Commonplace

Having just read Belle, Book, and Candle’s thoughtful writing on commonplace books, and a bit too busy right now to write a new post myself. I am reposting my own post on commonplace, which I wrote several years ago, in hopes that you will not only take the time to read Belle, but that you will consider keeping a commonplace book yourself – or tell us about the one you do have. Belle, Book, and Candle’s post can be found here. Thank you, Belle, for the inspiration I needed today.  Penny

Commonplace. The recording of words and ideas in a common place. It was started many hundreds of years ago and became known as commonplacein the 1600′s. It is used to this day by writers, poets, speechwriters and songwriters – even scrap bookers. I started thinking about the practice of gathering ideas in a commonplace book as I was reading a blog about books.

Do you have any idea how many blogs there are just about books? There are blogs about mysteries and children’s literature and authors. There are Pearl Buck and Jane Austen blogs. There are blogs about decorating with books and making books, and, of course, many authors these days have their own blogs.

They are all commonplace.

I have kept card files on books I’ve read since my first Kiddie Lit class. I no longer include such things as publisher and copyright date, but, I do write a brief synopsis of the book, what it was about, the month and year I read it and sometimes, when I’m really full of myself, I rate it. ★★★★★ Commonplace.

I also have kept a book with quotes. If I hear something notable or read something, I will write it down and cite the author. Sometimes, I will cut a quote out of a magazine or on a greeting card and paste it onto a page of my quote book.  Commonplace.

Emerson and Thoreau, Jefferson and Whitman, Hardy and Twain all kept such personal books. Many even learned the practice of commonplacing at Oxford or Harvard – or at their tutor’s direction.

My mother kept scrapbooks of pictures and memorabilia  that I enjoy today and my father kept succinct books that recorded good fishing spots and articles.

I first heard such a collection of phrases mentioned as a commonplace in “Tasha Tudor’s Heirloom Crafts”. Tudor was, among many things, a crafter of dolls. Her dolls lived in intricate, homemade doll houses, so famed that they were attracted to the folks at the Smithsonian and displayed there. Her dolls, clothed and appointed with furniture evoking the 1800′s, had their own commonplace book with tiny writing on the pages.

I love the idea of a commonplace book and was intrigued by the realization that I have kept such books not knowing their origins for much of my adult life. Quite exciting for something so common to me.

Do you practice commonplacing?

Do you keep a journal, special notebook, scrapbook, or log?

The image is from “Tasha Tudor’s Heirloom Crafts”. Photography by Richard W. Brown.

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Hard Times Come Again No More

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Uh, huh!

This little folk tune had been playing around in my head last week. Then Tom mentioned it when we were wandering around the arboretum on Sunday. He in a private grade school, me, a public, both recalled the music teacher rolling the school piano down the hall and into the classroom and teaching us “Frog Went a Courtin’ ” .  Neither of us could remember who Frog was courtin’ though.

Uh, huh!

(Miss Moussie, of course – thank you Google.)

Do you remember this? Frog went a courtin’ and he did ride, uh-huh

Frog went a courtin’ and he did ride, uh-huh

Frog went a courtin’ and he did ride

With a sword and a pistol by his side, uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh

 

Need more? Try Bob Dylan.

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Stone soup

Sharon shared a simple, and simply delicious, recipe for an Italian Pasta soup with me the other day. I made it on Saturday night. As I was putting the ingredients in the pot, I was thinking about the Oak Park Farmers Market I visited earlier in the day and the stone soup that would be made by a local restaurant with ingredients supplied by the vendors; carrots, turnips, beans, parsley, thyme, whatever is still being harvested come October 30. They call their final market Stone Soup and hand out cups of soup to patrons, first come, first serve.

An article I read on Oak Park’s Farmers Market’s Stone Soup said the soup is ready at 9 am – and the pot is usually empty by 10! Imagine. Hot, tasty soup on a crisp, maybe even cold, late October morn with the freshest of ingredients served outdoors. Can you see the steam rising from the cup?

Do you know the story? It is old, very old, and comes as a folk tale with variations from many countries; France, Russia, Japan, Portugal, to name just a few. The basic story is that someone(s) come into a village, hungry, tired, perhaps poor, and ask for some food, usually carrying a big empty pot. The villagers refuse to feed them until the crafty soldiers or monk or whomever the protagonist is, set the pot on a fire,  put water in the pot and add a stone or an axe or a nail, and proceed to make soup, admitting it would be so much better with seasoning. No matter who tells the story, no matter what language is spoken, a villager always offers up a carrot or potato or turnip to sweeten the pot. Not to be outdone, others ante up with whatever they have and sure as rain a tasty soup is quickly simmering and all are fed, especially the crafty fellow who wandered into the village that day.

Sharon’s recipe was outstanding and we have leftovers for another day. She and I are always sharing recipes and my life is more flavorful is so many ways for knowing her.

I was thinking about stone soup while the pot of Italian Pasta soup started to boil. I was pondering how much better our world would be if we each started a pot of stone soup to share with folks who are hungry or weary. Don’t you agree?

What ingredient would you give to a stone soup today?

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Minnehaha Falls

The Song of Hiawatha

Dark behind it rose the forest,

Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,

Rose the firs with cones upon them;

Bright before it beat the water,

Beat the clear and sunny water,

Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

from The Song of Hiawatha by Longfellow

Last spring, I wrote about Susan Jeffer’s beautifully illustrated book of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem The Song of Hiawatha. My good friend Janet recalled visiting Minnehaha Falls when she was a child and coming home to reread the poem. At the time, I mentioned it to Katy, hoping we could see it sometime when we came up to visit.

On Friday, looking for another park in Minneapolis on the computer, Minnehaha Falls appeared and Katy asked if that was the park I said I’d like to see.  I’d forgotten it, but, yes, I did and it was in the vicinity of where we were headed, so, off we went.

What a beautiful day it was; warm and sunny and filled with the colors of Autumn. We wandered around, looking for the falls, for the statue of Hiawatha, for the “clear and sunny water” and as we headed toward a bench so Kezzie could be fed, I turned around and there it was, the statue of Hiawatha carrying Minnehaha.

We rested and we walked and we marveled at the waterfall and at the beauty surrounding us. The park is wonderful with miles of trails for walkers and bicyclists, and a gated dog run along the river. Minnehaha  Park is right in Minneapolis.

Close to the falls is circular garden dedicated to the poem. A flower-filled fountain, plantings, and benches are within and it is surrounded by some of Longfellow’s words and etchings on the stones.

Longfellow never visited the falls.

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Something Jeffersonian

From Tasha Tudor and Family website.

I love Tasha Tudor’s illustrations. They are so evocative of another place and time and stir up feelings of family gathered around the kitchen and gardens overflowing with foxgloves and larkspur. Tasha introduced me, via her cookbook, to one of the best macaroni and cheese recipes I have had. It has become a mainstay on our July 4th table.

Once you cook something, accompany it with a tale or legend, embellish it with your own rendition, and serve it up the following year for a second helping, you have established a tradition.

We love the 4th.

We love to eat.

Every year, along with the chicken, hamburgers, bratwurst, hot dogs, ham, sloppy joes, or whatever the main dish is that year, a big pan of macaroni and cheese sits alongside.

July 4th, folks. It is always hot here on the 4th. There is usually rain the night before or early in the morning and it is generally hot and muggy – and I make macaroni and cheese.

Tasha relates in her cookbook that Thomas Jefferson enjoyed macaroni and cheese. Whether he invented it is questionable, but, it makes a hearty tale for a hearty dish, and he did, it seems, draw plans for a pasta making machine.

We like Tasha Tudor’s recipe and I like to weave a good tale. I did, one steamy Fourth as I employed some of Katy’s friends to help in the first making of Tasha Tudor’s mac ‘n cheese. As the kids were growing up, there were more often than not friends that joined in the celebration. I miss them. They went and grew up on us and are off starting families and careers of their own. At any rate, they grated the cheese and they crushed the crackers and, at least for that first serving, they bought into the tale that Thomas Jefferson loved macaroni and cheese. So, on the Fourth of July, our national holiday, I thought it fitting that we have a dish that the author of the Declaration of Independence seemingly enjoyed.

Do you think Jefferson used Velveeta™ along with the shredded cheddar cheese and crushed Ritz crackers on top? (me neither)

Do you have any traditions, foodwise or otherwise, for Independence Day?

Do you have a favorite summertime meal?

Stay tuned . . . if I have time between the cheese grating and the table setting, I’ll post a few pictures of our very own cutoff parade!

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We hold these truths . . .

. . . that all men are created equal.

The 4th of July is upon us and we are busy, scurrying, cleaning the house, tackling the outside, getting ready for the 4th!

I love the 4th of July. Independence Day. Parades, fireworks, food, family, and friends.

Independence.

Anyone who knows me knows my love of American history. How we came to be and the heroes who brought us through. Washington and Adams, farmers and scholars, free men and slaves. Betsy Ross.

Betsy Ross. The woman credited with sewing our first flag. A brave thing to do in a time of civil disobedience. An act of treason.

No one truly knows if Betsy Ross made the first flag. We do know she was an upholsterer in Philadelphia who knew George Washington and, whether or not she sewed the first flag, she likely sewed others as well as uniforms for the troops.

Betsy Ross is a symbol to me of the sacrifices and pluck of the women of the American Revolution.

Click on flag for a better look.

I found this at a craft show some years ago. The craftsperson told me that in some country schools, children would learn the words to the Declaration of Independence by first writing them on the white lines of old flags. They would then sew the words on, like a sampler. I don’t know if this is what was actually done, but, found it plausible and liked the idea of learning the words by writing them, then sewing them,  then hanging them in such a way. I brought one home and we hung it, just where I thought it should go from the very first moment I saw it, on a half wall between our kitchen and dining area. It could be seen and read each and every time we sat down to eat or do homework, sign report cards or address wedding invitations. It became a fabric of our lives as it rested in an unexpected spot. I like the unexpected in life.

The framed flag now hangs on a wall in our family room here on the cutoff. Folks visit us, from all walks of life and from places near and far, and they invariably walk up to our sampler, which is simple and frayed under glass, and look closely to see the stitches and then slowly read the words . . .

Here’s something fun to try. It is told that George Washington wanted the stars on the flag to be six-sided. Betsy thought otherwise and suggested a five pointed star. Told five pointed stars would be too hard to make, she picked up a scissors, made a few folds, and in one single snip proved to the noted gentleman that he was mistaken. The rest, as they say, is history!

Directions are here.

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Did you ever?

Did you ever forget where you got an image? I did with this one, saved in a file for use on a "didgaever" day.

Did you ever write with a twig in the sand – a heart or your name or the name of another?Did you ever draw simple squares on a sidewalk or driveway with a piece of gravel, or a chunk of chalk and play hopscotch with a friend all afternoon? Did you ever watch a storm come in, over a lake or down a highway? Did you ever catch a lightning bug and cup it in your hand, ever-so-tight and then peak in to see if it would light up for you? Did you ever curl up under a tree or in a lawn chair or in front of a fan and read a book you never wanted to end?

One summer I read Heidi by Johanna Spyri. A neighbor had given my sister and me a box of books that her children had read. Heidi was one of the books. I loved the story and the old grandfather and Peter and Peter’s blind grandmother and I cried when Heidi was taken away to live with Clara, though I loved Clara. I remember trying to pace myself – one chapter at a time. I failed. I failed and soon Heidi was done.

I read the two sequels, Heidi Grows Up and Heidi’s Children, though they were written by Spyri’s English translator. They took me through a good part of the summer and they took me to the Alps until I found The Bobbsey Twins. Although I was a little old for them at the time, I didn’t care, and I read and I read until my eyes burned and my grandmother told me to go outside and play. Instead, I found Winnie-the-Pooh, which in my estimation is much more fun to read to oneself than aloud, though I’m not quite sure why, and Treasure Island, which I must read again someday. Our neighbor’s gift was a big magic box to me when summer days seemed so long.

How about you? Did you read books in summer as a child? What did you read? What are you reading now?

When someone says”How do you do,” just say you didn’t. Eeyore

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I swallowed a fly!

I don’t know why I swallowed the fly!

We were walking along the lower acre here along the cutoff. I was yapping away, as I am wont to do, talking a mile a minute about whatever was coming into my head; the gardens I was visiting for the garden walk, the trip I needed to make into town to buy some plants for the Walk-In-Ministry’s fundraiser, what to make for dinner, who knows? There I was, one second, my mouth filled only with my words, the next, a fly! It happened so fast. I just stopped and felt it go down. Tom ran into the barn to get a bottle of water, which helped, as it wiggled and wriggled and tickled inside me.

I don’t know why I swallowed that fly!

Did you ever swallow a fly?

(This video is rather long, but the artwork is fun. I need to go out and pull weeds. I think I’ll wear a mask.)

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Strawberry Girl

Close-up of cover of Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski

There was a period of time in my elementary education that I could not read enough of Lois Lenski’s books. I poured over them, sometimes reading three books in a week. They entertained me and enlightened me, they showed me what daily lives were like for other children in other areas and they brought me to the realization that our country was so very large with many different regions. I loved the stories that the books told, and I would spend hours studying the books’ illustrations, also done by Lois Lenski.

Lenski’s stories took me to the same places in my imagination that Laura Ingalls Wilder did. Places and times I would never be a part of if were not that someone took the time to tell the stories for adolescent girls, as well as boys,  just like me.

One of my favorites, of a long line of favorites, was Strawberry Girl. Strawberry Girl was one of some sixteen books Lenski wrote that became known as her regional books. She set about writing books for children set in different regions of the United States, giving a flavor for what their lives were like, how they spoke, what they wore, where, and if, they went to school. These were not pioneer children, but, instead, children who lived in the 1940′s and 1950′s,  in rural areas, and were sharecroppers, or migrant workers, or lived on a houseboat. I remember Flood Friday to this day and though I cannot tell you the names of the children in the book, I can still experience them being rescued from the roof of their house from a devastating flood and then spending days living in the gym of the school. I loved Cotton in My Sack and Judy’s Journey taught me of the plight of poor, migrant workers.

I remember feeling sad when, while helping in the school library of my daughters’ school one day, I pulled a Lenski regional book off the shelf and discovered from the checkout dates that no one had checked the book out in six or seven years. I felt that kids were missing out on so much, but, then, maybe I was just trying to relive some of my own childhood days.

There are many, many wonderful books for adolescents to read today – I know as I am the one, the big kid at heart, who picks them up in bookstores and the library and is transported away to wherever the words lead me still, just as I was in a used bookstore recently when, perusing the young readers’ section, right smack in the middle of a stack of Newberry Award books, was a gently read paperback copy of Strawberry Girl. I caught the store owner’s tiniest of grins that slipped out of the corner of her mouth as she heard me squeal with childlike glee, as if the book were my own treasure just found “oh, cool, my favorite” and there I was, ten again, and have remained so for the past few days where I have stolen moments here and there and  have stared at those black and white  illustrations and trudged along with Birdie as she and her family try to farm strawberries in the backwoods of Florida, contending with bristly neighbors and local justice,  the vernacular of the era and the region’s uniqueness.

I’m almost done. Maybe later I’ll put my pending projects and pots to be planted aside, for just one hour, cut up a few fresh strawberries, and find a corner where no one will see me – and finish a piece of my childhood.

Lois Lenski

Image for the Milner Library site at Illinois State University. http://www.mlb.ilstu.edu/ressubj/speccol/lenski/Welcome.html

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