White Coral Bells Remind Me . . . (re-post)

"White coral bells, upon a slender stalk,

Lilies of the valley deck my garden walk.

Oh, don't you wish that you could hear them ring?

That will happen only when the fairies sing."

Every year, when the tiny fragrant lilies of the valley come into bloom, I'm reminded of this song from my time as a Girl Scout and I slip into a haze of reminiscence . . .

I adored being a Girl Scout. In those simpler times of the mid-Fifties, I even loved wearing that green uniform. Our troop met at St. John's Episcopal Church and we always concluded our meeting by going to Evening Prayer in the church's dim little chapel. Piously we knelt and stood and sat, singing the responses, knowing ourselves to be steeped in goodness. The beautiful words of the liturgy still lurk somewhere in the back of my mind.

One of the things I best remember about that troop was The Gold Key -- a much coveted award, given after a camping trip, to the Scout who had best lived up to the Scout ideal. And here's the really clever thing -- it was awarded secretly. At the end of the meeting after the camping trip, all the scouts would take off their green webbing belts (each marked inside with the owner's name) and one of the assistant scout leaders would disappear with the belts into a back room.

Finally we would form a circle for the closing ceremonies and while we were singing -- probably the white coral bells song -- we would close our eyes and the scout leaders would quietly put our belts back around our waists. A gold key would have been painted inside one of those belts but the recipient was never named. As I recall, no one even checked inside her belt till she got home -- it just wasn't done. And girls rarely spoke of receiving the award though, somehow, eventually it became common knowledge just whose belt held how many gold keys.

Our Scout leader, Polly Telford, who introduced me to the Narnia books and tried to teach me to swim, was the kindest, most selfless of women. We all adored her and she, in turn, worked very hard to provide us with all sorts of treats and outings. And here's the other side of the happy memories -- and my first experience with the frightening power of the mob.

Polly invited the troop for a spaghetti supper at her house. (Simpler times, as I said -- this really was a much anticipated treat.) Vats of sauce and pasta were prepared and we filled our plates and settled like a flock of pigeons all over the just-installed velvety gray living room rug.

I don't know who threw the first piece of spaghetti. I sincerely hope it wasn't me. But soon our well-mannered, church-going, Scout Pledge reciting group of ten and eleven year-olds were in the midst of a major food fight -- a veritable riot.

And I don't remember what finally stopped us; we were well and truly out of control -- a mindless, screaming mob of preteens. Maybe someone turned a fire hose on us -- it seems like it must have taken something drastic.

I do remember exactly what that new carpet looked like with curling noodles patterning its stained surface. And I remember the lot of us, the next day --penitent, stunned, weeping -- trying to clean up the terrible mess we had made of our beloved leader's house, wondering how we could have done such a thing.

That was over fifty years ago and I'm still baffled and saddened when I remember the unthinking chaos we slipped into as if it were an old familiar garment. Even the Gold Key girls threw spaghetti that long-ago night.

Wet Wordless World

 

FAQ - Pen Names

Q: Is Vicki Lane a pen name? How did you choose it if it is? And why did you decide to use one?

A: Vicki Lane is the name on my birth certificate. My married (and legal) name is  Vicki Lane Skemp.  When my first book  was nearing publication, I asked my editor what she thought I should use -- Vicki Skemp, Vicki Lane Skemp, V.L. Skemp, etc. -- and she said, "I think you should use Vicki Lane. It puts you in the middle of the bookshelf or book store... "

Actually, I suspect she just thought Skemp is a somewhat clunky name -- as do I.

People have various reasons for choosing a pen name -- some for privacy, to to evoke a certain feeling -- romance writers often have rather exciting names that I suspect are made up -- Yasmyne de la Fuente, Amber Flame, Smolder Trelawney . . .

And sometimes writers who are switching to a different type of  fiction will use a different name so as not to confuse their fans. Abigail Butterworth may write sweetly pretty cozies but when she's writing as Dominique Scarlett, expect the fiction to sizzle.

I'd suggest googling possible names to make sure there's not another someone writing and publishing under whatever name you choose to use. There's a Vicki Lane who writes romances (unpublished so far) and has a pretty active web presence. I don't know if I'd have gone with some other name because of her but had she been already publishing, I might have.

Mute-ish Monday

The pot of gold is on my friend Rob's land... should I tell him?

Perhaps he already knows.

 Mearl's canning house ...
wood burning cookstove upstairs, root cellars, storage for her canned food down below...

Italian Arum

and

Rhododendron  'Gomer Waterer' ...

Airing the Quilts - Part 2

Here are the better pictures -- the ones I found in a forgotten scrapbook. 

The quilter -- whose name I either never got or failed to remember, was quite shy and posed for her picture a little reluctantly.

I would have loved to have gotten to know her but though she answered my questions about the quilts, I could tell she was a little puzzled about my intentions.

And though she didn't live much more that four or five miles from me, when I mentioned the names of some of my neighbors, she'd never heard of them. 

But, oh, my, what a treasure trove of quilts!

I wish I knew where they ended up.

With someone who appreciates all the work that went into them, I hope.

But here's to you,  Miss Lady in the stone house and your quilts -- you made my day all those years ago.

Gone, but not forgotten.

I'm Back . . .

 

So, not only was Blogger down for quite awhile, but we've been without Internet for about 24 hours. We had thought it was a service interruption due to a thunderstorm but  John  just now discovered a loose wire under my desk -- where Maggie hid yesterday to escape that same thunderstorm...

Anyway, this is just to say I'll do the second part of the quilt post tomorrow -- and try to do some visiting today.

Mid May

Old-fashioned Rose

Spicebush Swallowtail on Poison Ivy

Peony

Clematis vines

Bearded Iris

Dead Luna moth -- presumed victim of heavy rain

Kousa Dogwood

Airing the Quilts -Part 1

From OLD WOUNDS:

What is it? Is it a carnival or something? Can we stop? In the side yard of a small green house overlooking the road, bright colors of every description flapped and danced in the wind. Pa slowed the truck and Rosemary realized, with some disappointment, that it was just a bunch of quilts, hanging from clotheslines stretched between big trees. A slender woman in a blue housedress was adding yet another dazzling rectangle to the last empty space. Pink stars spun on a green background as the breeze lifted the quilt. The woman stepped back as if to admire the spectacle then, catching sight of their truck, she raised her hand in a friendly wave.

These are pictures from maybe fifteen or twenty years ago -- pre digital, for sure. I was on my way to the grocery store when the bright colors slowed me down. Back then, I didn't carry a camera all the time so, when I got to the grocery store, I bought a disposable camera.

On my return trip I stopped and asked the lady of the house if I could take pictures of her quilts. She was surprised but  agreed and showed me the different ones. This below was what she called her 'pattern quilt' -- examples of the various squares she had made, all fitted together in a glorious jumble.

The quilter and her quilts are long gone -- someone  else lives in the little stone house now.  But she's commemorated in the above excerpt (the house was changed to green to tie it to a chapter in ART'S BLOOD) -- and the stone house became Nola Barrett's house in IN A DARK SEASON. A memorable stop that day.

And speaking of memorable, I just remembered where the rest of the pictures are -- the much better ones that show the quilter and all of her quilts -- in a dusty scrapbook on the top shelf of my workroom.  It's late now -- I'll post them on Saturday.

Wordless Wednesday - Except for Captions

Clematis

Cat

Ferns and Comfrey

Korean  (Kousa) Dogwood

Culinary sage 

FAQ - How Do You Find the Time?

Q: How do you find the time to write?

A: I know, I answered this one back in January. But as I struggle to reclaim the garden from weeds (the pictures are blueberries I've been spending some up close and personal time with) and research the next book, I realize that something is going to have to give.

  Beginning Thursday, I have two weeks to turn in a six thousand word (more or less) chapter in a group novel.  The first three chapters will have been completed by three other writers from the region -- when the book's completed, there'll be twelve chapters in all. That's all I can tell you now -- but this is gong to be a fun and exciting project.

And then I have to really buckle down to my next book.

I'm not going to stop blogging -- but I'm going to reduce the time I spend at it.  I plan to make every other day a 'wordless ' post -- just pictures.  And I invite you not to comment on these  because on those days, I won't be visiting other blogs and commenting.  That's where all the time goes, I'm afraid.

Oh, I'll still be checking in to see what you're up to -- just not everyday. And I hope you check on me too.

I may even try getting up at dark thirty to write.  After working in the sun much of the day, I'm finding myself falling asleep over the keyboard.  


We'll see how it goes ...