Browsed by
Author: Anne Cassidy

Shattered!

Shattered!

Comments 0 Comment

They are such fine-boned things, the glass so thin and delicate. But I always place a few old-fashioned ornaments on the tree. Most of them are vintage, ones from my childhood. All of them reflect the lights, make the Christmas tree a kaleidoscope of shine and sparkle.

I felt this red one slipping from my fingers as I tried to attach it. Had it landed on the carpet it might have been saved, but it didn’t. And though part of it survived, a considerable chunk of it became sharp shards and pieces so tiny I can only call them glass crumbles. 

What to do? Nothing but sweep it up, mourn its long life, and be glad that I was the one who broke it … 

Binge Watch

Binge Watch

Comments 0 Comment

Right now I can use the excuse of recuperation, but I do it anyway. Binge watch, that is. Immerse myself in a show, viewing a couple episodes (or more) at a time. Biking around London with a team of nurse midwives or suffering through the latest scandal of the Royal Family — while also enjoying the sumptuous interiors of Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle.

It’s fun! It’s immersive. But it’s also addictive, the high fructose corn syrup of entertainment diets. After an evening of binge watching I feel as I do after Thanksgiving dinner: stuffed but not nourished.

There must be something in our psyches that cries out for the tidy narrative arc: the setup, the conflict, the resolution. And when that’s artificially stimulated, when I’m left hanging to the point that I have to watch more (even though I know the next episode will leave me hanging again) at some point I need a palate cleanser: a nice, simple, self-contained film. 

(Photo: Wikipedia)

‘Tis the Season

‘Tis the Season

Comments 0 Comment

‘Tis the season of group sings and holiday parties, of crowded cashiers in stores that are only crowded once a year. ‘Tis also the season of rhinovirus and adenovirus and respiratory syncytial virus. Put these together and you have a noxious stew.

As one on the receiving end of this special kind of holiday giving, I can say … 

I’m glad I was felled when I was. With any luck, I’ll be fully recovered in time to mail the cards, wrap the gifts, bake the cookies, and enjoy the cheer. 

Until then … aaaaachoooo! 

Badge of Courage

Badge of Courage

Comments 0 Comment

Long before Shout, my go-to stain removal substance, and the little Tide pen I now carry with me on trips, there were stain removal charts. Mine is tacked up in the laundry room and is still my best source for wild and wacky — but often effective — stain removal tips.

From it I learned that the remedy for ballpoint ink stains is glycerine. I once had an old bottle of the stuff that worked wonders, saved a yellow linen shirt that I paid way too much for and was almost ruined by an inky gash across the front.

I used that old bottle until I couldn’t anymore, but I regret to say that the new stock I ordered — proudly described as vegetable glycerine — isn’t nearly as effective. I scrubbed and scrubbed and managed to mute the stains slightly, but the ink stain isn’t gone … and probably will never be.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Ink stains are a badge of courage, not a blot of shame.

(A lovely painting — by Edmund Blair Leighton — but an ink stain ready to happen?)

Surprise Snow

Surprise Snow

Comments 0 Comment

Sometimes it pays to forgo weather reports, especially when it means you can wake up to a surprise snowfall like we did this morning. Although from what I can make out, even some forecasts weren’t expecting yesterday’s rain to turn to snow in the wee hours of the morning. 

But there it was, glimpsed first at 4 a.m., when I woke up briefly, and now certified in the clear light of day.

It’s the most snow we’ve had in two years, and I doubt it will last long, but for now, it’s coating branches and grass and making the world outside look just a bit like a snow globe … finally.

Split Rail

Split Rail

Comments 0 Comment

A frosty walk this morning, a split-rail fence beside me part of the way.  Surely this is fencing lite, only the barest barricade, I think, as I amble beside one of the more open models (two horizontals). 

Though now they now seem more decorative than anything else, split-rail fences have a long history in this country. They were used to mark property boundaries, protect crops and livestock, and, during the Civil War, troops burned them to keep warm. 

In my neighborhood, split-rail fences are the only kind allowed in front yards. In the back you can go wild with a picket or other plank styles, but the front must be open, natural — much like the snippet of yard I photographed this morning. 

It’s a fence … but barely. 

The Books Themselves

The Books Themselves

Comments 0 Comment

Last night was my book group’s annual book picking, held at a local bookstore cafe. It was fun to meet in person and catch up on news. But as usual, the stars of the show, the books themselves, were in short supply. Since we discuss each book we suggest and pass it (or a description of it) around, this was a problem.

I’d spent an hour or so finalizing my suggestions earlier in the day, printing out a page each for Bittersweet and The Book of Charlie. This was a good move because the bookstore didn’t have the former, a 2022 bestseller just out in paperback, and had to search high and low for the latter, just published and chosen as a best book of 2023 by the Washington Post. 

I’d also printed out the book list of a fellow member who emailed us her regrets at the last minute. The 2022 bestseller Solito was another challenge for the sales clerk to locate, but she finally found one copy.

On one hand, I’m grateful to the bookstore for letting us sit in their cafe and chat for 90 minutes. On the other, I wish the ratio of books to toys and accessories was slanted more heavily in favor of the books themselves.

(No lack of books in this bookstore.)
New Town Square

New Town Square

Comments 0 Comment

I’m not a numbers person, but these numbers impress me: In 1986 there were only a few hundred miles of rails-to-trails in this country. Now there are more than 25,000. 

“We want trails that are connected in ways that are similar to roads or streets or that connect individual trails to places people want to go, be it shopping, schools or other activities, ” said Ryan Chao, the president of the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy, in a recent Washington Post article. 

Chao sees these trails as the new town square. And why not? Trails connect people, too. 

Philadelphia has 400 miles of them and plans to double that. You can travel the Great Allegheny Passage from Pittsburgh to Cumberland, Maryland, then pick up the C&O Canal Trail to cruise into D.C. 

You can take the Katy Trail across Missouri. You can cross much of Ohio on trails and big chunks of Illinois and Iowa, too. One of these days, you’ll be able to take the Great American Rail Trail from here to Washington State. No rush to get in shape for that trek just yet … but one of these days!

(The Capital Crescent Trail in Maryland, part of the future Great American Rail Trail.)

Creeping Jenny

Creeping Jenny

Comments 0 Comment

It’s Advent, the season of waiting. But waiting for what? The birth of Christ, the gathering of the clan, the arrival of yet another box from Amazon? Or for a contentment I long for but can’t explain.

Advent is also the season of preparation, not just wrapping gifts and baking cookies but preparing ourselves spiritually. For me, the best way to prepare is to stop waiting and bask in the moment.

Today’s moment is noticing the jaunty upward growth of the Creeping Jenny plant. I’ve been neglecting it, putting it on top of the bookshelf in my office so it would trail down from on high in romantic tendrils, like wisps of hair escaping from a Gibson Girl bun. 

But it gets no sun there, so I moved it yesterday to a free corner of my desk. It already looks healthier, greener, more in sync with its surroundings. I want to be like that plant: well placed and pointing toward the sun.

Dependable Distractions

Dependable Distractions

Comments 0 Comment

I spot them from my second-floor aerie, and I spot them more easily now that trees are bare. They are perched high on the poplar or closer to earth (and to my window) on the black gum tree, where there is also a squirrel’s nest.

They seem little more than dots on horizontal branches, hard to detect until they fluff their wings or scratch their beaks and the movement gives them away. Sometimes they rustle in the bamboo and send a shower of leaves to the ground. 

Always when new seed fills the feeder they swoop down to claim it. I see one of them now, a cardinal resting in the azalea between feedings. 

Birds are my companions in thought, my most dependable distractions. 

(One of my favorite bird photos, taken on the way home from work long ago.)