The Morning After

What I usually love is that there is always the morning after.

A Nation in turmoil is not what I have in mind. As of 5 o'clock yesterday, five black southern churches have been burned.

Many of the right wing conservatives that I know personally are beside themselves, falling back on arguments of fire and brimstone.

Gun control is on everyone's mind. The NRA bristles.

Republicans can't find it in their hearts to admire their President, even for an afternoon, for yesterday's heartfelt words (and song) for the grief-stricken at Mother Emanuel A.M.E..

The young mentally ill continue to be ignored, this morning, by parents who aren't too stable themselves or they would know the score.

The Episcopal Church is meeting, this weekend, in Salt Lake City (which makes me smile for several reasons) and marriage discussion is on the agenda.

I think of Jesus walking along the water with his faithful. Not all of them understood exactly what was happening. The insightful ones had a feeling that the world would change because of Him.

There was no church. There were no rules, except Roman Law and those of the Temple. And suddenly He stopped them dead in their tracks. "Love one another, as I have loved you."

Delete me from your Facebook or turn me off at the switch. But don't pretend that you think I'm saying love evil, tolerate hatred, accept atrocity. This is only a plea for social tolerance that I'm making. In the United States of America. Land of the outcast, the seeker, the persecuted, the poor, the unbelievably wealthy, all the rest.

If there is no religion in your life, expand your mind. Read the philosophers. Do a little historical research. Ponder global warming. Let your conscious be your guide. 

Let's band together. Yes, I know that it is almost unheard-of.. Happens during wars. Events like 9/11. Natural disasters.  This is one of our Big Chances to move forward, into the future, all men being created equally.

Just to Follow Up.

Re: my blogpost entitled I've Told This Story Before. A Facebook friend remarked that in today's world we don't demonstrate with signs and rallys but use only words to try to institute change in the relationships between black and white.

In my case, at  the Jacksonville lunch counter those many years ago, one could see color blur and humanity step forward.

Here is my answer to my friend's post.

" But we don't only protest with our words. In spite of the fact that we use media almost constantly. Blogging. Reporting. Article writing. Radio. TV. Internet. 
Trying. Trying.
We no longer march and demonstrate peacefully as MLK had us do. It's rarely possible or even desirable to accomplish a peaceful rally. In fact, the rally is going obsolete. Instead, riots break out in our huge cities, where police - not with axes as in 1960 Jacksonville - are equipped like military. 
That's what the Mayor of Charleston meant to avoid as he figuratively gathered that remarkable and, for the most part, peace-loving city into his arms with his words. For he understands that the day is coming when, if we don't stand united, we will fall divided. 
One crazy person caused this one mayhem. What could 100 well-placed intelligently-guided terrorists do to race relationships? We would destroy ourselves in the chaos - all the while arguing about it on Fox News and debating it in the State Houses and in Congress."

I've Told This Story Before

I've told this story before.

It was 1968. Years after Ax-Handle Saturday - that was in 1960. The business was never settled in Jacksonville until the early 1970's. I'm not sure, now, if it was ever settled.

Hubert Humphrey was campaigning for President in Hemming Park. The crowds pressed in, waiting. I was in the group holding the protest signs. Nobody knew. I would lose my job and maybe my husband.

Something he said - I didn't hear it - set the crowd yelling back and forth. People started shuffling, pacing, muttering. You know. When crowds become mobs. Somehow my toes got broken. I never should have worn those heels to a political rally.

I handed my sign to a man who didn't have one. Took off my shoes. Headed to Woolworth's. Back in those days, you could order a fountain Coke with a dose of ammonia and an Aspirin over the counter. I don't remember how much the price went up. I don't know if it did.

Woolworth's was nearly deserted. Even the employees were out in the park. I limped to the soda fountain - I also don't remember how many semi-circles made up the lunch counters with swivel seats. They were all full. Black faces.

Sit-in.

An older lady got up and gave me her seat. Not because I was white. She saw me in my bare feet with all the toes on my left foot sticking up at odd angles. A soda jerk (white boy, of course) was standing by the wall, under the mirrors.

"May I get a Coke with ammonia and an aspirin, please." Pitiful and whining.
"Sorry, Lady, the lunch counter is closed." He folded his arms.
"I work way down Duval Street across the street from the YWCA. I'll get fired if I can't walk back in time."
"Fired? For coming to a political rally?"
"No. For holding a sign."

Dead silence.

"The manager is in the Park. The cash registers are closed. "

An old man stood up. Spoke in that soft but forceful way, like a southern Negro preacher. He could have been arrested. Or beaten.

"In the name of God, Boy! Give the girl an aspirin and something to wash it down with."
And the soda jerk did.

That was forty seven years ago. What the hell went wrong? Why are we still seeing black and white when the world is full of enough technicolor for everyone? Praying for Mother Emanuel A.M.E. and for Charleston. June 18, 2015.

There's Something About A Perfect Ending, Too.

A perfect man by Cecilia Dominic
My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Do you read Romance? I didn't until this week. Not counting the Shades of Grey, as I'm not talking about poorly written Romantic Porn here. We all read those three.

I'm giving Cecilia Dominic Four Stars for her first straight Romance novel (no werewolves), A Perfect Man. She flung herself against a genre-wall that is firmly mortared by a magnitude of authors, plots, love scenes, hard bodies, and more, and came out a winner. A good plot with believable characters (albeit so much emphasis on redheads). A sensitive understanding that great Romance writing is an art not a profession.

Feisty, fresh, and frankly funny in places - at least to this weathered reader who sees humor in many dusty corners that youth takes for granted - I'm sure that you will love A Perfect Man. Even if you don't really care for Romance, as a whole, read this author because she is going on to other places in her career and you aren't going to want to miss it.

Forgive me, Cecilia, for I have lifted this from Goodreads!

The Fourth Star, Cecilia, is not for "the perfect man" but for the perfectly executed ending. Even the seasoned and notorious "best-selling" authors of today usually disappoint me at the end of the novel and leave me thinking of dozens of rewrites. Thanks and good job!

Note: Sometimes this, other times that.  It isn't clear on the internet if your title is in caps, so old habits ruled me.


View all my reviews

Heat Wave; In More Ways Than One

I just read a nasty blurb over on Facebook about all Republicans being stupid. An article I saw yesterday was damning Episcopalians for "going through the motions" at church services without any conviction.

Someone is laughing at Donald Trump this morning. Another is sneering at Obama. One person keeps pointing fingers at Muslims, once, twice, three times. A joke about greed is circulating, belittling the wealthy as if they are monsters. 

I know hundreds of brilliant Republicans. Many very pious and spiritual Episcopalians. Dozens of peace-seeking American Muslims, men and women. Thousands of our nation's wealthiest give money continuously to help overcome poverty, ignorance, and hunger.

Donald Trump might be a joke to some, but he makes jobs everywhere he goes. With benefits.

Obama is the President of the United States. As such, I believe he deserves my respect.

What's going on here? Is it the heat wave? I'm going to turn the computer off and do a little housekeeping before my own temperature rises any further.

The only thing left to do when I was on Facebook this morning was to look at the countless pictures of abused and desperate animals posted by people who will typecast and redicule whole groups of their countrymen with hateful words and ignorant posters even while they ask each other to adopt a homeless dog or cat.

Sometimes, I Review Books

Sometimes, I review books. Usually, I simply critique them in one way or another - short and simple - as I recommend them to you.

I hate the kind of review that tells the reader what he already knows; or what to think and how to feel about an author; and/or outlines the plot; and tries to imagine that the author is writing on x number of levels and is unknowingly meaning this, that, or the other - doing a psychological number on himself and others. I try to pass on to you only the insights that I, as one reader, glean from the book and why.

Then there is the formidable threat of the designation of stars to the author. Most non-professional critics judge books only by how much they enjoyed them. Hence, there are tens of millions of four star books on Goodreads and at Amazon. To be sure, awarding stars is a personal thing - and without rules. But stars don't designate pass or fail. They are only signs of how remarkable each individual book was to that one reader.

It pays to have star-awarding criteria and a checklist if one is going to criticize other authors' works consistently. Something to make the system uniform even if only unique to the one reviewer's ratings.

I rarely give a book five stars. I should say almost never. I gave Pope John Paul II five for his Letter to Artists. Most versions of the Bible. The Apocrypha. The books from French in Action and Master Moy's Tai Chi in English and French. You see where I'm going. My personal list of masterworks.

Otherwise, I'm saving that one for the work of the century so that there will be a distinct designation left for it when it comes. And it will come (as it's long overdue) perhaps in the form of an undiscovered past masterpiece or archeological find with new information that changes the world. Perhaps a first work by a new author. I'm waiting for it.

My own four star designations are usually works of literature, poetry, science, math, or history that are truly outstanding and that I think will withstand time. Or books that are exceptional in some other way. Unique. Thought provoking. Well researched.

Three stars means I loved the book, would recommend it to others, and would read the author again.

Twos are lacking something, as far as I'm concerned. Someone might love them; they're published, aren't they?

One stars designates a waste of time. I usually explain why I believe my low opinion to be true.  Sloppy editing, typos, bad research, dullness, even a certain lack of joie de vivre in story telling. (Hey, wake up! You're writing.)

I usually bless the Goodreads page with my short critiques and, in the past, have shared them with Facebook and also here at Petty Gulf Life. As of now, I'm only going to rate books with stars for Facebook and talk about the books a little on FridayReads. I'll share the review here, because Petty Gulf Life is a public forum that matches my Goodreads designation.

I hope you enjoy a summer of good reading. I also hope that my simple accounts of the books I share with you help you to make selections that are interesting, intelligent, fun, and worth your while. Friend me, if you are a member of Goodreads, and I'll also use your reading list to choose books I may have missed otherwise.

Let's Cook Like Scarpetta!

Food To Die For: Secrets From Kay Scarpetta's Kitchen by Patricia Cornwell

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



I was searching for a recipe the other day and decided to review Patricia Cornwell's Food to Die For and, as I thought, there the sauce was, timeless and beautifully photographed.

I bought and read the book around 2003 and read it without duplicating any of the recipes in my own kitchen.

I reread Food to Die For a few years ago and recorded it on Goodreads. I had some Key limes at that time and made the pie recipe. I remember thinking how wonderful the book was to read, how beautiful the illustrations, how lovely to see the recipes for the foods Kay Scarpetta cooks in the stories. Then I re-shelved it.

Paninoteca by Scarpetta (Image from Facebook)

Yesterday, I remembered a sauce I want to mix and pulled the book out again. Bev's Kicked by a Horse Cocktail Sauce for summer steamed shrimp is exactly what the the occasion calls for. And with that, I began to read Cornwell's recipes once more.

I've bought at least a hundred cookbooks since i bought this one. Recipes not nearly as classical or as classy. I think I'll make a summer of it. Like I did two years ago with Cooked by Michael Pollan. I hope that, by the time school starts in the fall, I will have tried out each of these beautiful, luscious recipes on either my family or myself alone.

Oh, and after my latest rereading and comparing these dishes to those in recent cookbooks, I'm upgrading To Die For to four stars. **** Sorry to have taken so long. I own the whole Scarpetta thriller series but, for the life of me, can't remember if Kay still cooks in the novels. I hope she does. I guess I'll have to dig them out and see.



View all my reviews

Hello, Again. It Feels Like Home.

Granted. I've been rather argumentative on Facebook lately. Ever since a family member extrapolated meaning from my words that simply wasn't there and I felt the need to defend myself.

So I've come home.

An article I read almost a year ago suggested that Facebook users stop "liking" so many posts, reposts, articles, and videos and start "commenting" on them instead. That doesn't work either - not when you're trying to make a point and NOBODY gets it.

Admittedly, my sarcasm is usually taken seriously the same way that my humor is misunderstood. Go figure. Trying to say "stop whining" got translated not long ago into "my great retirement is a better life than you have."

Hinting that "I did it by myself" didn't send the message that I intended of "where were you when I NEEDED YOU?" to any of my friends taking part in that particular conversation.

And so I sit. Don't hit "like" except on pictures and short comments actually written by family and friends. Don't open links. Don't watch silly videos. Rather, I talk a lot. And that has got to end.

I tried posting interesting articles and music instead of talking.

My share of a housekeeping article was taken by many to be a "hey-look-at-me-my-sink-is-always-clean" announcement instead of what it was for me. A self-help I saved in order to stay ahead of all of these new adopted/fostered kittens.

Yes. As Corey said, my Facebook has become a diary and one that can't be picked up in the middle without making assumptions that don't apply. Not good. So I am moving back home. To a place with no comments coming from left field.

Home where when I write what I do, did, said, ate, cooked, enjoyed, photographed, hated, or puzzled over in my mind, friends don't post googled self-help articles or give me well-meaning advice. I write "I should, I need to, I must," NEVER, EVER "you should, you need to, you must." That cabbage truck is long past and I try not to preach or give my seemingly untranslatable advice to anyone.

See. Right there. That last paragraph was filled with humor. Did you catch it? No? Just thought I was serious? Point made! Should I write "(grinning)" or "LOL" or simply stop trying and let the chips fall where they may?

Reminds me of a song my Granddaughter used to post. "You don't know me....at all." But that's Okay. This feels like home anyway. Facebook? Not sure. One friend only posts his blog there. There's that.

The Card Club Blues

The Card Club from my old Bible Study Group met here to discuss the summer card schedule. I am only a fill-in, and declined to join. I excused myself from part-time play also. (Do you remember the funny story of why I never lasted in that Bible class?)

Honestly, it isn't the game, but rather, it is this particular group. They cringe in unison at the sight of a camera; downplay Facebook, almost continually, as a waste of time - all the while shuffling cards and dealing them out - as if THAT is constructive; and threaten my life and our friendship if I blog about them or quote them (some are very witty) on this page or any other way. They also insist on non-dairy creamer. LOL

The only thing I have left to say is "WHY CAN'T THEY EVER USE THE COASTERS PROVIDED AND NOT LEAVE RINGS ON THE FURNITURE?" Note that I am not angry, but laughing hysterically, as I rub and shine one last time.

In the spirit of doing fewer things better, all joking aside, it is reasonable to leave an activity or group one doesn't enjoy and fill the time with people and projects that are meaningful and rich in experience.

Just like food. Get the most nutrition possible out of each calorie.