Elsie's Notes from New England - THEMission edition

AUTUMN MAIZE Temperatures fall in their cycle Which turns up the fire. Trees, like Redenbacher’s kernels Are starting to sizzle in the frost-burn of night Where the real work is done. Best displayed by collapsing rays Competing for chroma, They begin to burst; One here, another there, random surprises Then an empty pause. Two here, three there Resplendent, exhilaratingly bright Worth the price of impending gray Til suddenly, the flaring blasts Barrage every field and hillside In deep-hued explosions uncountable At zenith, flinging off their vibrant steam As if to lift the stratosphere higher still Succumbing finally to the chill In spastic throes and scattered flinches Until there is silence Frostbitten edges caching the gift To kindle with the warming.

I have to share this story. I was younger than five, so it's bound to be cute. My parents were friends with Ron and Virginia Bird. My dad had gone to college with Ron and somehow Ron and Virginia ended up in Missouri near us. Virginia sewed with my mom, and she let me play at sewing with them. Ron told great stories, and I considered him my very good friend. They both laughed a lot, and mom laughed a lot when they were around, which made them practically perfect in my eyes. Ron and Virginia smoked. My parents did not. This was not a big deal, except that I had been taught from my youngest days that smoking was bad and I shouldn't do it, ever. It was shocking to my childish mind that these wonderful grown ups, who I loved dearly, would do such a dastardly thing. I didn't like the way their house smelled, or the way their breath smelled, but I loved them. At the time, I also loved peanut butter. Well, I still do, but that's not the point. My favorite mid-morn

I love peanut butter jars. This fact was reaffirmed to me today as I was baking my very first pear pie. I make all kinds of fruit pies; they’re kind of my specialty. I had, however, never made a pear pie before, and as we have picked a literal plethora (I counted) of pears from our neighbor’s tree, I decided it was time to give it a try. Our neighbor asked us to take the pears, by the way; she doesn’t care for them, but she does love the pear butter I make out of them, so it works out nicely. I also love gadgets. Kitchen gadgets, to be sure, but just gadgets of any ilk will do. In my sewing room I regularly use my bodkin, and my snippers, and my tailor’s point and ham. I’m equally as likely to get distracted in the power tools section of the local Home Depot as in the baking section at Kitchen’s Etc. I wander the aisles at VIP Auto Parts until my husband rolls his eyes and begs to go home. It’s a really good thing that I learned my lesson in the Ronco Clothes Steamer fia

On a writers' blog that I frequent, a piece was posted about one writer's frustration with people who look down on poor people, and who are angry about having tax dollars taken from themselves to support and help the poor. He was angry to think that people assume that because someone is poor and on welfare, they must be lazy. He brought up some good points about making broad generalizations about people, and assuming the worst just because someone is receiving government assistance. His article sparked a vigorous discussion about whether or not poor people are lazy, and the inevitable leap to compare poor and lazy people to rich and greedy people, condemning essentially everyone. The article and the discussion hit a chord with me, and this is what I wrote in response: You bring up some essential points here. I, at one time, was the one receiving help, and over the past twenty years, I have worked frequently to help people who happen to be receiving government assistance.

If you can indulge me for a few lines, I will try to keep this brief. My aunt passed away yesterday, suddenly and due to a tragic accident. She is my mother's youngest sister, and one of the two surviving siblings of the 10 born to my grandparents. Her name was Barbara Hales, and she taught Children's Literature at Utah State University for nearly three decades, if my recollection is correct. She loved reading, literacy, and books, especially children's books, more than anyone I know. She also put her money where her mouth was, working with the Mayor of her town to provide books for all the children in the elementary schools in her district. She would hand-pick books for each grade level and buy them at discount prices. The mayor came up with a way to help fund her habit, and they set up a program that runs to this day in Cache Valley, Idaho. Twice every year, she held a book sale in her garage. She would gather up the best titles and sell them, dirt cheap, to anyo