Look what I found on my front porch yesterday.

Just mention to a book club colleague that you want to borrow a book and there it is. Accompanied by some winter-brightening blooms.

Lately, I’ve been polling all teenage girls that I encounter about ”Twilight,” the blockbuster bestseller. Some love the books; some just can’t get into them. Some like the romance; some quit, preferring weightier reads. I polled my high school job shadow last week and the teen volunteers at the blood drive canteen.

With those results, I checked in with my book club, and one member’s very bright teenage daughter loves the series and so does the mom. 

With my recent penchant for juvenile literature, I’ll give the borrowed book a shot.

The flowers just go with the book cover, don’t you think? 

Ever read a book you just couldn’t forget?

I’d been thinking and thinking about one I’d read as a child. “The Pink Maple House” wasn’t in our county library system, so I asked the librarian to special order a copy for me from somewhere. The copy I got was from a university in Southern California and, boy, was I happy to see it. For two whole weeks I read back into my childhood and the wonderful pink maple house, its inhabitants and the trials and tribulations of making friends.  

The author, Christine Noble Govan, was a Southern writer of children’s books and she left quite a body of work. All, I think, are out of print. Today’s young readers would probably think her books quaint, after all, and why keep them on the library shelf if nobody checks them out?

 I like the simple back-and-white line-drawn illustrations. Just enough of a picture, thankfully, to jog my memory. I hadn’t remembered the main character’s name after all those years, but could quickly identify with  and especially loved her adventure in the attic full of old treasures, especially catalogs and magazines. And, there was a barn. And, a painting of the pink maple house. And, now frowned upon and certainly showing the book’s roots in another era — a black cook who made wonderful treats for the children.

Sometimes it’s hard to find books now that are as engrossing as some were when I was a grade school girl. In fact, I’ve discovered through the Internet that there are plenty of grown women who still find pleasure in reading juvenile or young adult books. I may just take a proverbial page out of their book.

I’d really like to be thinking about these. 

 And my grandma’s blooming Christmas cactus. 

But… instead, I’m thinking about this and watching it and listening to the television weather guys and calling my boys to make sure that they are warm and safe and dry, and brewing tea and petting the cat and untangling yarn. 

And, warming up after going out to take these photos.

Brrrrr! 

The weather guys got it right this time. It’s cold — very cold — here in-usually mild Western Oregon. Snow. Ice on the roads. Bitter winds. I managed to stay holed up all weekend, but had to brave the weather for work today. Navigated the ice-covered porch, steps and sidewalk. Pulled a while to get the frozen car door open. Brushed the soft, powdery, un-Oregon-like (as opposed to the normal wet, gloppy kind) snow off the windshield and cranked up the defrost. It was scarier walking across the parking lot and into the building than it was driving. And, it was easy to stay inside all day, adjusting the blinds whenever the sun shone glaringly off of the ice. Here are a couple of late afternoon views out of my work window. More cold expected clear into next week. 

 Like a lot of photographers, I’d much rather take photos than be in them. A couple of times lately, I’ve found myself on the other side of the camera and I hardly recognize myself with all this gray hair. And, didn’t I used to be younger? And thinner? Don’t I look a bit like my mom did? And grandma? And, even Dad? My aversion to being photographed has led to an interesting fascination with self-portraits. I think it’s a control thing. Sure, it’s me, but on my terms — a bit hidden. Often when I am out and about, I recognize myself in a reflection and shoot

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And, I love photo booths (they are few and far between these days). I found this one in Tillamook.

The old Chevy was in Tillamook, too.

This handsome creature appeared in my in basket a day or so ago. He has a lovely head.

And smart feet.   And a colorful, ribbon-like tail.   And, here he is in all his glory, thanks to my colleague Jeanne who left him under some papers.

 These lovely dry leaves are turning to brown mush as I write this. The first real rain of the season is falling and will make slime of all the wonderful leaves.  These shots were taken on last week’s Sunday morning walk. The park where we walk is near the library and water falls over into a big pond outside the library windows. These leaves seemed caught by the current.  One of my boys, when he was a preschooler, told me the leaves were “rattling down the street.” These oak leaves remind me of that day.Don’t you love the dew on this red, red, red leaf? 

I’m planning to have forced hyacinths this winter. I bought some sturdy Holland bulbs with beautiful papery skins ande e popped them into the pretty glass hyacinth vases I’ve been finding out and about.   I’ve forced bulbs before — paper whites — but the fragrance was just too much. I love the smell of hyacinths. The bulbs are now experiencing a few weeks of winter in the fridge. In a couple of months I’ll take them out and watch while they develop sturdy sturdy stems and heavy flower heads. I’ll be dreaming of spring and sniffing my hyacinths come January or February when we’ve got nothing but gray skies and rain. 

Apologies to Rod Stewart. Here is the latest finished pair of socks. These are Blue Moon’s Socks That Rock that I got when we went to hear the Yarn Harlot when she was in Portland promoting her new book. This is the almost finished first sock from some self-striping yarn that’s been in the stash for a while.   This is self-striping yarn The Little Sister bought on an e-bay auction. She got two skeins. Lucky me.

  Linda Stiles Taylor introduced several of us to shrine making today in her 1913 Forest Grove farmhouse.  She is a children’s librarian and lover of all things Mexican. She attended a weeklong workshop there and shared some of what she learned with several of who are part of the Creative Circle craft group. She’d brought back tons of shrine-making goodies from her trip, including the traditional miniatures and milagros, and set us up in her wonderful book-filled basement studio. She put beautiful Mexican music on and Jeanne, Sylvia, Dawn and Darlene and I went to work painting and gluing and cutting and hanging and glittering our colorful, festive shrines. The hours flew by before we thought to partake of the blueberry cake, the last of Sylvia’s garden’s summer sweet peppers, the home-baked cookies, crisp juicy apples slices dipped in caramel, scones and plums from the old prune orchard adjacent to Linda’s home. Fortified with snacks and plenty of hot tea and coffee, we felt ready to glitz up our shrines. Beware of flying glitter! Here are Dawn, Sylvia, Jeanne and Linda showing off their shrines.