POETRY BY YOUR FRIENDS AT BELLEAIR COINS, GOLD &
DIAMONDS 

&
The Silver Queen

Our Prayer
God, we thank you for the peace, love and unity our nation shares.
We now ask you to spread this to the entire world.
May terrorism in all forms, local and abroad, be ever struck from our world.
Protect the men and women now involved in this struggle.
May the unrest in this world be quelled with understanding and peace.
May the world begin its transformation into one world, one peace, one love.

(Written by Chris Arbutine , Mayor of Belleair Bluffs, Florida, U.S.A.
October, 2001)

 

The Sadness of September 11,2001
(Written by Tiffany Race - 9 years old
Rawlings Elementary School - Pinellas County, Florida
At first it filled our hearts with fear,  now it fills our eyes with tears.
As the day turns into night, I hope we can stop this endless fight.
Now I toss at night, thinking about all the fright
on September 11th, 2001

TIME WAITS FOR NO ONE 
 by Jean Colaianni  Carrabotta   - 1945
 

Some time I wonder why we wait.
For just the "perfect day"
We know that none can come along.
Let's take what comes our way.

"To always look before you leap"
Is an adage old and wise
But if you stop and look too long
You might look past the prize.

You stop and ponder o'er each step
' Til your head's about to burst
It never gets you anywhere
You always think the worst.

You plan, you hope, you dream
Forgetting time moves on
Almost  'for a night is through
You find another dawn.

Our hearts tell us that we are one
It's just our foolish minds
That keep us from the happiness
That two in love can find.

 

Limericks

By:Andy Arbutine

Soccer
 

Soccer is cool and a

rough sport.

Playing defense is

Like guarding a fort.

The offense tries to

Score.

Defense is quite a

Bore.

Basketball is fun too

and played on a court.

 

 Bucs

Bucs are ok and play in

Tampa bay

I go to the home games

on Sunday

I go to church first

When they lost it's the

worst

After the game I throw

the ball and play.

 

                                                  

TRUE LOVE

By Debbie Donovan

If I never find my true love
While I am still alive
He will never be able to hurt me
So much that I will feel like
I have died.

If I only keep hoping someday
True love I will find
Then I never will lose what I
believed was mine.

If I never do trust and give my
heart to someone again
Then the hope in "Someday, somehow,
Someone" will truly love me-
will never end

        

 

                            LIFE   

                 by Chris Arbutine

Where does it end, when does it begin?
We travel through it in our own vessel,
Learning, laughing, crying and cheering.
             Do not be mistaken.
        Never wait for life to happen.
           Make it happen, take it,
            Or it will destroy you.
     Embrace it with joy and happiness.
  Not to is a waste of huge proportions.
        Love your fellow humans.
      Love your world & what is in it.
                Hate is a killer.
        Jealousy will consume you.
       Love is a many faceted jewel.
           It can hurt as well as heal.
           To misuse love is a crime.
              Lust is a vice.
           Too much will distort you.
       Not enough will bore you.
          Balance is happiness.
      Without  it there can be no peace.
        Inner peace is rarely achieved.
                 It is truly fleeting.
   Family and friends equal existence.
      Without it we are nothing.
                    LIFE!
      Each moment is precious.
      Don't waste the precious.

09/26/99

 

                             THE HOMELESS

          by John Carr

At mid morn I observed a fright sight

Many vacant homes of letters

and acres,

          and acres

                  and acres

Contemplating my plight and flight

Because of taxes, and debtors

and  takers

       and takers

             and takers.

 

                           

 

    WISDOM   by   Chris Arbutine

 

  Wisdom is the Sum of Knowledge we gain by all the mistakes we make and hard times we go through.  So if you don't think you make very many mistakes and nothing ever bothers you, you are not very wise.

                                                                               

               Maurice

               by Marianne Rauch

 Do not mourn for me or feel heavy hearted.

For my passage through life is over and now

I may rest

Remember me only as the friend, lover, spouse,

child.... that I was to you.

Do not feel regret for things I had not yet accomplished.

I walk a new road now, and my dreams are endless.

Do not feel anger that I am gone.

My purpose in life, whatever that was has been fulfilled.

Do not cry at your loss.

For as long as you remember my spirit,

I am with you.

 

FOOTPRINTS

by Marianne Rauch

Under the moon on an empty beach

I follow your footsteps

the imprint of five toes and a heel

You left behind in the moist sand.

I have waited my whole life for you to find me.

Although I have found you many times

in my dreams.

But I will not find you.

It's an impossible quest.

For your  footprints

are no different than the rest.

 

 

Advice from a Common Man

By Chris Arbutine

Waiting.

Wanting.

Needing to love.

Expectations of the Future.

Regrets in the Past.

Combined, these form how we Love.

Fair?

Unfair?

Neither!

Simply the way it is.

Try not to think too much.

Dare not think too little.

You will know Love.

You will feel Love.

Otherwise you are not in Love.

Love will draw you

So close that you must have it.

Dare not grab it too tightly.

Or you will crush it or kill it.

Yet do not let it slip away.

Nor force it from your grasp.

Bathe in Love.

Learn from it.

Take a piece of it into your soul.

Do not hoard it.

Give Love.

Receive Love.

In doing this we keep Love.

 

Love!!!!!!

by Marianne Rauch

How deceptive love can be.

Your heart full of joy as

you stand smiling behind

your rose colored glasses.

How understanding and forgiving

and foolish you can become.

You were my world .

Everything that was important to me.

You occupied my mind, my heart, my body.

Until love left.

And suddenly I saw the real you.

Without the love to hide your glaring flaws

and your  insensitive nature.

And now I wonder why I ever loved you!

Short Stories

FIVE GREAT LESSONS: 

 1 - Most Important Lesson 

 During my second month of nursing school, our  professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious  student and had breezed through the questions,until I  read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?"  Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the  cleaning woman several times. She was tall,  dark-haired and in her 50s, but how would I know her > name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last  question blank.  Just before class ended, one student asked if the last  question would count toward our quiz grade.  "Absolutely," said the professor. "In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They  deserve your attention and care, even if all you do  is smile and say 'hello'." "I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her  name was Dorothy.

 2 - Second Important Lesson - Pickup in the Rain 

 One night, at 11:30 PM, an older African American  woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway  trying to endure a lashing rain storm. Her car had  broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking  wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her, generally unheard of in  those conflict-filled 1960s. The man took her to  safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxi cab. She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote  down his address and thanked him.  Seven days went by and a knock came on the man's door.  To his surprise, a giant console color TV was  delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read: "Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain drenched not only my  clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along.  Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying> husband's bedside just before he passed away. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others." > Sincerely,  Mrs. Nat King Cole. 

 3 - Third Important Lesson - Always remember those  who serve 

 In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a  10 year old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at  a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of  him.  "How much is an ice cream sundae?" he asked.  "Fifty cents," replied the waitress.  The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and  studied the coins in it. "Well, how much is a plain  dish of ice cream?" he inquired.  By now more people were waiting for a table and the  waitress was growing impatient. "Thirty-five cents,"  she brusquely replied."  The little boy again counted his coins. "I'll have  the plain ice cream," he said. The waitress brought  the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away.  The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and  left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry as > she wiped down the table. There, placed neatly beside  the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies  You see, he couldn't have the sundae, because he had  to have enough left to leave her a tip. 

 4 - Fourth Important Lesson - The Obstacle in Our Path 

 In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a  roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if  anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the king's  wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by and simply  walked around it. Many loudly blamed the king for not  keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about  getting the stone out of the way. Then a peasant came  along carrying a load of vegetables. Upon approaching  the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and  tried to move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining, he finally  succeeded. After the peasant picked up his load of> vegetables, he noticed a purse lying in the road  where the boulder had been. The purse contained many  gold coins and a note from the king indicating that  the gold was for the person who removed the boulder  from the roadway. The peasant learned what many of us  never understand.  Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our > condition. 

 5 - Fifth Important Lesson - Giving When it Counts 

 Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a  hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who  was suffering from a rare and serious disease. Her  only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood  transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had  miraculously survived the same disease and had  developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little  brother, and asked the little boy if he would be  willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him  hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes, I'll do it if it will save her."  As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the  color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew  pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor  and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?"  Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the  doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his  sister all of his blood in order to save her. You see,  after all, understanding and attitude, are everything. 

 "Work like you don't need the money,  love like you've never been hurt and dance like you do  when nobody's watching.

 Cecelia Donelson SOROPTIMIST INTERNATIONAL  of Anchorage, NWR, SIA 

 

"WHITE ROSES"   If you ever think about drinking & driving, please read the following story.

A Christmas Story that will touch your heart.

Thank you to Shirley , Soroptimist International  of Yakima, Northwestern Region, USA, Soroptimist International of the Americas


 I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would be in here forever and I
just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a  drag. I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I  hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys, and wondered if the grandkids would even play with them. I found  myself in the doll aisle. Out of the  corner of my eye I saw a little  boy about 5 holding a lovely doll.  He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not
seem to help myself. I just kept  looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched  him turn to a woman and he called  his aunt by name and said, "Are  you sure I don't have enough  money".  She replied a bit impatiently, "You know that you don't have enough  money for it." The aunt told the  little boy not to go anywhere,  that she had to go get some other things  and would be back in a few minutes.  And then she left the aisle.

 The boy continued to hold the doll. After a bit I asked the boy who  the doll was for. He said, "It is  the doll my sister wanted so  badly for Christmas. She just  knew that Santa would bring it." I  told him that maybe Santa was going to  bring it. He said "No, Santa can't go  where my sister is...I have to give the doll to my Mamma to take to  her". I asked him where his sister  was. He looked at me with the  saddest eyes and said "She has gone to be with Jesus". My Daddy says  that Mama is going to have to go
 be with her. My heart nearly  stopped beating. Then the boy  looked at me again and said, I told  my Daddy to tell Mama not to go yet. I told  him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store". Then he  asked me if I wanted to see his  picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures  he'd had taken at the front of the store. He said  "I want my Mamma to take this  with her so she don't ever forget me."  "I love my Mama so very much and  I wish she did not have to leave  me". "But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister." I saw that the  little boy had lowered his head and
 had grown so very quiet.
 
 While he was not looking I reached into my purse and pulled out a  handful of bills. I asked the  little boy, "Shall we count that money  one more time? He grew excited  and said "Yes, I just know it has to  be enough". So I slipped my money  in with his and we began to count  it. Of course it was plenty for  the doll. He softly said, "Thank  you Jesus for giving me enough money."  Then the boy said "I just asked  Jesus to give me enough money to buy  this doll so Mama can take it with  her to give to my sister." "And he  heard my prayer. "I wanted to ask him for enough to buy my Mama a white  rose, but I didn't ask him, but he  gave me enough to buy the doll and  a rose for my Mama." "She loves  white roses so very, very much". 


In a few minutes the aunt came  back and I wheeled my cart away. I could not keep from thinking about  the little boy as I finished my  shopping in a totally different spirit than  when I had started. And I kept  remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper  several days earlier about a drunk  driver hitting a car and killing a little  girl and the Mother was in serious  condition.  The family was deciding on whether  to remove the life support. Now  surely this little boy did not belong  with that story.

 Two days later I read in the paper  where the family had disconnected  the life support and the young  woman had died. I could not forget  the little boy and just kept  wondering if the two were somehow  connected. Later that day, I  could not help myself and I went out  and bought some white roses and took them to  the funeral home where the young  woman was. And there she was holding a  lovely white rose, the beautiful  doll, and the picture of the little boy in the  store. I left there in tears, my   life changed forever.  The love that little boy had for  his little sister and his mother  was overwhelming.

 And in a split second a drunk  driver had ripped the life of that  little boy to pieces.


 
"Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have  trouble remembering how to fly."
 -anonymous.

 

 

"Many people will walk in and out or your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart."

 



ISN'T THIS THE TRUTH....
 Mom and Dad were watching TV when Mom said, "I'm tired, and it's getting late. I think I'll go to bed." 

She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches
 for the next day's lunches, rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for supper the following evening, checked the cereal box  levels, filled the sugar container, put spoons and bowls on the table and started the coffee pot for brewing the next morning. 

She then put some wet  clothes in the dryer, put a load of clothes into the wash, ironed a shirt  and secured a loose button. 

She picked up the game pieces left on the  table and put the telephone book back into the drawer. She watered the   plants, emptied a wastebasket and hung up a towel to dry.

 She yawned and stretched and headed for the bedroom. She stopped by the  desk and wrote a note to the teacher, counted out some cash for the field
 trip, and pulled a textbook out from hiding under the chair. 

She signed a  birthday card for a friend,addressed and stamped the envelope and wrote a  quick note for the grocery store. She put both near her purse. 

Mom then
creamed her face, put on moisturizer, brushed and flossed her teeth and  trimmed her nails. Hubby called, "I thought you were going to bed."  "I'm  on my way," she said. 

She put some water into the dog's dish and put
the cat outside, then made sure the doors were locked. 

She looked in on  each of the kids and turned out a bedside lamp, hung up a shirt, threw some  dirty socks in the hamper, and had a brief conversation with the one up  still doing homework.

 In her own room, she set the alarm,laid out clothing
for the next day, straightened up the shoe rack. She added three things to  her list of things to do for tomorrow.

 About that time, the hubby turned off the TV and announced to no one in  particular, "I'm going to bed." And he did. Anything extraordinary  here?

 

 

Money doesn't  bring you happiness,
but it enables you to look for it in more places 

 Your conscience may not keep you from doing wrong,
 but it sure keeps you from enjoying it.
 
 Middle age is when broadness of the mind
 and narrowness of the waist change places.
 

Misers aren't much fun to live with,
 but they make great ancestors.
 
 Be careful what rut you choose.
 You may be in it the rest of your life.
 
 The trouble with bucket seats is that not
 everybody has the same size bucket.

 When you see the handwriting on the wall,
 you can bet you're in a public restroom.
 
 Opportunities always look bigger
 going than coming.
 

The real reason you can't take it
 with you is that it goes before you do.
 
 Junk is something you throw away
 three weeks before you need it.
 

 Hospitality is making your guests feel
 at home, even if you wish they were.
 

 

MY FATHER AND THE PITTSBURGH PIRATES
By Joanne DeMarines Joyce 3/00

From the time he was a young boy until he died at age 81, the Pittsburgh Pirates were at the top of his league. Many dark summer nights, Vato sat on plastic cushions on the green metal glider on our porch, watching fireflies, surreptitiously opening that red and white pouch of Beech Nut tobacco, and listening to his favorite announcer Rosie Roswell narrate the action of his favorite team, the Pirates. The large console RCA Victor, his name, too, in the kitchen had to be tuned to maximum volume. Dad did not like to miss a word. Perfect relaxation when the Pirates won, but agitation if they erred . He was probably the best back porch manager our home town ever had.

.Dad and I experienced the magic and frustration of listening to away games that were broadcast play by play off the news ticker. The long pauses always meant some momentous action occurred and we had to wait and wonder what had happened... Crowd noises were added, and even though we knew they were just sound effects, Rosie Roswell was a master at taking us to these games.

Every game was replayed with his carpool on morning commute to his job at Westinghouse Electric Co. near Pittsburgh, or in Uncle Dan’s bar on Saturday evening. Managers were canned, players caned. But all were heroes when victorious. The most exciting command in the world was "Open the window, Aunt Minnie! Here she comes." screamed by Rosie Roswell with every home run. Vato would beam, wipe sweat off his brow, open Genesee beer. I would run upstairs to open the west bedroom window, lest that home run ball was coming our way. Dad enjoyed my antics and finally decided to tell me that only those windows near Forbes Field were in jeopardy. When I actually went to Forbes Field to see my first major league game, I kept searching for those houses with windows high enough to be in danger when a home run was hit.

1958 was a milestone season. Dad bought my brother a transistor radio, and immediately confiscated it to listen to baseball. My mother was delighted. Now she didn’t have to endure that loud static in the house. My brother felt a little cheated out of his birthday gift. Problems with fading radio signals forced many annoying periodic antenna adjustments. Television was not much better in those pre-cable days. We lived fifty miles from Pittsburgh.

After Roswell, the voice of the Pirates was Bob Prince, highly educated and intellectual , not the type of announcer that fit the image of Pittsburgh, a blue collar town. Dad would frequently get annoyed when Prince would start one of his rambling dissertations. "Shut up and call the game!" he would order.

Like many young girls in those days, my interest in sports was quite superficial. I preferred reading, roller skating, bicycle riding, and playing the piano. Even then I was an avid people watcher and listener. eavesdropper?) forever searching for wisdom in the banter and stories of ordinary conversation. Our back porch was a favored hangout for three of my uncles who lived on our block. Baseball, labor unions, and politics were favored topics, and I was the quiet sponge. I was not a big baseball fan. Pirate lore was simply assimilated like oxygen or culture or popular music. (end of part one)

 

Dad did not like a pitcher’s duel, and particularly hated 1-0 ballgames. He told me several times that the best game would have a 7-4 score, with a Pittsburgh victory, of course. He especially appreciated the double play combination of shortstop Dick Grote and second baseman Bill Mazeroski. When Bob Prince would announce, "There’s a hard grounder to the shortstop, " Dad would immediately respond, " Here comes the double play." According to Dad, Grote and Mazeroski were the best double play team in the history of baseball.

Stories, controversy, arguments, and everyday, good-natured banter about players, managers, good plays, horrible responses were all man talk. Players became as familiar as cousins: Mazeroski, Kiner, Sanguillen, Stargell, Alou. There was ongoing argument about the beloved Clemente. Italian, or Latin American? I listened and chuckled, always quietly agreeing with Dad, no matter what side of what issue. Of course, my father was the wisest man I knew.

I left western Pennsylvania shortly after I was married, and a few years later, moved to Henrietta, New York. Dad and Mom visited frequently to make sure their grandchildren were well and happy. But western NY was a frustrating place for a Pirate fan to visit. No radio or television broadcasts of the only important team, and, to add insult to this slight, when the scores were finally reported , Dad had to endure listening first to American League results, and Pittsburgh was always the last National League team to be mentioned.

My daughter, although living all her life in Rochester, became an avid and knowledgeable Pirate fan. I was so proud of how much she knew about individual players, managers, and statistics. After every important game, the telephone in Black Lick, Pennsylvania would ring and Susan would greet her grandfather with "What did you think of those Pirates tonight, Grandpap?"

 

Dad was not alone in managing the Pirates. His brothers, friends, neighbors all relished the camaraderie of this shared passion. After "Hi" there is still the "What do you think of those Pirates?" always answered with some comment about the manager or baseball man of the hour. Dad has been gone for nine years, but Pirate fans in our neighborhood have not changed. Last year, when Mom was hospitalized with what turned out to be a false alarm, my brother and cousin met in the hospital for the first time in several years. After the initial greeting, conversation continued, "Hey, what do you think of those Pirates? My mother smiled.

 

 

READING TO GRANDCHILDREN   

By Joanne DeMarines Joyce

Part I.

                Even before the first grandchild was born I was choosing  books to read him.  Of course he and the future sibling and cousins would have the benefit of a librarian Grandma!  It didn’t matter that early childhood lit was not my specialty. I had become acquainted with great books I didn’t know existed when my children were small and was determined that the grandkids would not miss them.

                The first reading material I presented him with was a mobile of various shapes, all in black and white.  Experts said that infants don’t distinguish colors, and that the black and white was more enriching for their young developing senses.  (I wonder what happened to that theory as I see very few of these items around now.)  Next he would have the cloth books with furry, fuzzy, scratchy, shiny objects to explore, and after that, indestructible board books.

                Most important, of course, were the books for Mom and Dad to read to him.

Along with other baby gifts I selected a set of the classic beloved Beatrix Potter books.  How I admired the charming watercolors of Peter Rabbit  and. Squirrel Nutkin and Benjamin Bunny. When my children were small we loved Peter and debated about which of the small volumes were the favorite.  Now beautiful ceramic replicas of Peter and his friends are available.  However my son informed me that Beatrix Potter was no fun for him to read aloud and we quickly added other classics.

                The most attractive version of Mother Goose was difficult to select, so I bought several.  Some I gave to my grandchildren and others to great nephews and nieces.  It is now the expected baby gift.  Aunt Jo always gives books.  But books rarely wear out or become too small.  They are often treasured many years later when the child can read them on his own and, hopefully, someday pass on to other children.

                Two of my grandchildren live near my home and Grandma is privileged to be able to read to them several times a week.  The two year old especially loves I see the Moon and the Moon sees me.. volume of nursery rhymes and the four year old is fascinated with adventures in space, dreams, and undersea as well as a book with costumes to dress the big bad dragon. and silly rhymes and corny jokes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part II

                My husband and I were both retired by the time our first grandchild was born.  Browsing in the Bargain Books section of our favorite Bookstore became even more interesting because sometimes we found books worthy enough for our little one.  It became a habit to stockpile these volumes in  a special storage space in our motorhome along with the tape recorder, blank tapes, microphone, and a small bell.  Evenings in the motorhome on our way to the Yucatan we would record books with the “when you hear the bell, turn the page” instructions and a short greeting .  Kids and their parents seemed to really appreciate this.  After all, Grandpap and Grandma were away for almost 3 months, and still reading  the same story as many times as  the child wanted to hear it.   It also helped them remember us  Photos of our adventures are wonderful, but voices are really very special..  The tapes are especially precious now that Grandpa is gone..  We can still hear him read “Brown Bear, Brown Bear, what do you see” and sing Froggy Went a Courting along with the pictures, as well as several others.  He was serious about this, spending hours choosing,  and rehearsing the texts.   Grandpa still reads to the grandchildren too young to know him.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Part III

                When time came  for special visits to Grandma’s without Mom and Dad, I would prepare with a trip to library to stockpile books for my first grandchild and I to read together, but now he is seven and I take him to the library and let him choose  His most recent selections Looking for Atlantis , Sharks, Piranhas, and Volcanoes.  Mine included Anno’s Twice Told Tales by the Brothers Grimm and Mr. Popper’s Penguins.  Vijay, the seven year old, can read to me now, and he reads with such expression and enthusiasm!  Wonder where that came from!!

                Our reading paths have meandered from board books to classics through Dr. Suess , Nursery Rhymes, and Fairy Tales.  We linger longer on heroic tales of beleaguered gods and goddesses as they prove that good always defeats evil, even though we relish the wicked deeds that get those heroes in trouble.  But reading to children, and especially grandchildren enriches life for all involved.  

 

SUMMER OF 1999  TRAVELING ON THE MAGIC CARPET OF BOOKS

What an eclectic reading summer the 1999 season was for me! Since beginning to work at the Rush Public Library I encounter more enticing books and often am reluctant to sign them out to waiting patrons. I did not vacation in exotic places this summer, but I did travel

In nonfiction I was engrossed with
 I, Rigoberta Menches: an Indian Woman in Guatemala, a memoir of a leader in the fight for human rights for Guatemalan peasants. Translated from the native language, the story describes rituals and religious beliefs and mysterious spirituality of the Quiche Indians in Guatemala. Descriptions of injustices, torture, starvation, and even murder by burning alive, are so graphic they are unforgettable. I could not help but cheer Marguerita on with "you go girl" as I followed her development from migrant harvester to human rights organizer. She was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1992. There has been controversy about some details in this work, but this does not diminish its power. It is interesting, easy to read, and enlightening.

In the Eye of an Elephant took me to Zambia where I joined the authors, Debra and Mark Owens, in trying to convince commercial poachers that conserving the elephant and its habitat is more profitable than leading hunting parties. The authors were in serious danger many times as their quest was threatened with violence. I breathed a big sigh of relief to learn that they did survive, and were somewhat successful.

I finally got around to reading 
Midnight in the Garden of Evil : A Savannah Story
by John Berendt, (1994 ) . As happens frequently, the book explores the motives and action more in depth than does the movie. This true story reads like a novel and the reader is introduced to some unique characters and southern society.

From Savannah, I traveled to Kyoto, Japan, with 
Memoirs of a Geisha
, by Arthur Golden. With great detail and wonderful descriptions the author chronicles the education of a geisha from girlhood to career. A fascinating study in fiction, but it is difficult to comprehend that it is fiction and that its author is male!.

I also visited an unfamiliar area of my home state NEW YORK in Kaaterskill Falls, by Allegra Goodman. This is a tale that follows familiar themes of tradition, submission to requirements of Orthodox Jewish religion, and curiosity about the more modern world. It is a quiet, very satisfying story, extremely well written.

I love the printed book, my bedtime, porch, and easy chair companion; but audio books accompany me to the garden and the kitchen as well as the car. A good tale, well read, transforms the humdrum tasks of weeding and cleaning to pleasant pastimes. (Many people take their books when they walk for exercise, but my eyes, and ears are constantly tuned to wildflowers, birds, and animals on paths in my rural upstate New York.) Now, as I prepare my gardens for fall, I am listening to Toni Morrison’s Paradise, read very effectively by Lynne Thigpen. I am thoroughly engrossed now, but this is one novel I plan to read also. Poetic language always lures me to printed pages.

 

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