Another book review: Heather Horrocks

I'm feeling pampered again.  Got another manicure and pedicure at frespa, and made appointments for a massage and microdermabrasion.  I haven't worked frespa into my schedule for a while, and found I had more than two months' worth of points rolled over.  I can really splurge.  And I love it.

I'm continually amazed at how well people treat me.  Not only my friends, but even strangers smile and are sometimes very helpful.  The world is a beautiful place for me.  I feel very, very fortunate, and thankful.

As promised, here's another review of a book I've read this year. I'm a slow reader, so I've only read 32 so far in 2009.  I know people who read that many in a month, but I'm sure not one of them.  Well, I have read a book in a day, but that's about all I did.  Or I've read a book in a night and slept all the next day.  

This didn't take as long to read, but I expect I'll remember it for a much, much longer time.  It increases my appreciation for the New Testament.

MEN WHO KNEW THE MORTAL MESSIAH

            Heather Horrocks  *  *  *  *  *

I was one of the lucky ones who got a limited first edition copy.  However, I moved my bookcases at about that time, and my copy disappeared.  For months I wondered which of my family had borrowed the book without letting me know.  I remember how my father used to immediately claim somebody had stolen the tool he mislaid, so maybe it’s in the genes.  At any rate, my copy of Heather Horrock’s book turned up amidst a bunch of paperback romances.  My goodness, was it four whole years in hiding?  Maybe I ought not to admit to how seldom I dust my books, nor to how haphazardly they are shelved.

            Reading Men Who Knew The Moral Messiah drew me in immediately with the spiritual depth reverently displayed by just one of the wise men.  Yes, Heather went along with the traditional three, names and all.  At Christmas time we usually think of the wise men arriving almost simultaneously with the shepherds, or at least within a week or two after the birth of Christ, and it pleased me that this writer knew it took them about a full year to get to Bethlehem.

            New characters step forward to open eyes and hearts to the fullness of Christ’s mortal growth, spiritual development, compassion, and all-over greatness.  Joseph accepts the role of earthly mentor and guide, teaches Jesus carpentry, and learns from him.  A seller of doves in the temple, a man with palsy, another possessed by unclean spirits, a blind man, a thankful leper, and a thief on a cross all testify of how Jesus loved and blessed them.  Judas Iscariot explains why he felt motivated to pressure Christ into taking over the kingdom and casting out the Romans, and getting thirty pieces of silver was a just payment for the glory of Israel.  Realization of his misunderstanding devastated him.  Peter walked on water, thrice denied knowing Him, and thrice agreed to feed His lambs, ewes and rams.

            My high rating is for the magnitude and depth of reverence that tugged inside me as I read and contemplated what I’ve always been taught but from a slightly different point of view.  

Well researched, well penned.  This is a book I plan to keep handy to re-read often.  I’m so glad I found it.  I need to get a copy of Women Who Knew the Mortal Messiah and I hope she publishes her Women Who Knew the Pre-Mortal Messiah, or whatever she calls it.  Meanwhile there’s the musical that’s coming out.  With her novel, too, Heather Horrocks is not only talented, but she’s a busy woman.

 Actually, I'll have to buy me another copy, because I just gave my treasured one to a granddaughter who left to begin college at BYU Idaho.  Since we've lived in the same house since she was born, the occasion felt worth it.  I hope she likes it as well as I.

My husband, and Jimmy Stewart

Today is my husband's birthday.  He's been gone almost eighteen months, but far from forgotten.  That's my excuse for posting the following book review.  I read it a few months ago.  And no, I'm not posting reviews in quite the same order as I read the books.  Don't ask me why.  All I could answer would be . . . just because.

JIMMY STEWART, BOMBER PILOT

               Starr Smith            * * * *

Extremely interesting view of a top movie star who joined the army before Pearl Harbor and rose in rank from private to brigadier general, all with as little publicity as he could manage. He  followed orders with precision and alacrity.  He earned respect and love from those he commanded because he never raised his voice (well, almost never) nor scolded.  He just let those under his command know that he knew what they did, without actually accusing them.  He expected them to correct it themselves, and they did.  He flew 20 bombing mission, most of them because he chose to, and showed concern in everything that affected his men.  

            I, personally, felt my interest stall while Smith went into more detail than I wanted or needed to know about military affairs over and above what pertained to Stewart.  I did enjoy the illustrations, and all in all, I recommend this book to anyone interested in WWII, or in Jimmy Stewart.

The big lesson I learned was that Jimmy Stewart excelled because he filled orders with precision and alacrity, prepared well, loved life, treated others with respect, retained modest humility, and I would do well to do likewise.  I also know and reaffirmed that my husband had those same qualities.  He also retired the year Stewart did.

Another great book to read

I made a resolution last January to keep track of all the books I read in 2009 and write a short synopsis or review to remind me of what I'd read.  I'd like to share my list with you, if you would like.  The great part about blogs is that nobody HAS to read them.  And I already know they can be very time consuming.  I suspect it's a matter of pick and choose.

I rate books on my own book choice list very high, but only if it fills my wants at the time I'm reading them. My wants change.  Sometimes I want a challenge, sometimes something soothing that simply makes me feel good.  And I've always tried to teach myself to look for the good.  This one hit the spot.

MARY, MARTHA and ME

            Camille Fronk Olson  * * * * *

Seeking the One Thing that is Needful.  Sister Olsen retells the stories of all Christ’s known interactions with Lazarus, his two sisters, and guests.  In the each case, Martha serves while Mary sits and listens.  At first, Martha grumbles and asks Jesus to bid Mary help her.  Christ points out the one thing that is needful.  Martha learned this lesson.  The other occurrences find Martha still serving and Mary listening and talking, but the animosity is gone.  Mary serves in the capacity of learner and teacher that she is good at and enjoys.  Martha likewise serves with her homemaking talents, her caring, nurturing, loving service equally needful, and her testimony just as strong.   This book encourages women to concentrate first on Christ, then on their own talents and capabilities, rather than comparing ourselves with others.  It’s comforting to my soul.

I also get the idea that every family, every community, every social group of any size needs both a Martha and a Mary.  When it comes right down to it, perhaps each individual needs a time to be a Martha and a time to be a Mary.  It’s even possible to be both during the same day

At least, reading this book gave me lots of comfort and relief regarding all the work I don’t do.

 

My 85th Birthday

"What do you want to do for your birthday, Mom?"  One or the other of my seven children queried me every day for a week or so.  My mind didn't even want to try to come up with an idea.  At least not until a few days ago.  

"I think I would like an open house where friends and family could drop by.  Nothing fancy, but eighty-five does seem like a nice land-mark number, and I'd like to do something special."

This year my birthday, August 30, came on Sunday.  Saturday was our ward temple night, followed by a ward dinner. That sounded pretty special to me.  When they passed around a clipboard in Relief Society I volunteered to bring dessert.  I was thinking about cookies, but about midweek I decided on a Cosco cake, and ordered one.  Carrot cake with cream cheese icing, a rainbow with puffy clouds and the words, "Happy 85th birthday, Grandma Anna."

The weather on Saturday forgot to cool off, but the air conditioning worked well in my car.  I chose being an initiatory patron at the temple because the blessings given to me, as proxy for each specific deceased woman, are beautiful, and personal.  But then, being in the temple becomes more special to me when I let it.  For me, it's a place of rejuvenation, of feeling close to our Father in Heaven, His Son, Jesus Christ, and our families.

Naturally, when I arrived at the dinner with my cake, they simply had to sing Happy Birthday to me.  Pretty sneaky?  Of course.  But since I'm in my second childhood, I can brag about birthdays like children do, and get away with it.  There's another thing I love about getting old.  I can go help clean up in the kitchen if I want to, but if I don't feel like it, I don't  feel guilty.  The dinner tasted wonderful, the people friendly, and it felt rather like a birthday party.

Next day, since I'm the ward chorister, I had chosen my favorite hymns, and the whole meeting seemed very special.  In Primary the children sang happy birthday to me.  I've been Grandma Friendly for several years, and I also sing with the nursery for a quarter hour each week.  My daughter Kat conducted Primary.  

"Grandma Friendly is having a party tonight.  An open house where you can come with your parents.  It's from six to nine.  She'd love to see you there."

I suspect every child at primary wrote, drew, or scribbled on a sheet from a scrapbook, and we had more ready for guests to write on at our open house.  The turnout amazed me, but I shouldn't have been surprised.  The children insisted on being brought.

One mother told me of her six-year-old son's comment on the way to our place. "I won't get to bed on time tonight.  I have to stay up until nine."

"We are going at six and can be home before bedtime."

"No, we can't.  The party is from six to nine, and this is an important occasion."

I'll have to agree.  I don't know when I've had a better time, though I do know a time or two I've been more exhausted.  Isn't it amazing that our body gets as much stress from happy times as it does from hard work ?    

Good reading from a good friend

ILLUMINATIONS OF THE HEART

            Joyce DiPastena   * * * * *

Joyce’s second historical romance novel, set in 1179, uses characters who played secondary roles in Loyalty’s Web to carry the plot forward into new dimensions.  Siri de Calendri arrives from Italy where her dying brother had liquidized their entire estate and sent her to the trusted friend he had made while on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. She brings a sealed document making her Triston’s ward.  The complicating factor is that Siri looks amazingly identical to Triston’s dead wife, Clothilde. 

DePastena weaves a thrilling tale of swashbuckling sword fights, sweet love scenes, and political intrigue.  An understanding that could have been a satisfying ending occurs a hundred or more pages before Triston and Siri finally battle their way through several challenging complications to more complete fruition.  

DiPastena's  ability to sketch realistic backdrops as grounding to depict strong yet tender emotions, shows with enchanting clarity. For instance, she has Triston idly pick a ripe peach in the garden as he converses with Siri.  He first caresses the fruit, then grasps it, increases the pressure until he finally hurls it to smash against the garden wall, a realistic barometer to his rising emotions.

I look forward to hearing more of Triston's frustrating, yet charming, young cousin who aspires to be a knight and seems to be readying for a leading role in a third novel.

This is a very good read, to which I give my highest praise of five stars.

 

 

My Knitting

     I've often wondered when and where knitting first began, so just now I stopped to google it.  The simple answer is, nobody knows.  It is supposed that it started in the 6th century, but maybe not until medieval times. 

     I do know when I first learned to knit.  My mother taught me when I was about eight years old.  I remember she unraveled an old, red, worn sweater and I proceeded to make a scarf for my brother Don, three years my senior.  I thought I was pretty hot stuff as I knit away in garter stitch.  My  biggest trouble was that I knew so little that I couldn't always tell if a bunch of strands was only one stitch or if it were two or three.  Hence my finished scarf had enough curves to vie with the most voluptuous woman around.  My brother utterly refused to wear it.

     For a brilliant woman (a fact of which on rare instances I perceive a hint of proof) it's amazing to me that it took me half a century to realize snug, smooth knitting stitches both look and wear much better than loose uneven ones.  I blamed my untidiness on my continental, or right-handed, knitting style. I'm getting better.  The holes in the dish cloth I happen to be napping over in the above picture are there on purpose for the design.  

     My mother-in-law taught me to crochet, but that's another story.  Between the two, I've finished and given away many times more articles than I have ever written and edited, yet I claim to be a writer. 

     There just might be another someone out there who's weird enough to have taken a challenge to stockpile enough hand-knit or crocheted dish cloths to give one to each and every person who is kind enough to attend my funeral.  I just don't know how many that will take.  However, I'm optimistic (and have lots of relatives) and already have about four hundred sixty tucked away and waiting. Enough where I've at least slowed down. Crazy?  Of course.  But it's a fun challenge.  It also gives me a false sense of comfort -- of achieving busyness when I don't really want to clean house, or write. 

It's High Time

I'm amazed that it's taken me so long to get back to this blogsite.  The whole month of July I spent most of my writing time on my memoirs.  I've been working on this project for several years now, and have rough drafted somewhere between 150,000 and 200,000 words, getting me only up to 1964.  It tires me to think of all the cutting and editing I'll have to do.  I find sometimes I'm excited to write, but much more often it's closer to drudgery.  However, I love to have written, so it's all worthwhile.

In keeping with probably most of earth's inhabitants, I think my life history is quite unique.  Oh, sorry.  That could be misread.  I believe everybody's life story is unique in some way or other, and should it be well told, could bring inspiration to many, especially descendants and other relatives.  That's why I'm spending so much time and effort on mine.

I'd love to tell my own story with the charm and gusto of a classic novel.  Where I can't quite remember little details, or exact dialogue, I hope to use my creativity to fill in.  However, the plot is pretty well set.  What happened is beyond changing, leaving only the present still malleable.  Or is it?  Can one alter a story simply by what is told and what is left out?  Or even which synonyms we choose?  Hmmm.

Or consider point of view.  When our middle child was born at home after only about a dozen contractions, my mother, my husband and I tell three widely differing stories, each of us assuming a starring role. We all agree he was born, but who cut the cord?