Uncle Tom's Cabin

"My view of Christianity is such," he added, "that I think no man can consistently profess it without throwing the whole weight of his being against this monstrous system of injustice that lies at the foundation of all our society; and, if need be, sacrificing himself in the battle. That is, I mean that I could not be a Christian otherwise, though I have certainly had intercourse with a great many enlightened and Christian people who did no such thing; and I confess that the apathy of religious people on this subject, their want of perception of wrongs that filled me with horror, have engendered in me more scepticism than any other thing."
"If you knew all this," said Miss Ophelia, "why didn't you do it?"
"O, because I have had only that kind of benevolence which consists of lying on a sofa, and cursing the church and clergy for not being martyrs and confessors. One can see, you know, very easily, how other ought to be martyrs."
"Well, what are you going to do differently now?" said Miss Ophelia . . .

Newest Enterprise

I've finally decided to reform and start being healthy. I've decided it's a must if I want Operation Live-to-113 to go as planned.
Mostly to order my own thoughts, I'm making a list of the things I've started doing to increase my chances of giving those Okinawa residents a run for their money:

Walking. I started walking. Actually I flippantly told my mom I would walk with her and she started waking me up at dreadful hours to do it. I would go back to sleep, but I have this obsession with the idea that I might miss something exciting, so I get up and go anyways. Even though sometimes I think my health would be better with a little more sleep. But it's actually a cheerful start to the day...as long as I guzzle water and bolt coffee as soon as we get home.

Drinking Water. This makes a big difference. I'm using the notorious Simply Orange bottle, and drinking one full of water every day, sometimes a little more. (I know, it's disturbing...the next thing you know I'll be wearing Earth Shoes, bamboo clothing, and going without deodorant). It's amazing how much better you feel when you're hydrated! I can tell a difference in my skin after only a week or two, and I feel less tired, have less headaches and body aches, and I actually noticed a difference in my vision, which had started getting unreliable and blurry whenever I had spells of exhaustion. Yes, I was having exhausted spells, and since I don't do anything that merits this reaction I decided that was ample incentive to make a change in my diet and habits.

Daily Vitamins. Yes, I've started taking pills...but these are earthy ones, Beeyoutiful's SuperMom multivitamins. They're almost as zippy as a cup of coffee. Once you get into a regular groove of taking them every morning, going without is like an addict going cold turkey. Essentially, the rest of the day is a wreck and you feel groggy and uncomfortable. But this is such a good addiction! While they don't make me feel quite super enough to be a mom (I'd need a lot more energy) they supply almost enough vigor to make me think about cutting back on my coffee intake! Which I'd never actually do, but it just goes to show how amazing they are.

Drink Milk. I've started trying to drink one glass of milk a day. I don't know why I don't, especially since milk is pretty available in this household. It's just such a pain...I have to get out a glass, get out the milk, pour it, put the lid back on, put it in the fridge, drink the milk before it gets slightly lukewarm...what a nightmare. However, after thinking logically about this I decided I just need to buck up and drink that calcium!

And now, some things I'm going to do...

I'd like to start taking some herbs, particularly milk thistle, for my liver. For about six months to a year I took Advil or Ibuprofen pretty much every day, and sometimes as many as eight or nine at a time. I've now decided that was completely self-destructive and my poor liver needs a little loving care and cleansing. So I've decided to take some steps to fix the problem I have probably created, because I'm not going to live to be one hundred and thirteen if I go into liver failure before age thirty.
I plan to start making my own face scrub again, with honey and oatmeal...right now I'm using the classic stand by, St. Ive's Apricot Scrub, but sometimes I just feel the chemicals fry out the face a little, and I can't use it in the summer. Being out in the sun, on top of the harsh face wash, is just too much. Also, last summer I started using a little olive oil instead of store-bought moisturizer, and had wonderful results. It wasn't heavy at all, and after looking at the baffling ingredients of most lotions, olive oil seemed so blissfully simple! But it became too heavy in the winter, when I'm mostly indoors. Also, I was warned to beware of sun exposure, but it seemed to me that as long as the oil had a little time to dry and absorb before I went outdoors, it didn't make much of a difference. Speaking of...
I'm going to try and resist the urge to tan this summer, while still getting enough vitamin D, which is something I know I'm deficient in right now. I can definitely feel the difference when I don't get enough. However, I don't want to die of skin cancer. And also, I really don't want to have skin fit to make a leather jacket out of by the time I'm forty-five.
Go to bed on time! I've found myself staying up (inadvertently) until at least midnight for months now. I'm going to try and back my bedtime up to around 10:30...starting tomorrow, since it's 11:13 right now. ;-D
Get in some calcium and magnesium, since another goal of mine is to build bone density so that I don't break my femur every time I trip over myself when I'm an old lady. And if I don't grow any more graceful between now and then--which honestly, I probably won't--I'd probably just be confined to my bed. Because I'm clumsy. So I want bones that can withstand brutally careless treatment.
Eating regular greens! Especially dandelion. I never eat enough greens, since if I had my choice my diet would consist of meat, meat, meat wrapped in meat, coffee, water, meat, desserts, chocolate, more coffee, and oranges. Yes. I definitely need some renovation in that area.

While I have plenty of other ideas, I've decided I should focus on those things for now. My mother has always been extremely health-oriented, but at this point it's up to me whether I want to go along with that. And since I'd sort of fallen off the granola boat lately, I've decided to even make that ultimate sacrifice and perhaps even pass up the sugary, ultra-refined glory of General Mills for a healthier start to my day. Some all-natural breakfast matter; I'm not exactly sure what yet.
Hopefully I'll know by tomorrow morning.

The West End Horror, a Posthumous Memoir of John Watson - by Nicholas Meyer?!?!

Recently I had the good luck to discover the book The West End Horror, the plot of which centers around Sherlock Holmes and his faithful friend, Dr. John H. Watson. By Nicholas Meyer...not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

At first I was a skeptic. Seeing the novel sitting so tantalizingly on a friend's bookshelf, I chose to ignore it. How dare somebody presume to even consider trying to fill in Doyle's literarily stunning footsteps? What impertinence.

The next visit to the friend's house found me cautiously handling the book with the mistrust one usually manifests towards the Ark of the Covenant - and finally, cracking it open and reading the description.

What? This book throws Holmes and Watson alongside legends such as Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker, Bernard Shaw, Ellen Terry, and Gilbert and Sullivan? How extraordinary. I read a bit of it.

The next time, I recklessly immersed myself in the book, and gratefully accepted when I was given the opportunity to borrow it.

I just finished reading the book. It is fascinating, I must admit, although I was mostly plunging on so obsessively so that I could find more devious ways to criticize the person who dared attempt to measure up to Doyle. (Alright, I admit it...I'm a possessive, crazed fan).

The book was published in 1976, Meyer's second venture at writing a Holmes novel, apparently: the first was The Seven-Per-Cent Solution.

The plot covers the strange and bizarre events that occur in London circa 1895. It is a miserable, dreary March...and what better to add interest to the fitful, wintry weather than the mysterious murder of a scathing, indiscriminate critic by the name of Jonathan McCarthy, followed by the equally puzzling demise of a young actress? The evidence mounds up as usual, but with the equally usual confusion and general disconnect. In that, Mr. Meyer did his work well.

And the ending is satisfying surprising, yet also a credit to the usual jolting flavor of a Doyle ending. I'll admit, it was an enjoyable read. I wish someone could come along to keep us amused with Holmes stories, or - better yet - that Doyle had written more! When you're an obsessive fanatic such as I, you'll take anything as compensation after you've read all the real stories a dozen times over.

Now, after saying nice things, I'm going to be critical and satirical to my heart's content.

First off, the thing that struck me as the most obviously nonsensical thing: Holmes getting teary-eyed? (The subject of his emotion is an unjustly accused man, who is in prison with scant hope of reprieve).

This is completely out of character and borderline ridiculous. The rare occasions in which Sherlock Holmes does express emotion is done in an effectively English and dissatisfying manner. Tears? Please. You'd sooner find a posse weeping over the plight of their quarry than the character of Sherlock Holmes getting teary over the prospect of a man being convicted unfairly. Holmes is a doer; if he were so upset by this matter, instead of slogging around a bleary-eyed mess he'd immediately move on and find a way to fix the situation - id est, find the real murderer.

In the defense of Mr. Meyer, I will state that this was an observation of Watson's, which Holmes was taking pains to conceal, and which passed fairly quickly - although Holmes was apparently emotionally shaken by practically everything that happened along the way, also frightfully uncharacteristic. Usually Holmes displays about the same amount of emotion as a cat - which is almost none at all. Not to say he is a heartless creature, but rather than moping around weeping over the horrors of the world and at his wit's end, Holmes promptly sets about righting things to the best of his abilities. And he does want to right things, proof enough of his goodness and compassion for his fellow man. I suppose my point is, Holmes may state his distress, regret, or any other emotion, but it doesn't physically manifest itself.

Also, Nicholas Meyer's Sherlock Holmes showed an uncanny openness, and Watson displayed an extraordinary propensity for constantly barraging his friend with questions. In my experience I find that Watson has learned to leave Holmes to his thoughts until he is ready to disclose them on his own time.

And, of course, Doyle's sublime Holmes would have figured things out quite a bit sooner. Also the fact that - especially towards the end - Watson displays a completely unforgivable lack of medical knowledge, not to mention a very loose grasp on the happenings in the outside world. Really, an unemployed bachelor would certainly have expansive knowledge of what was going on in China or India in his day.

I also thought Meyer went a step too far when he used these telegraphs from Shaw (in reference to his play Pygmalion, a great favorite of mine, and coincidentally the only Bernard Shaw play I have ever read) to Winston Churchill:

"Have reserved two tickets for first night. Come and bring a friend if you have one."

Churchill responded:

"Impossible to come to first night. Will come to second night if you have one."

And then claimed the wires were between Shaw and Holmes. Now I know he didn't mean it seriously, but I find too many liberties with historical fact misleading and annoying. Especially since I would have liked the correspondence to be between Shaw and Holmes...

Overall, I suppose I enjoyed the book thoroughly - for the opportunity it furnished for me to be nit-picky, as well as its entertainment. I found Meyer's Holmes and Watson to be a thinner version of the original blueprint - something I can't quite explain, like jelly when it's spread too far, or the difference between honeysuckle perfume and smelling the real thing. It was unexplainable and strangely disappointing.

However, reading Meyer's acknowledgements was satisfying. He took a very humble approach to everything, stating that any inaccuracies were all his own - and therefore very meekly assuming that there are mistakes.

Otherwise, Mr. Meyer did his Holmesian research with devotion and care, and did a better job than I could ever hope to do. The ending was rather in Doyle's style.

And the bottom line is? I may criticize, belittle, berate, and harp all I want to; but no matter how many mistakes he made, Nicholas Meyer is a published author, and I am not. So he must have done something right!

Current Project

So. . .I was inspired by Grosgrain to try to make my own clothing. I thought to myself, what an easy, sensible, relaxing way to add to one's wardrobe! Without the stress of shopping! (I love shopping, until I realize I've been at the mall two hours, tried on five dozen things and bought nothing, either because it doesn't fit right or because I'm a hopeless miser, and the lights and the noise make my ears buzz until I can't think--and I flee to the car (skipping the bookstore in exasperation and exhaustion) with nothing to show for a whole day spent in the city).

I chose a pattern rated easy--a little sundressy, 1947 number (same year as my car. . .so I had to get it). I thought I'd fly through the thing in a day or two, after cutting-out, of course.

Ha. Ha ha. Clearly I need a lot of practice. Here's my chosen pattern and fabric:

I'll skip the trauma and heartbreak of the cutting-out. Well, actually it wasn't that bad, I managed quite fine by myself, except for a few small glitches I won't bother to elaborate on--but I suppose that was only because you don't have to read the directions to cut out a pattern. The direction page is a real tear-jerker, albeit in an unconventional way.

Well, in defense of Butterick and Co:

I am an incompetent beginner. At least, I've never sewn clothing on my own before. I don't understand their sewing-circle lingo, which is so familiar to Butterick's steady, regular customers. However . . .

Things would have been a whole lot easier if the instructions had been put clearly and understandably. However, with the evidence given I could only assume that their main interests lie in preserving ink and paper, because directions were sparse and not that helpful to people who actually need guidance. It makes me wonder what a "hard" pattern is. Don't save trees! Make things easy on us!

The top is self-lined. So you cut out two of everything (four fabric pieces in all). I assumed this meant "just sew everything together like normal, only with twice the thickness you would usually deal with." My mother expressed some doubts, but after reading the incomprehensible directions left looking dazed and confused, now unsure what I was supposed to be doing, and what a "self-lined" garment was at all.

Well, it soon became apparent that I was doing everything quite wrong. . .apparently I needed to act as if I was making two bodices. Then later I would sew them together, so there would be no raw edges. Hence the word 'lining.'

Well, this called for me taking everything apart after I'd sewn the whole bodice together. I probably just should have plugged along and done things my way, but I'm trying to actually learn how to sew.

Somewhere in this time I went outside and threw sticks at the basketball hoop. Hard. (It was the easy alternative to bursting into tears and throwing a Scarlett O'Hara fit on the floor). However, I have notoriously bad aim when angry, so one stick sort of missed and dented my dad's truck/experiment. I think it was the one he wants only for spare parts. . .but afterwards I was almost reconciled to the fact of ripping apart everything I'd spent the best part of a lovely day doing.

I suppose it's enough to say that after three and a half hours I'd almost gotten past step one.

And then of course, today brought more drama. We forgot to get a zipper, so that will halt progress for a little while, but reading the instructions as to how to put the zipper in left me wondering if I shouldn't arrange some sort of protest outside the Butterick building. Not only are their directions unfathomable, but their "helpful" illustrations only serve to confuse things more.

Now I wish I'd never read it--I think I knew how to put a zipper in, before, and now I'm only filled with doubts. It's the One Ring of instructions--you want to use it so bad--it seems as if it could be nothing but good to use it--and when you do you're left exhausted and deceived. I now have total sympathy for Boromir. The effects it has on your personality are just unaccountable. (For those of you who are uninitiated, I'm referring to The Lord of the Rings).
So today, after resewing the front of the bodice for the sixth or seventh time--I do not exaggerate, that's probably an understatement--I finally got it right! With some ugly puckers right in front. Then I realized I'd sewn the sides wrong . . .

All in all I haven't learned much more about sewing, but I'm an expert at ripping out seams!

I've been working on this for about a week now. Also, I had (of course) chosen and orchestrated the pieces I wanted in front. Well, a few days ago I'm taking out some seams, ho-humming my way along, when suddenly the (brand-new) sewing scissors (that belong to my sister) jam, for no apparent reason whatsoever. As usual, I used brute force to fix them, without thinking about possible consequences, and--SNIP--it cut out a nice little triangular flap in the very front of the bodice as I made it close properly. I ended up gluing it. I can't sew it, that's for sure. Then I'd have a thread-wrapped cocoon-shaped pucker in the front of my dress, and that would be worse.

So, my "easy" dress is nearly done. However, I'm beginning to think buying clothing is much cheaper and simpler. The money I'll have to pay for counseling in regards to all the anger and depression this dress-making has caused would have justified a Marc Jacobs evening gown.

But never mind that. I'm planning a nice trip to the mall to relax after the whole traumatic experience is over. Wearing my perfectly-fitting, imperfectly-made new dress. Hopefully.

A Favorite Song

For the beauty of the earth,
For the beauty of the skies.
For the love from which our birth
Over and around us lies:
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our hymn of joyful praise.

For the beauty of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale and tree and flower,
Sun and moon and stars of light:
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our hymn of joyful praise.

For the beauty of human love,
Brother, sister, parent, child
Friends of earth and friends above,
For all gentle thoughts and mild:
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our hymn of joyful praise.

For each perfect gift of thine
To our race so freely given,
Graces human and divine,
Flowers of earth and buds of heaven:
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our hymn of joyful praise.

By John Rutter, 1864

Saturday

So, the Battle of Guilford Courthouse didn't go exactly as we had planned...it was freezing cold and miserable. We were only there about a half hour, and I think most of that time was spent swaddling numerous children of assorted sizes and ages into wool blankets and cloaks. But the short time I was outside was hellish, I wasn't sorry to leave at all--and usually I consider myself something of a trooper.

We were planning on going back tomorrow, when it will be cold but at least not wet; but while in the process of writing the above paragraph the phone rang, saying the event is called off completely! I don't imagine there will be any rescheduling...this is a real bummer because I know it takes a lot of hard work and collaboration between the military park and all the reenactment groups to get these events planned. Also, I was looking forward to seeing my "reenactment family" since there haven't been any events since before the holidays. They're the best of people--all very diverse and unique, and there is always something to be learned from somebody. It's nice being around them.

I had hoped to get some reenacting pictures, but I only got this one of myself. You can't really see the clothes, unfortunately. I hope to write more on that subject later.


I tried to get one of my brother and sister, but they were apart for all of six hours and were being too goofy for me to get a picture on my phone--at least, one that wasn't just an indescribable blur. Right now they're into insisting that they're twins--I don't know if they mean literally or what, but some days they say they were conjoined, so it's hard to tell. (In reality, they're two years apart).
Ahh, here they are...I finally got them to hold still, but Curtiss isn't in costume.









So, we spent the rest of the night doing various things: watching The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again (Don Knotts and Tim Conaway--priceless duo!)

And also decking Josiah out as the karate kid. I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but it was very funny.

Also, my Nana and great-grandmother from Florida are in town, so that's nice. My mom and sisters and I ran over to see them. Of course we'll be spending more time with them this week.
So, now I'm off to hopefully do what my siblings have been nagging me to do for forever twice over: write down a series of stories I've been telling them about some post World War I pilots who fly the mail. Until later...
Kaley

Rainy Day

In light of the fact that it is a rainy, cold, miserable day--and will probably be rainy, cold and miserable at the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, a reenactment we'll be doing tomorrow--I'm posting a nice cheery picture of Lake Lure from the summer. I miss it!

Lake Lure is another favorite place...this is where they filmed The Last of the Mohicans, Dirty Dancing, and Nell.

As you can see, I'm desperately reaching out for any reminders that "summer" actually exists.

I do have a little consolation: it's still constantly -0 in Minnesota right now, the home state of some friends of ours. So I suppose I should be thankful for a drizzlyt 49 degrees...or whatever it is. It feels like 30.

Of course, you can't let the cold weather color your memory too much. There were always the spoil sports...

;-D