Transported

Libraries are fond of using displays to encourage patrons to read more.  One of the most hackneyed is based on the theme of books transporting us to realms beyond our day to day lives.

Yes, the idea is hackneyed.  Yes, it is trite. Yes, I was transported by the last book I read.  Absolutely taken from here to there and even more I wanted to stay in that place, among those people.

I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Annie Barrows and Mary Ann Shaffer when it first came out in 2009.  I loved it then.  I told everyone I knew it was wonderful and they should read it.  They should have.  It was wonderful.

Then I moved on to the hundreds of books I’ve read since.

A couple of weeks ago I was scanning the shelves of books on CD at my local library branch, looking for something, anything to listen to in my car, when I saw Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Societysitting there.  I knew I had read it seven years ago and enjoyed it.  I also knew that one of the upsides of my aging memory is that I can read books I know I have read in the past and enjoy them as if it were the first time through.  This aspect of my fickle memory is a wonderful thing.  It enables me to pick out books I know I’ll like and not waste time on clunkers.

So, I grabbed the box and headed to the checkout kiosk.  As I walked, I looked over the cover notes.  There was a list of narrators.  I don’t like multiple narrators.  I almost put the box back on the shelf.  I am still dancing a jig that I didn’t.  The narrators were perfect, having several fit this book exactly.  I liked it.

I liked it so much that I really would love to go to Guernsey in 1946, the year before I was even born, to see the places and meet those wonderful people.  I want to live there then in that place and time. There it is. Transported.

 

 

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Poetry Play

 

Ear Worm

John, John,
The gander’s gone.
The fox is on the town.
The kits will cry ‘til by and by
The gander’s on their table.
John, John.

 

Full moon
On the desert
Pulls on the sand and rock
The ancient sea now seems long gone.
Neap tide.

 

Bosque
Birds are betrayed
By the boy child’s tantrums.
Bringing winter back blasting spring’s
Breezes.

 

Cigars,
Cigarettes, pipes.
Chewing tobacco, snuff.
Made from crops lovingly tended
To death.

 

Above Tijeras in Mid Spring

The trailhead .
The trailhead .
Pools formed by a spring.
Pools formed by a spring.
Claret cup cactus just starting to bloom.
Claret cup cactus just starting to bloom.
Yucca
Yucca
Some of a dried skeleton of a pinon.
Some of a dried skeleton of a pinon.
Weathered stump
Weathered stump
More yucca.
More yucca.
Yucca bloom. Early days.
Yucca bloom. Early days.
Lovely, vibrant claret cup blossoms.
Lovely, vibrant claret cup blossoms.

Tales out of School

Martha was proud of herself.
Twice each week, on different days,
She sat in a grade school class
Observing, taking notes
Of what was said and by whom,
Of what teachers wore,
Of which child was lazy or naughty.
It was her duty to go.
How else would she know
Just what went on at school?

Martha was proud of herself.
Once each week at bridge,
She sat at the table
Reading aloud her notes
Of what was said and by whom,
Of which teacher was rude or haughty.
It was her duty to tell.
How else would they know
Just what went on at school?

Martha was proud of herself.
Each month, on the first Monday,
She sat in the school board room,
Passing out typed notes
Of what went on at school
When they thought no one was watching.
It was her duty, she said.
How else would they know,
Just what went on at school?