in places like Madrid or Barcelona or abroad in Argentina or Venezuela. The old villages are emptying out, and it's a shame.

Originally, as I said, Trasulfe had a population of 84, and now it has a year-round population of 8! This is the story of a lot of the hill towns of Galicia, and also other parts of Spain. The village populations are aging, but they still carry on their way of life, keeping chickens, pigs, rabbits, sheep, cows (never a huge herd), and growing crops and vineyards. When we arrive, our neighbors bring us wine and eggs regularly, along with whatever is growing that time of year. (We go in spring and fall, so it can be anything from tomatoes, walnuts, chestnuts, peaches, figs -- whatever they have, they generously share.)

One of our neighbors' vines.

Our neighbor across the lane and his sheep.

Gary Larson cows, gossiping.

From our galería window.

Despite the hardship of small rural villages (always, always they are working), there is a sense of peace and tranquility, of going with the seasons, of the cycle of life, that restores us while we are there. It's "hill and vale" country, and the land slopes down beyond our small fields into a valley, sloping up again on the far side, where we can see small villages akin to ours: white plaster walls, red tile roofs, varied shades of green due to fruit trees (apple, peach, figs), nut trees (walnut, chestnut), and low rock dry walls covered with brambles. Because of the elevation and the vales, nearly every morning begins with mist rising, sometimes an ocean of fog lapping against the far slopes; sometimes a veil over all, making the view haunting and mysterious. Galicia has two coasts, the Atlantic to the west, and the Bay of Biscayne to the north, and consequently it is the wet part of Spain. It's been called "green Spain", and you can see why.

Piñeiro, a village on the far slope.

Another day of mist and sunlight.

Another view from our galeria.

Spooky chestnut forest.

One of the turning points on the way to Trasulfe is a hunting preserve filled with chestnut trees. It always freaks me out, because it reminds me of the forest in Disney's original Snow White, when the trees seemed malevolent. But actually neighbors from all the nearby villages go there to pick chestnuts. The chestnuts were late this year, due to a very dry summer.

Galicia -- all of Spain, in fact -- abounds with festivals and fiestas, and we missed two crucial ones this year: The festival in Toiriz Santa Maria which ended the day before we arrived is one we usually go to. It is not related to the wine harvest at all -- it's a saint's day fiesta -- but it follows the wine harvest (or vendimia), so it's always associated in our minds with the vendimia. But the festival at Santa Eulalia is actually a festival of the chestnuts, a one day festival that had an orchestra this year, and it was on the very day we were leaving, sad to say. The fiestas are so much fun. Orchestras and dancing mostly, but people come from nearby villages and it's an opportunity to catch up on talk.

You can see why these good people have stolen our hearts.

Another moment of great sociability at day's end is gathering at the bench or some convenient group of rocks to just sit and talk. We look forward to this, despite our broken Spanish, and each year we can understand more and more. The picture to the right is from a couple of years ago, as we haven't yet downloaded all of this trip's pictures. It is always such a pleasure to see them again.

This photo is from our very first fall trip, which coincided with the vendimia. Friends and relatives were helping to make wine -- a wine that is very low in alcoholic content, as they don't add sugar when making it. They've been making it in their families for centuries, and every household has its bodega with a store of wine.

What does have a high alcoholic content is the aguardiente, a clear brandy they distill, similar to grappa in Italy. All the neighbors make it in small quantities for home use, and sometimes they keep it clear, and sometimes they make herbal or coffee liquors from it. But it's always strong: A little goes a long, long way! We have a bottle going back years, because we drink it once or twice only, when the neighbor who gave it to us comes over for meriendas (snacks) a couple of nights before we leave.

This year we had a delightful surprise: I call it "The Night of the Quemada". We invited our neighbors down the road in for meriendas one evening, as they had given us a lovely lunch one day, and they brought the quemada and invited our neighbor across the road too. Quemada is made in a special clay bowl and prepared in a special way: You peel an orange, an apple, and a lemon, and put only the peels in the bowl, along with some sugar, then a generous handful of coffee beans.

Quemada bowl with peels, beans, and aguardiente.

Then you pour a generous quantity of aguardiente over it -- and set fire to it! The fire burns a soft blue with some yellow, and it has to burn for a few minutes so that the drink picks up all the essence of the fruit peels and beans. It's a marvelous aroma! (Our little dining room smelled so good afterwards!) Then it's served in very small cups -- and for good reason!

The fire burned . . .

The fire was set . . .

Everyone was merry . . .

And I was more than a little surprised!

I hope you've enjoyed this little taste of Trasulfe life (pun intended).

Now, a question for you: Where is your dream place you would like to go if you traveled away from your usual walk of life? What would make you return to it again and again?

Fiesta de San Froilán

2012-10-06T08:45:00.000-07:00

Below you can see us standing on the top of the wide wall that surrounds the original Lugo, an old Roman wall with arches entered via a cobbled street. These openings are remnants of the higher part of the old wall, much of which is gone now. To stand here is to have your feet firmly in the past.

Here we are, still in our first week in Galicia, and it has felt jam-packed. We arrived Monday evening, late. It was midnight before we got to bed. Then we spent the first couple of days opening the house, vacuuming and dusting, etc., and unpacking. Thursday we met friends in town at our favorite café bar in Monforte, Adega do Carlos, and yesterday we went to Lugo and stayed overnight for the San Froilán Fiesta.

The festival actually goes on for eight days, and yesterday, Friday, was the major religious day as San Froilán is the patron saint of Lugo, and the second day was the actual saint's day. Lugo is an ancient city about 60 miles north of Monforte, and it has both a Roman and Celtic past. (Well, for that matter, you can say that of all of Galicia: a Roman and Celtic past. There are old Roman bridges with arches everywhere, and the culture is both castiliano and galegan .)

What's fascinating about Lugo is that the center of town—the original town—is enclosed in a circular wall with about 17 arched entrances; a wall so thick it's wide enough for a car to drive atop, although only walking is permitted. Inside the walls are the old crooked cobbled streets, replete with restaurants and café bars, as well as two cathedrals and several plazas. Once we drove in and found the closest parking garage to our hotel, we unpacked and headed out to stroll the plazas and listen to music. Because it was the saint's day, all the clothing shops, etc., were closed, although eateries and bakeries were open.

Around the Plaza Mayor two huge stages were in preparation for the evening orchestra/bands. But the ayuntamiento (council building) flanks one side of the Plaza Mayor, and the municipal orchestra of Lugo was playing excerpts from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, as well as music by Rodrigo and other composers. Really lovely to listen to. Walking down one of the narrow streets, waiting for lunch time (2:00 p.m.), we heard strains by Mozart floating from a restaurant's open doorway.

We are vegetarians, so sometimes it's hard to find restaurant food in Spain, but, luckily we eat fish and seafood. So we had a really tasty lunch of croquetas bacalao (codfish), grilled prawns, and—a real adventurous "first" for us—steamed cockles with lemon. My goodness, they were good. They looked to me like tiny versions of clams, and they had that "ocean" flavor that was quite evocative. Along with wine, of course.

After lunch, wandering around, we found a band in rehearsal at the Plaza Santa Maria. They were playing all the traditional Galician music with traditional instruments. Their orchestra was composed of four harps, four bagpipes, four violins, six tambourines, one huge set of drums and a smaller drum, and about eight "lap" organs with handles, as well as castanets and a mouth instrument that was "twanged". The music was haunting and beautiful, and sometimes sounded Irish, and sometimes sounded Greek, and sometimes sounded Spanish. Just fantastic. Later, around nine p.m., after a picnic dinner in our room, we heard the concert all over again and enjoyed it just as much. Then, at 10:30 p.m. we returned to the Plaza Mayor to listen to another Latin orchestra. We sat and enjoyed that until nearly midnight, and then returned to the hotel and went to bed.

After rolls and coffee at a bakery this morning, we walked along the shopping areas (and I did find a nice belt and scarf.) We returned, then, to the "artesian" tent, where local artisans were showing their beautiful handicrafts. And then we headed back "home" around noon.

Weather-wise, we have been lucky. Except for rain this morning, and not a heavy one, it's another beautiful sunny day. And now, I must wrap this up. I'm at a wi-fi café, and I want to post this before we return to the house. Later, I'll try to post some pictures.

Meanwhile, for us, Galicia is a magical place. I write poetry about it at times. Before we started coming here, McKinley Park in Sacramento used to affect me that way. Do you have a place like that? If so, where?

Still Revising!

2012-09-24T10:17:00.003-07:00

Expect to finish this draft in October. Please check back November 1st, because by then I'll be dying to post!

I Have Not Disappeared Off the Face of the Earth

2012-08-26T20:49:00.001-07:00

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So here I am again, explaining why I haven't been blogging.

The good news is that I've been writing. And re-writing. And, yup, re-writing. And when I'm not doing that, I'm reading in a focused way that I hope will make the current re-write better. I keep thinking that any day now I'm going to blog again and write a brilliant post or at least a book review of one of the many books I've been reading. But duty calls: I get immersed in my WIP. And I need to, too! There is someone waiting for me to finish this rewrite.

I think while I'm so engaged in the WIP right now, I'll have to content myself with visiting your blogs and commenting and defer posting for awhile.

But, in the meantime, if you've stopped by, please share what you are doing and where you are in the writing process. I'm sure others who stop by will be just as interested as I am and will want to visit your blog to learn more.

I do hope to be doing it again before too long.

Until then, write on.

Apologies and Good News

2012-08-04T15:08:00.002-07:00

Maybe why I post less frequently?

First the apologies, both for the long silence, and for the fact that some of you (e-mail subscribers, actually) have been receiving repostings from the past.

What happened was that I read an important post about the fact that bloggers can be sued for using clip art and online photos if they aren't actually in the public domain or royalty free. If you haven't already read about this on blog sites or on Facebook, you can go to my friend Rosi Hollinbeck's site, The Write Stuff, where she posted two good sites where you can learn about the hazards and also learn about the free sites you really can count on.

Because this can be tricky business: Some of the sites I visited in the past looked like they were royalty free, but they only were if you paid a fee to become a member with unlimited downloads, and stuff like that (info I hadn't read closely enough). This past week, instead of blogging, I've been diligently going through old posts to cull out pictures I wasn't sure about. In the process, a couple of times I clicked "post" instead of "update", and my subscribers have been getting reposts from last summer and fall. (Just disregard them, folks. If they aren't the current date, it just means I clicked the wrong icon. You can delete them.)

Yesterday two friend who subscribe let me know they received my Thanksgiving Post!
Not that I don't have a lot to be thankful for.

Now we come to the good news. The other reason I haven't been posting for so long is because I've been doing rewrites of my middle grade mystery for an agent who was interested. And a few days ago I got the signed contract! I've posted this on Facebook, but some of you aren't on Facebook, so here is the news: Yes, I have an agent, a very good one. I'm very happy about it. She requested rewrites before we ever signed the contract, but, in the process, she nudged my writing up to a higher level, which will stand me in good stead for the sequel. (This is a mystery series.)

So there you have it: the reason for the long silence, and the reason for surprises out of the blue (if you're a subscriber). I'll be posting more often again from now on, so please stop by. And if you came by today, please leave a comment; I have a few questions:

Did you know about the issue re: public domain pictures?
Have you been hard at work on your own writing?
Are any of you at the SCBWI Conference in LA? (If so, I am sooooo envious. I went two years ago, and it was marvelous.)
http://rosihollinbeckthewritestuff.blogspot.com/

The Month of the Foot

2012-07-09T13:04:00.000-07:00

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I am two-and -a-half weeks into recovery from foot surgery, and there isn't a lot to think about when your day is spent reading one book after another while your foot is propped up on 3 or 4 pillows to keep it above your waist. (The first 2 weeks it was above my heart.) I could be doing book reviews, true, but it would be hard to pick one. I think I've read about 20 books in two weeks!

I keep wondering how this experience will play into my writing. Will it? Can it? I write mainly for kids. I had bunions and hammer-toes, an adult affliction that develops over time. The protagonist in my present WIP is a ten-year-old girl in the Victorian era, when corrective surgery for these didn't exist, and ten-year-olds wouldn't even know what they were.

Write what you know. Well, at present, what I know is all about foot surgery for bunions and hammertoes. Maybe one of you can have a character with this problem, in which case, please help yourself to the following information.

This is kinda what my feet looked like before surgery. I had one of each of these on each foot. And let me tell you, they are really uncomfortable. Almost all my shoes started rubbing painful blisters. I could only wear those comfy sliders that look like bedroom slippers. You know the ones I mean. My feet looked a little in between the picture on the left below and the picture on the right. You get the general idea.

I had the right foot done last summer, and the left foot done on June 22nd this summer. It's amazing what the doctor does: He cuts bone. Yes. He cuts the bunion off. Then he cuts the hammertoe off and pins that toe so that it's flat. Yeah. A pin. (That comes out after 5 weeks). The new big toe, now minus a bunion, has a little screw in the joint. That's forever.

When the foot is all healed up, it looks like a normal foot again, like the feet in the next picture. So far, my right foot looks like one of these. My left foot will soon. But that's not why I had it done. Believe me, I would have kept having my shoes stretched across the toe before having my bones cut. This is not something to do for cosmetic reasons. I did it because of discomfort and pain. I couldn't wear any shoe with comfort, and I couldn't do much walking for exercise.

But now that I do have normal feet again (or will, when the swelling on this one goes down), I admit I am looking forward to wearing nice shoes again like the ones way below.

Meanwhile, I suppose I can weave part of this experience into a story: If my MC gets sick in a sequel, I know what she feels like while recuperating, longing to be outside again; longing to walk around and say hello to friends or admire gardens or go peer in a shop window. I know, too, how tired of reading she might become, no matter how much she loves to read. Nothing gets completely wasted on a writer, does it?

How about you? Have you been through some experiences you can't really find a way to put per se into a story except to cull out bits and pieces?

By the way, you may have noticed these shoes don't have pointy toes or high heels. But they beat the bedroom slipper look.

Another Time Out

2012-07-01T11:50:00.000-07:00

Saturday we received news that my husband's eldest brother passed away. We called Friday evening as we often do, (which was Saturday morning In India), and he was on the verge of passing even then. All the brothers were there, as well as my husband's sister, and we conveyed news to two brothers here. One of them called India later and called us back with the news that he had passed about an hour after we called. He was 90, and would have been 91 in September. He lived a long and incredibly good life, and still I am sorry he is gone, though also glad for his sake. The heat in India is killing heat at this season. He was suffering from that in recent calls. But even though our visits were infrequent through the years, I'll miss him in future visits. He radiated kindness and wisdom, as does my sister-in-law, his wife. And he always took my spiritual questions seriously and took time to answer them. Both he and his wife have been beacons of goodness for all the family, and after all the traditional rites and ceremonies are performed, his loss will be deeply felt, though he leaves a wonderful spiritual legacy for us all.

Back to The World of Blogging

2012-06-24T11:58:00.002-07:00

I haven't been blogging because. . . A series of FORTUNATE events have been keeping me busy.

There was the art show in March. I always love setting it up. But then there was taking it down again before our trip to Spain. Busy, busy, when you are packing too.

The art show in the window of Are Ellis.

There was the trip to Galicia. Wonderful, as always. This is our village, Trasulfe.

But this time there was not much time to blog, because I was doing a rewrite of my mystery for an agent who is interested. She liked many of the changes, but wanted more changes. So. . . , that meant another rewrite before surgery, along with the year's wind up of art club. And I still have another rewrite coming up. But I love doing it. I thought the book was ready before, but it's much better now, and I like the agent's approach.

Here is a location that is important in Book 1.

In our absence, our friends in Galicia arranged for an exhibit of my husband's photos of places in Galicia. We couldn't be there for it, but we heard it went well. There were 60 photos in all. Here are four of them:

And then there was the surgery itself, two days ago. (But you don't want photos of that.) I spent the last two weeks in pre-op appointments as well as gardening. I am so glad I pulled weeds and made the garden beautiful. Now, bed-bound,I can look out my back window and enjoy roses and geraniums when I get tired of reading. Rajan also put a huge bouquet of sunflowers in a vase on the desk in my writing nook here inthe bedroom. Another restful sight, and so cheery! (Don't have a picture of that yet, but I will.)

We also visited friends,because for about 7 weeks I won't be traveling anywhere except into cyberspace! (I AM looking forward to reading your blogs again after being so focused on my own activities for so long.)

Meanwhile the surgery went quite well. I'm supposed to stay off that foot and keep it elevated for about 7 weeks. I'm well-armed with books to read. So you can expect some book reviews in days to come. Also I have my writing notebooks to keep me occupied, and hopefully the time will fly until I'm back at my desk and working on Book 2 of this mystery series.

How about you? How do you plan for those times when health issues change your schedule? Do you put everything on hold? Or do you find a way to maintain a schedule of sorts?

My Husband's Photography Exhibit in Galicia

2012-05-28T10:28:00.000-07:00

Even though I am working on my rewrite like mad, I am taking time out to share my husband's wonderful photography exhibit in Galicia. Our friends, Terri and David Anderson set it up with the mayor of Ferreira, a small town near our village. The sneak preview was this week-end but it's really for the wine festival which begins June 2nd.

They did an awesome job of setting it up, and I hope you will go take a peek at the album I set up on Facebook on my timeline: here is my FB Timeline site. When you go there, just click on "Photos".(It's the first album. You'll recognize the cover picture.)

Sooo. . . , back to work now! See you in a couple of weeks.

Time Out

2012-05-25T10:04:00.001-07:00

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Dear Blog Friends,

Sorry I have not been posting. I am working on a rewrite of my book with a deadline of two weeks, so I will not be posting again before the first week of June. Then I can resume both posting and visiting and commenting on your blogs. Please come back then. Thanks! Until then, I will be . . . .

New Book Review -- Bridge of Time by Lewis Buzbee

2012-05-06T11:18:00.000-07:00

What if you woke from a nap to discover a familiar landmark had simply disappeared? What if you could meet yourself coming and going? What if you landed splat in another time and found yourself running for your life, and more than once? In Lewis Buzbee's latest literary mystery, Bridge of Time, a school field trip leads to a journey into the past with a surprising time traveler for a guide.

On the eve of their class trip to Fort Point, Lee Jones and Joan Lee each each learn their parents are getting a divorce. Needing a place to talk over the bad news, they sneak away from the class and hide in the lighthouse. But bad news can be exhausting, even when shared with a sympathetic best friend. They fall asleep. When they wake up and look out the lighthouse windows, the Golden Gate Bridge has vanished. And that’s not all that’s different. In the fort below, grass has replaced concrete. Soldiers are loading a real canon. Other soldiers have rifles and seem eager to use them.

Immediately Joan and Lee crouch down to try and figure this out. Then they hear footfalls on the lighthouse stairs. The door opens. A young man dressed in black enters. His clothes are as old fashioned as those of the soldiers, and Joan and Lee can tell that, like the soldiers, he’s definitely not part of the field trip. He says his name is Sam Clemens. He says they have come “unstuck” in time, something that regularly happens to him. At present (this new present) it’s 1864.

Thus Joan and Lee are launched into an adventure that takes them forward and backward in time through a San Francisco that keeps shifting. “Sam” is their guide, but even when he rescues them from the soldiers below (who might well shoot them for being spies), he gets them into new scrapes: Trying to get back to the lighthouse, which is a time portal, they have to elude the Kearney Street butchers, who want to take a cleaver to Sam for an article he wrote on behalf of a Chinese man they beat up. (In 1864 the white citizenry of San Francisco are bigoted against “the Chinese menace”.) And a mysterious man in black keeps pursuing them and Sam into both the future and past. (Why does Sam turn pale every time the stranger shows up?)

As in earlier mysteries, Buzbee weaves humor, history, and philosophy into his fast-paced tale. In one scene, Sam—who is actually Mark Twain—wrestles with twenty-first century slang, managing to get “dudes” and “totally awesome” right, but then adding, “I was also freaking the out.” In addition to the frightening aspects of San Francisco’s racism in 1864, there are softer brushstrokes that give the era: When Joan says she’d like to have a bath, Sam says, “Oh you children of the future. What have they done to you? Are you certain? It takes a good while to rustle up a proper bath.” (And so it does in 1864.) At the end of the book, Sam gives them a nice explanation of why the lighthouse at Fort Point is a focus for time travel. (But you’ll have to read the book to find out.) In one vivid scene the three time travelers fall into what Sam calls a “tumble”, shooting back and forth from one time to another so rapidly it could be a light show with strobe lights.

As was true of Buzbee’s two earlier literary mysteries, Bridge of Time is a book to savor and read more than once. (You can read earlier reviews of Steinbeck’s Ghost and The Haunting of Charles Dickens by clicking on the titles.)

Bridge of Time can be purchased at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and a more complete list of online stores can be found here.

To learn more about Lewis Buzbee and his books, visit his website.

You can also visit him on Facebook.

But tell me, if you could time travel, what literary figure would you like for your guide?

Book Review: Only the Lonely

2012-04-28T09:20:00.000-07:00

I have meant to blog regularly about our current trip to Galicia, but two prior commitments are putting that on the back burner: 1) An agent is interested in my MG mystery if I rewrite certain portions of it, so I have been diligently doing just that each day. 2) I have two book reviews I'd promised, and so I am taking care of those, one by one. (Rest assured, I'm also writing copious journal notes, and my husband has been taking numerous pictures, so on return to California, I'll do several posts about Galicia and some new discoveries on this trip.)

And now to the review of Richard Hughes' intriguing novel, Only the Lonely.

It isn’t often one encounters a family saga written by a man and from a man’s point of view. Much as I love to read traditional family sagas, this was a refreshing book for that very reason.The book takes the protagonist, Winston Hamilton from 1917 to 1945, and thus, through two world wars, fought by two different generations.

In 1917, Winston delivers coal to homes in a horse-drawn wagon, lives with his parents, and enjoys a good mug of beer with his friends at Louis’s Irish Pub. Then he accepts an invitation to Abby Cherniky’s house for a lesson in cursive handwriting. To the contemporary era this may seem a rather tame encounter. But Winston’s been delivering coal to her family for some time, and he and Abby have noticing each other. The handwriting lessons are a ploy on both sides for Winston to start courting in an era when a young man had to have a reason to come to a young woman’s house while the family checked him over.

But Mrs. Cherniky disapproves of alcohol, and when Winston realizes he’s deeply in love with Abby and wants to marry her, he gives up alcohol and the pub life. The author layers the difficulty for Winston very nicely, laying the seeds for his later problem, which mushrooms after their marriage and Abby’s death in childbirth.

Devastated, Winston returns to drinking and gives his daughter to his in-laws to raise, since he can’t bear the reminder of Abby and doesn’t think he can be a good father. He also enlists in the “Great War” going on in Europe at that time, and his self-destructive urge leads him to fight valiantly, if recklessly, ironically making him hero. On return to civilian live, he drinks to forget everything he saw in the war. He also starts his own business, but the alcohol has taken hold, and it deeply impacts his second marriage and his second family.

I wouldn’t want this to suggest that the book becomes a tract against drinking. The strength of this aspect of the story is the way in which the author gives a sympathetic understanding of the tragic turns of Winston’s life, events that are often beyond his control and only made worse by his dependence on alcohol. The book is about much more than his drinking. Winston was a lonely man to begin with, and alcohol helps him to preserve loneliness despite work and family life. He is truly one of “the lonely” of the title until a later turn in the road gives him a glimpse of a possible change before it’s too late.

Particularly strong were the war scenes and their details that brought war to a reader in all its impact. But one of the author’s main strengths is the ability to render scenes in general with simple brushstrokes. Some samples:

“The trees looked dead, but Winston knew it was just a ruse to trick the bitter winter out of its biting sting. The trees had merely withdrawn into themselves as if meditating on their dreams.”

“The trees had changed to different shades of yellow and red. The sun was just above the tree line, backlighting the large white clouds with glowing borders.”

“He went back downstairs, decided to look in the basement, and walked down the rough-hewn stairs. The cold musty cellar was dimly lit from light coming through small windows near the tops of the stone foundation walls.”

Following a storm that devastated neighborhoods:

“Mrs. Logan knelt in the middle of her wooden living room floor— practically all that was left of her house, that and the broken brick fireplace, the top half of the chimney strewn across her yard. Old and frail, with tousled gray hair, she clutched a picture frame to her chest and cried mournfully.”

Told mainly in third person singular point of view, with Winston being the point of view character, the story at times enters other points of view. But the story is firmly Winston’s.

One small nitpick is a I noticed in paragraphing: Sometimes paragraphs are indented, and sometimes not. Sometimes there are line breaks between paragraphs and sometimes not. I have noticed this in other e-books, so it seems to be a common formatting problem. After the first few pages, it didn’t particularly bump me, although I do think it’s something that could be addressed in future books.

Only the Lonely can be purchased at Barnes and Noble and various locations listed on Goodreads, as well as his story collection, Battles and Other Stories.

He also can be contacted at his blog, Living and Writing by Richard P. Hughes or at R. Patick Hughes's Blog on Goodreads, as well as Facebook