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Huge, round, golden eyes An African name Dark white tail six inches longer than a yardstick. I cringed, walked slowly from the cage. Still afraid of life. Still afraid of love. I fly toward the South never to the North again. Through a tree I see sky.

I have been reading a book titled Thanksgiving by Ellen Cooney. The novel takes place during the 17th Century and  in the 18th Century. During that time it took a great deal of work to get ready for Thanksgiving dinner. For one thing, the father or husband had to go out and shoot a turkey. Thank goodness I can go to my neighborhood supermarket to pick a turkey from the freezer.The women also had to keep up with other tasks like dyeing vegetables for projects. If I want to embroider or crochet, I only have to pick beautifully colored threads from my small wooden thread box.  For dyeing purposes, I don't have to pick radishes or onions from the garden. Thinking of the work done by the Colonials makes me think of the small amount of time I spend searching for recipes on the Internet or in a cookbook. Thinking about earlier cooking and house duties the Colonial people and  among indigenous tribes makes me complain less and react with more thankfulness during the season.

http://www.bethfishreads.com/ Patience is at the table, the whittling knife in hand. She's making X'x in the shells of chestnuts. Some of them will be boiled. The rest will be roasted. They came up from the cellar a short while ago. They're in a basket in the center of the table. When I think of chestnuts, I see them roasting on Market and Chestnut street years ago. I still can smell them. I can also hear Nat King Cole singing The Christmas Song .  He mentions chestnuts roasting on an open fire. It's titled The Christmas Song. artofmanliness.com/2011/11/22/how-to-roast-chestnuts-  P.S. Sorry it's on such a "manly" page.

In this day and age, tranquility is not easy to find. Since I am a worrywart, the title Tranquility by David W. Henderson bounced out at me like a neon light. So also did the words in the book. Welcoming to each new chapter were literary quotations. Lately I've been drawn to nature because of the silence in a park, a look at a bed of flowers or a look up at the night stars seems the place to discover this peace. I slowed down my reading pace while reading David W. Henderson's book and hope to reread some chapters. The pages are packed with spiritual advice. The author clearly writes his feelings about slowing down in a world that is full of activity. The ability to "rest" is a gift from God. I like the way Mr. Henderson describes and explains verses of the Bible. One verse which I never have read really painted a picture in my mind. I could see a Shepherd holding a sheep over his shoulders. This verse is called a blessing. It is spoken by Moses. "Let th

http://rosecityreader.blogspot.com Sleepy Valley Nudist Colony Northern California May 22, 1935 Addie arrived at the exercise grounds the same way she always did--naked. Bits of mowed grass clung to her feet and ankles as she and the other goose fleshed nudists hopped about, trying to keep warm, waiting for the morning sun to break through the chill or for Elsa to start beating on the tom-toms.

If I had missed reading "Keeping Christmas" by Dan Walsh, I would have felt so sad. The novel is totally down to earth. It's mainly about Judith and Stan Winters. There adult children and grandchildren can't make it home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Judith is really missing the family. It's a holiday book about real feelings, friendship and memories. Isn't it funny how men can just go on with their hobbies and accept what's going on? I suppose men have to pretend to be strong. While women openly fret more and are more aware of what's missing from the present moment in their lives? Judith symbolizes reality. She's doesn't feel like eating holiday foods or hearing Christmas music. She's aware that Scrooge could become her middle name. I felt sad for Judith, but her sadness didn't make me feel depressed. Her feelings made me realize everything is still okay if you can put one foot in the front of the other and keep going. So,

Of the horses I've known and loved, Harry was my favorite. I used to have an elderly friend who had many dogs and loved them all, but she had one special little dog who was "the dog of her heart," and she said you only get one in a lifetime. Well, Harry was the horse of my heart. A gelding, he was a shiny black beauty with a long flowing mane and tail, a soft, gentle heart, and a mischievous gleam in his eye. http://bibliophilebythesea.blogspot.com