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Just finished News of the World: A Novel by Paulette Jiles. One of my book-reading friends said this is one of the best books she’s ever read in her life. That kind of praise required me to read it and I just LOVED it. It’s about an old man (a widower), who was a former military captain, during the 1800s, who goes from town to town to read out loud the current news of the world (yes, there WAS such a job.) Newspapers didn’t make it to small towns back then. By chance he’s asked to take a 10-year old girl to East Texas to reunite with relatives. The child had been captured by an Indian tribe as a baby (her parents were killed in the raid), raised by the Kiowa and as was often the case of such children, she wants nothing to do with leaving. So the “hero” in this story has his hands full. And yet, they learn to trust each other on the journey. Reaching the destination, there are lots of complications (of course!). This book is truly a wonderful read – I didn’t want it to end. The author has a gift of description and the severe dangers and difficulties of a old west horse and wagon journey. The relationship is tender. Now I’ve got to investigate the author’s other books, of which there are many.

Winter Journey by Diane Armstrong. Have you ever read about forensic dentistry? I sure had not, so I found it fascinating reading. It’s a debut novel for the author, and what a story. Halina, an Australian, with Polish roots, specializes in this obscure profession as a forensic dentist, and is asked to go to Poland, to help identify bone (and tooth) fragments, to put to rest a sad event in the story of this small town, when many, many people (Jews) were murdered. Was it the Nazis? Or was it the local townspeople who disliked the Jews. What a tangled web of intrigue, including Halina’s own mysterious past. I really enjoyed the read. The author does a great job of developing the characters (which I always like). This is no light read if you consider the subject matter, although it IS a novel (but based on fact). Nor is it a spy thriller – it’s more just an historical novel with lots of interesting people throughout. There’s a romance thrown in too, and a whole lot of angst about the discoveries found in the mass grave. But, the subject expanded my knowledge about forensics.

The Lost Painting: The Quest for a Caravaggio Masterpiece by Jonathan Harr. I just LOVED this book. I’ve never been much of a fan of Caravaggio’s paintings, although I’ve seen plenty of them (many are extremely large) in museums around the world. His paintings were dark, often with dark subjects. But as with many of the old masters, occasionally some obscure work surfaces, perhaps credited to another artist, even, that turns out to be one done by “the” master. In this case, Caravaggio. Although this book is written as a novel (with dialogue, etc.) it’s historical through and through. It begins with two young women art scholars, in Italy, who are asked to do a research project. One thing leads to another, and to another. All true.  If you enjoy books about art – I learned some things about the paint and the canvases of the time – you’ll be intrigued as I was.

Eye On the Struggle: Ethel Payne, the First Lady of the Black Press, by James, McGrath Morris. Each year my AAUW book club reads something related to Black History Month. This is a biography of a woman you’ve probably never heard of, Ethel Payne, and about her life-long journey in journalism, struggling to keep her head above water financially, but staying true to her purposes of telling the truth about the black stories and black racism of the day. Sometimes biographies aren’t all that riveting, but I found this one to be so, and I savored each new chapter. We had a really good discussion of the book, and the ups and downs of Payne’s life, especially during her years as a Washington reporter. You’ll not be sorry to have spent the time reading this book. It’s well-written, as well. I was thrilled when the author, Morris, left a message here on my blog, thanking me (and my group) for reading his book.

H Is for Hawk, by Helen Macdonald. This one has been on the best seller list. It’s a memoir about a woman who takes on a personal challenge of taming a wild hawk. Prior to reading this book, I knew next to nothing about the entire subject of hawking, or taming any of the big, wild birds. The book is equally about the writer’s inner journey. She’s a consummate writer, and every page was a joy of words, for me. My only problem is my own – I found it hard, the more time that went by, and the more time the writer spent trying to tame this bird, to scream out “let the bird go.” Perhaps it’s because I spent time in Africa in 2015, seeing animals in the wild, that I felt more for the bird than I did with the writer’s discontent with herself and the taming process. Little did I know what a hard job it is to tame a hawk. I actually didn’t finish the book. It was a book club read, and highly recommended by several of our members. And I ended up not being able to attend the meeting as I had a cold. So perhaps there is some great ending to it that would have made me feel better. I haven’t gone to the end to find out. I just had to stop reading it. But I’m not NOT recommending it. If nothing else, read it for Macdonald’s sublime proficiency with words.

Also read George Washington’s Secret Six: The Spy Ring That Saved the American Revolution, by Brian Kilmeade and Dan Yaeger. Here’s what it says on amazon: When George Washington beat a hasty retreat from New York City in August 1776, many thought the American Revolution might soon be over. Instead, Washington rallied—thanks in large part to a little-known, top-secret group called the Culper Spy Ring. He realized that he couldn’t defeat the British with military might, so he recruited a sophisticated and deeply secretive intelligence network to infiltrate New York. I won’t exactly call this book a riveting read, but it was interesting. Relating facts that few people knew about, this Culper Spy Ring. It’s a little chunk of American history researched in depth by the authors. An interesting read.

Also read The Little Paris Bookshop: A Novel by Nina George. If you’re an avid reader, you probably have the same kind of longing as I do for a quaint, independently owned bookstore right around the corner. So few exist anymore. This novel is about a very unusual book store, and book store owner. In Paris. On a boat/barge. It’s not a typical book store, and the writer takes you on a journey of discovery about (likely) her own lifetime of book reading. You’ll learn all about a variety of existing books and why they’re a good read. But it’s all cloaked in a story about this book store and the owner. And the customers. Very fun. I’m reviewing it for one of my book clubs next month.

Tasting Spoons

My blog's namesake - small, old and some very dented engraved silver plated tea spoons that belonged to my mother-in-law, and I use them to taste my food as I'm cooking.

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Posted in Essays, on March 31st, 2016.

roses_table_dinner

When I look at the picture above it bring tears to my eyes. Grieving is such a long, slow process.

It’s been awhile since I’ve talked about my grieving, and today seemed to be a day that brought it all current, even though it’s now been over 2 years. I’ll never stop missing him, my DH, Dave. A good friend came to visit today and we talked a bit about my grieving and where I am today, how I am today. And most days I’m doing well – most people tell me I’m doing remarkably well, and I suppose I am. I’ve learned to adapt to a life alone. Many hours of the day I don’t think about it – I just go about my day with errands, reading, paying bills, attending meetings, helping at church, cooking, or whatever. I’ve adapted. I fill my hours with a variety of activities, mostly Monday through Friday. Weekends are still a conundrum to me – I go to church every Sunday morning – but many of the hours of the rest of Saturday and Sunday are filled with nothing. Not that I sit twiddling my thumbs – I always find something to do – a project, filing, some TV perhaps, grocery shopping, cooking, sorting the mail. Nothing important, really. Sometimes I go to a movie by myself – I don’t mind doing that – I used to do it when Dave was in San Diego on our boat and I was home, so going to a movie alone isn’t a problem.

Probably talking about Dave today brought it into the now, rather than pushed to the recesses of my emotional soul. I can do that mostly – just “not going there,” as they say. I could let myself go sometimes, but most of the time I am able to convince myself that it will only make my eyes red, make me congested for an hour or two, and make the rest of my day a sad one. That’s kind of what happens if I hit a trigger. And there can be any number of them. Seeing one of Dave’s shirts (one in particular hangs in with my own clothes, a favorite shirt he wore often, a Tommy Bahama polo shirt). Occasionally I hug the shirt to me and wish I could catch his scent. But no, it’s long gone. Today I was talking about Dave. My friend Darci was remembering when she heard about Dave’s death. When she left I felt a bit down.

roses_vaseAs I was preparing my dinner I glanced out the kitchen window and noticed the profusion of blooming roses out in the garden. I’ve paid absolutely no attention to them. But because I was sad already, they were a trigger for me. Dave loved roses – particularly red ones – and the two bushes must have about 20 blooms on them. I felt guilty for not noticing them. If Dave could talk to me he’d be telling me to GET OUT THERE and enjoy those roses. CUT THOSE ROSES! So, in addition to cutting a few of the roses, I decided to do something that I’ve not done even ONCE since Dave died. I set the dining room table and had my dinner there. Alone. Classical music playing from my Sonos speakers.  I took the pictures before I actually ate the meal as I thought I might write about it. I poured myself a glass of wine, but it didn’t taste good to me. The dinner wasn’t very good, either (leftovers). Up to that point I was feeling okay, but as soon as I actually sat before my plate of food I began to cry. I looked out at the view (a gray day today, cold almost) and just felt incredibly lonely. I talked to Dave. I told him about his roses and apologized to him for not noticing them. And I cried some more.

Most evenings I sit at my kitchen island – with the TV on for background noise – and I eat there. Dave and I only ate our breakfast and lunch in the kitchen – we ate in our dining room every night we ate at home (or on our patio outside during the summer months). He actually enjoyed setting the table and setting up candles and a nice ambiance. All I had to do was cook the food and he was ready and there with the lighter for the candles, his glass of wine, music, etc. I may have mentioned this before – sorry for repeating it, but it’s on my mind – a few weeks before Dave had his stroke we were eating dinner as usual. Dave was a bit melancholy and said something about not feeling all that great – just didn’t have much energy and he said he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to live all that much longer. I, of course, in my usual chipper (naysayer) way said, oh, honey, you’re all right. Maybe you’re anemic (he sometimes was). He said, no, I just feel like maybe I’m reaching that point. I’ve lived so much longer than anybody thought (because he was a Type 1 diabetic and had lost 2 legs and had had heart bypass surgery – even his doctor was surprised at his energizer-bunny-body). Dave was 74 then, and that IS a fairly long life for a Type 1 diabetic. But he’d plumbed some depth of himself and was preparing himself, I suppose. We had a very heart-to-heart talk and among many things we said to one another that evening, I’d told him that if he went before me, that I’d be setting a place for him at our table.

dinner_aloneBUT, since Dave died I’ve not been able to eat at the dining room table by myself. I’ve entertained many times and that’s not a problem, but to eat there – all by myself – has been just too hard. I was able to eat in the dining room tonight, but no, wasn’t able to set a place for him. Just couldn’t. I’ve thought about it lots, setting his place next to mine. I’m not yet able to stand up to the kind of grief and trigger that will bring on. It sounds like a little thing, but for me it’s not. It’s a bit of a hurdle – a mountain I must climb – and I’m not ready to do that yet.

Music is also a trigger for me. Am sure I’ve written this before too, but a few weeks after Dave passed away I set up a custom station on Pandora that plays a wide variety of relatively quiet classical and choral music. Many pieces by John Rutter and others sung by the Mormon Tablernacle Choir. There are some pieces (which always play when I select that custom station) that just bring on the tears, and I only play it when I’m feeling sad and am willing to “go there” with my grief. It’s cathartic, I think. Dave loved jazz, though he liked classical music too.

Until you’ve been there, you just don’t know how losing a dear loved one is going to affect you. Dave was the love of my life and I miss him so very much. Thank you for reading. Sorry for unloading all this emotion on all of you who come here for recipes! None today.

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  1. Nancy

    said on March 31st, 2016:

    I have been following you for some time and love your writing. About the time your Dave passed away I met my true love, Richard again. We were friends in Jr. High and then became boyfriend and girlfriend. First date, first kiss, first love. Remained that way through High school, then just slowly drifted apart. Never really sure why. 40 years later he contacted me and we were together again, like no time had slipped away. It was so wonderful. I had been divorced for over 30 years and so alone. He had been alone for 5 years. His kids and mine were so happy we had finally found each other again and were so in love.
    I lost my Richard in January of this year. It was not supposed to end like this. I told him often he owed me at least 40 years that we had missed. He was the most gentle, loving, passionate man I had ever known. I know what you mean about music. He had so much love and knowledge about music. It was a big part of our time together. I can not listen to it now and sometimes have to leave a store or restaurant if they are playing certain songs.
    I know everyone says it will get easier and I know it will but right now it hurts so bad.
    I want you to know you have been a strength for me. Thank you. You are in my prayers.

    Thank you so very much, Nancy. You’re not alone, and I hope you have friends or family who can console you during those tough times. God bless you, Nancy. . . carolyn t
    If you can please keeps post private.

  2. soozzie

    said on March 31st, 2016:

    Once, on my very worst day, a call came from the blue from a distant acquaintance for whom I had worked professionally years before. She had been thinking about me, and what I had done for her,and she said, as I tried to keep my composure given the other tragedy looming, “Know that you are beloved.” That has become my comfort, which I share with you. Because it is true.

    What a nice phrase. Saying just “know that you are loved” doesn’t quite have the same soulful meaning as BEloved. Thank you for sharing the story with me. . . carolyn t

  3. hddonna

    said on March 31st, 2016:

    I had been thinking that you had not talked about your grief in quite a while, and that though you have been bravely going on with your life, you must be still deeply feeling your loss. This was a very moving post. I’m sending cyber-hugs your way.
    Donna

    Thank you, Donna. Cyber-hugs in return to you, too . . . carolyn t

  4. Toffeeapple

    said on April 1st, 2016:

    I am still feeling very sad for you Carolyn, I wish that I were geographically nearer to you. Hugs. x

    Thank you, Toni. If I ever take a trip to England again, I’ll be sure to tell you so we could meet up at least for coffee of something. Thanks for the hugs . . . carolyn t

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