Best Reads of 2012

Please note that I will be taking two weeks off.  My next posting will be on January 19th.



Having listed my Best Reads of 2011, I want to carry on the tradition and list 2012's.  Of the 39 fiction and 23 non-fiction books I read this past year, here is my list of favorites in alphabetical order by author.

Fiction:

1.  Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending  (Looking at feelings and events forty years later and finding different interpretations and memories by different people.)

2.  Alan Bennett, The Uncommon Reader  (Charming, funny, witty novella about Queen Elizabeth discovering books and gradually putting aside her royal duties--and her corgis--for a good read.  A gem.)

3.  Anne Bronte, Agnes Grey  (How did I miss reading this before now!  The trials of being a governess in Yorkshire as reflected by the author's own experience from 1839-1845.  Beautifully written.)

4.  Peter Carey, Parrot and Olivier in America (A bit reminiscent of Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson, this is a "rendering" of deTocqueville's visit to the U.S.  It contrasts a French nobleman and an English servant, both meeting democracy.  It's raw, rough and ready with wonderfully descriptive language.)

5.  Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White  (Written in 1860, this is a 627-page page-turner.  A first detective novel with a great cast of villains.  So gripping, it kept England's P.M. from going to the theater one night so he could stay home and read.)

6.  Alan Hollinghurst, The Stranger's Child  (This work centers on what one remembers from the past and how that becomes its own tale, possibly fabricated, possibly not.  This speaks of the confusion that results when seeking to remember the life of an early 20th century gay poet.  Set in England over the course of a century.)

7.  Penelope Lively, How It All Began  (The ripple effect--how something that happens to one person can greatly alter the lives of others.)

8.  Wright Morris, Plains Song, For Female Voices  (This is both spare and lyrical about three generations of women in a Cather-like Nebraska.)

9.  Helen Simonson, Major Pettigrew's Last Stand  (Set in Sussex, a widowed pair, an English major and a Pakistani shop-keeper, fall in love.  Light, intelligent, charming.)


Non-Fiction:

1.  Fiona Carnarvon, Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey:  The Lost Legacy of Highclere Castle  (The story of the 5th Countess of Carnarvon who went to live at Highclere when she married in 1895 and who then pursued an active and expensive social life paid for with her Rothschild money.  Of particular interest was the account of her husband's discovery of the Tut tomb.  As told by the current Countess.)

2.  Edmund de Waal, The Hare With Amber Eyes:  A Hidden Inheritance  (The inherited netsuke collection of the Ephrussi family as it went from Paris to Vienna--where a family servant saved it from the Nazis--and on to Tokyo and England.)

3.  Karen Le Billon, French Kids Eat Everything:  How Our Family Moved to France, Cured Picky Eating, Banned Snacking, and Discovered 10 Simple Rules for Raising Happy, Healthy Eaters  (The French have us beat on this one.  Regular sit-down meals, delicious fresh food, no snacks, and the continued introduction of different tastes as a child gets older.  Bravo.)

4.  Oscar Lewis, Sutter's Fort:  Gateway to the Gold Fields.  The Story of Captain John A. Sutter's California Empire  (Fabulous telling of Sutter's life and pre-/post-Gold Rush California.  Written in 1966.)

5.  Mary S. Lovell, The Sisters:  The Saga of the Mitford Family  (The story of the English peer, his wife, six daughters, one son, and their Fascist and Communist leanings.)

6.  Alan Moorehead, The Blue Nile  (The history of exploration and battles that encompassed the region from the river's source in Ethiopia to Sudan to Egypt.  Bruce's visit at its source in 1770, Napoleon's invasion of Egypt in 1798, and Napier's rescue of prisoners at Magdala in 1868.  Written in 1962.)

7.  Alan Moorehead, The White Nile  (A splendid history of the explorers who sought the source of the Nile--from 1856 when Burton and Speke set out until 1900 when all the land from the Nile delta to its source at Lake Victoria came under British "protection."   Written in 1960.)

8.  Bob Spitz, Dearie:  The Remarkable Life of Julia Child  (Here are 530 pages recounting it all!  He calls her a "supernova.")

9.  Irving Stone, Men to Match My Mountains:  The Opening of the Far West 1840 - 1900  (Another fabulous history of the West:  California, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado.  The overlanders.  The mines.  The Mormons.  The railway.  Written in 1956.)

Farolitos

A hotel in the heart of Santa Fe

Deciding to leave New England for a bit and take in the high bright days and festive nights of northern New Mexico, I have returned to Santa Fe where holiday farolitos decorate roof-tops around town.  Hotels, galleries, shops, homes.

Farolitos are made by putting enough sand in a brown paper bag to secure a candle which is then lit at twilight to shine quite gloriously as evening and night come on.  With its soft glow, the effect is enchanting.  Of course, nowadays (especially when decorating hotel roof-tops), the "paper bags" are plastic and the "candles" are electric.  Easy on, easy off, no accidental fires.  And no stand-by crew to relight flames that go out.

Two of many Canyon Road art galleries adorned with farolitos.

Another Canyon Road gallery--no farolitos but plenty of lights

For a reason I never learned, this part of  New Mexico calls these decorations farolitos (little lanterns) but just south of here, including the city of Albuquerque, they are called luminarias.  Santa Fe has luminarias, too, but they are small pinon-wood bonfires lit on Christmas Eve--said to light the way for the Christ child.  People congregate by them  to warm themselves since the altitude here is 7,500 feet and winter evenings are decidedly cold.  On Christmas Eve, during the annual Canyon Road Farolito Walk, one finds this street of art galleries lined with the softly glowing farolito lights as well as luminaria bonfires as people parade up and down, and the art galleries pass out hot cider.  (I've been known to take a thermos with a hot toddy, as well.)

I found this charming gingerbread rendering in the La Fonda Hotel.  Its farolitos, trimming upper and lower roofs, were blinking on and off.

Another thousand lights decorate the heart of town, the Plaza, once the end of the Santa Fe Trail. 

The Plaza

To all, then, I send warm and glowing holiday wishes!

With special thanks to my friend, Christi, who drove me around town one night so I could photograph the lights.

More About Getting Older

The beauty of maturity

It's a truism to say that the years whiz by--they do--but, as well, I feel as if various times in my life (my college years, my married years) were lifetimes away.  So much time has elapsed that I barely feel connected to The Younger Me.  Sometimes, reminiscing, I think, Did I Do That? Was I There Then?  Did I See That?   So what is this Getting Older business about?  Well, of course, it's whatever we want to make of it.

I recently read an amusing novel, No, I Don't Want to Join a Book Club:  Diary of a 60th Year by Virginia Ironside.  As she wrote, "The thing is:  I don't want to join a book club to keep young and stimulated.  I don't want to be young and stimulated anymore.  There seems to be a common line that runs, 'If you're old, you've got to stay mentally active, physically alive, ever fascinated by life.'  But I say, Why?  I've done fascinated, I've done curious.  I want to wind down.  I want to have the blissful relief of not being interested."  Or, how about this:  not being interested in the things one knows one isn't interested in.  One needn't go bicycling across Mongolia at 80 or paragliding at 90.  She went on to conclude:  "Is there actually something wrong these days with the word 'old'?  I wonder."  And:  "...not using the word 'old' seems as coy and ludicrous as Victorians putting skirts on their piano legs because they felt so uncomfortable at the sight of them." (Of course, the heroine didn't actually wind down all that much and did continue doing interesting things.)

We do hear the euphemisms.  The autumn of one's life.  The golden years. The twilight years.  I don't mind calling myself old, older.  I don't like the term "senior."  I was a senior in high school, in college, but now I'm an oldster, not a youngster.  And I give fair warning:  if anyone so much as dares to call me so-many-years-young, I'll whop 'em with my handbag.

We aren't supposed to call ourselves old because that implies we're giving in and letting age take over.  Well, golly gee whiz,  isn't age taking over?  I'm not superwoman.  I'm not now 74 without my blemishes, my wrinkles.  I don't dishonor my body so much as to denigrate my old-person beauty marks.  I remember once in Santa Fe going to a gallery filled with photos of nude women between the ages of 50 and 70.  There were the appendectomy and Caesarian scars, the flabby thighs, cellulite, and droopy upper arms.  The men who came were totally turned off.  We women were enthralled:  someone dared to show what we really looked like ... in all our glory! 

Speaking to a beautiful older women, a TV type once asked, "What is the best and worst of becoming older?"  I didn't stick around for the answer.  But I should think becoming invisible or being tired or no longer wanting to do some things or losing resiliency might be among the worst.  Certainly, losing one's life's companion.  Being wiser would be among the best as would having a lot of memories.  Looking back at the wealth of people one has loved would be top-notch.  Having life experience.  Having had a chance to test one's thoughts, wishes.  Being a participant in history.  Knowing that people are more important than things.  Understanding one's ability to create one's life.  Recognizing and letting go of what no longer serves.

And so it goes.  By the way, speaking of book clubs, I love mine!


(Thank you, K, for your sunflower photo.)

Getting Older

I'm having another birthday this coming week.  Number 74.  Just for fun I made a list of various changes I've been experiencing over the last few years.  Et voilà:

• Waking way earlier ... and, conversely, going to bed way earlier.
• Getting and making fewer phone calls (which is fine).
• Deciding I really no longer enjoy traveling -- or going places (and being there) -- alone.
• Only seeing friends over (a usually Chinese) lunch out ... no more dinner parties.
• Going to the library much more often than before.
• Doing lots of de-cluttering as well as putting things in order like inventorying possessions (where they came from, sentimental value, etc.).
• Perpetually thinking about down-sizing to a smaller house with less to care for and less expense.
• No longer bothering to put on any makeup except lipstick.
• Rarely having an occasion to dress up.
• Actually being able to cross things off a long-term "to do" list.
• Still (always) enjoying chocolate but being satisfied with very small pieces.
• Eating simpler meals and eating them at my computer rather than at the dining room table.
• Hiring others to deal with damage control rather than trying to figure it out myself.
• Finding clichés more and more tedious -- stepping up to the plate, the smoking gun, thinking outside the box, oh my God.
• Totally enjoying having a week ahead with nothing on my calendar.
• No longer feeling that I should learn to speak French.
• Feeling that a lot of people in this country (especially in the political, economic, business, and media arenas) are totally bonkers.
• Feeling gratitude well up in me over assorted people/times.
• Finding myself eating less.
• Almost never going to a movie theater anymore.
• Using my computer to look things up rather than my dictionary or encyclopedia.
• Being more alert, more careful about such things as going down stairs, backing out of a parking lot.
• Going around with single words in my mind which I speak out loud so I won't forget --"parka" (mend it), "soup" (make it), "weather" (look up the forecast), "dust" (where the sunlight revealed dust kittens).
• Being glad that I learned to play the piano, that I once smoked (it was fun) but equally glad I gave it up when I did, that I never did drugs of any sort, and that I went off adventuring around the world when I did.
• Being glad I grew up in the '50s when we wore pleated skirts, blouses with Peter Pan collars, and saddle oxfords ... our hair in pony tails or short and curled, having put it up in rollers at night.  Our education then was good, too, and things seemed  slower, simpler, more gracious.
• Realizing I'd not now be able to attend the college I did because of the cost.
• Spending every evening reading a book or watching a rented movie or something on PBS.
• Feeling that my youth was a totally different life.

Handmade Japanese-Style Holiday Cards

After book stores, my next favorite are paper stores.  New York City, Toronto, and Portland, Oregon, have particularly good ones.  Of course, art stores, too, offer an excellent supply of Japanese rice paper, origami paper, and packets of blank cards.

Not all that long ago, I got out my paper cache and fiddled about, wondering just what to make.  I hit on Japanese-style holiday cards.  Using scissors, I cut small triangles.  And using the edge of a ruler, I ripped off strips.  (The rough edge adds more interest than a straight one and contributes to that handmade look.)  After I arranged and glued and came up with a nice supply of cards, I gathered some into little gift packets which I tied with ribbon.  I also made small gift tags, handily using some tiny (unmailable) envelopes I had on hand.  Come holiday time, I even sold a few packets and tags to a store in town.

A gift tag and tiny envelope

Using these left-overs proved to be jolly fun!

A Christmas tree

As a p.s., I believe my third favorite are old-fashioned hardware stores.  We have one in town.  It has squeaky wooden floors, maybe fifty-year-old drawers for different size knobs, plus lots of inventory all crammed together in a friendly fashion.  It also has a good number of employees who will lead you to whatever it is you're looking for, whether cedar chips to freshen a closet, a just-right paint match, or a tiny bulb for a Himalayan salt lamp that helps ionize the environment with negative ions.  (I keep mine next to my computer to get rid of electronic air pollution, as it is called.)

Holiday Dessert: Non-gluten and Yummy

I did the non-gluten bit for a time, finding I craved pizza when I otherwise didn't often eat pizza.  A family member (bless her) made me a non-gluten one from scratch.  (Now, gluten-imbibing again, pizza has taken a back-seat once again.)

When holiday time rolled around, it was swell (don't you love that old fashioned word!) to have a dessert with no flour in it.

The recipe came from a friend back in 1957 when we were both in college.  Her mother was European and had a wealth of scrumptious dessert recipes, many with whipped cream and chocolate.  In that day, the only problem with this recipe was that it required getting out a meat-grinder (the kind that clamped onto the edge of a table) and grinding up a big batch of walnuts.  Of course, today's food processors perform that task handily.  With thanks to my dear friend, Carol, then, here is her mother's recipe.

Carol's Mother's Linze Torte

Preheat oven to 325º and cut out parchment paper to fit onto the bottom of two cake tins.  Butter the sides of the pans.  (I use 8" pans.)

Grind 3 cups of walnuts.  (Obviously, don't pulverize them so much that you turn them into walnut butter.)  Set aside.
Stiffly beat 6 egg whites. 
As you beat, gradually add 1 + 1/4 c. sugar.  (Best to add near the end.)
Add 1/2 t. almond extract.
And 1/2 t. vanilla extract.
Gently fold the ground walnuts into the egg mixture.

Folding ground walnuts into the beaten egg whites

Divide the batter between the two pans.  Bake at 325º for 25 minutes, until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.  Cool the layers.

Spread currant jelly between the two layers then spread chocolate icing over the top and sides.

Icing:

Melt 2 squares of unsweetened chocolate with 2 T. butter.
Add 1/4 c. hot water, 1 c. powdered sugar, and 1 t. vanilla.
Beat until smooth and spread onto the cake.

The original recipe suggests that it be served with a dollop of whipped cream ... making it double fabulous.

To summarize, here are the ingredients you'll need:

Walnuts
Eggs
Granulated and powdered sugar
Vanilla and almond extracts
Currant jelly
Unsweetened chocolate
Butter
Whipping cream (optional)

Touching History

I majored in English Lit but history has long fascinated me.  What was it really like to live in, say, 16th century India under the Mughals.  Or 18th century Virginia.  Or to be part of a gathering listening to the Buddha teach, sitting on the ground (I imagined) as sunlight filtered through the trees.  Like my earlier blog about putting my finger on a map of the world and wondering what lay at that very point, I've wondered about time as well.  But, in doing so, I've found myself excluding my own era as if by virtue of living in it, it's commonplace and not as fascinating.  (Which was Woody Allen's theme in Midnight in Paris.)  But.  When looking at my own life, set in the last two-thirds of a highly energetic century, I see that, in its way, it has touched history.  I needn't pooh-pooh that because 1) it's happened to me or 2) it's happened during my lifetime.  If we all sat down and made a list, each of us could come up with people, places, times where we and those who have been an important part of history have come together.  Looking at it like that, it's sort of exciting.

In making my list, in allowing myself to feel connected to history, I've come up with a few instances that do fit into our times.

There was the time, for instance, when I had the yellow legal-sized pages in my hand that Douglas MacArthur had just written (in pencil) about leaving the Philippines.  I was working in book publishing in New York and was typing them so that they could go off to the printer.  He was living in the Waldorf Towers and writing his memoir, Reminiscences.

Or the time my husband and I stood in a rather small Imperial Palace courtyard in Tokyo with the public audience who greeted Hirohito (with composed applause) when he and his family came out onto their balcony in a 1971 New Year's greeting.  (What made it so bizarre was that I so well remembered the war, or the latter part of it, anyway.)

Or when I found myself outside the White House in 1961 when a smiling JFK happened to drive by (in an open limo, I might add) with a visiting president of an African country in tow.  I remember wondering at the time how he could be so casual, so bullet-proof.  At any rate, I managed to snap a quick photo.

Meeting Edmund Hillary in Kathmandu was another time.  (That was out on the airport tarmac where I was saying goodbye to a friend on her way to Everest country and he was loading boxes onto the same plane.)  As was being introduced to a very personable Indira Gandhi, then known only as Nehru's daughter, when she came to the Santa Fe ranch resort where I worked.  Or having a college friend describe her incarceration in the Philippines as a child during the war ... or a former co-worker his long days in Tehran as one of the hostages--they, who never knew their fate from day to day.

I do not mention these in any attempt at name-dropping but rather in awe, really, at realizing that in my small way, I've participated in history by sharing space with--by "touching"--a few who affected history or were greatly affected by it. I'm still in awe, too, that I was alive when FDR was President, he with his wonderful smile and cigarette holder stuck between his teeth.

My point is to look at what's in front of us.  Yes, it would be highly interesting to have seen Washington riding his horse to Trenton after having just crossed the Delaware.  Or to have known what Cleopatra really looked like.  (Of course, there's a lot of history I'm glad to have missed.)  But I can figure I'm a 20th (and 21st) century lass who can visualize aspects of this time right here and now.

As you can, too, I'm sure.  Maybe you were at Woodstock, served in one of the first Peace Corps groups, or met someone who walked on the moon.  Or maybe you were at the Lincoln Memorial in 1963 and heard Martin Luther King give his "I Have a Dream" speech.

Here's that JFK snapshot I mentioned, though on getting it out just now, I muttered to myself, "Oh, rats ... you can't even see him."  Well, I'll include it anyway and blow it up to its max.  Kennedy is in the back seat sitting next to President Abboud of Sudan who's standing.  It's October 4, 1961.  Such an open-car-with-onlookers setting for the President does not exist today and here's the man whose death changed all that.  So history is right here, staring us in the face. 

What We're Eating

After my August posting on GMO corn and the need to buy organic, a friend sent me a list, many pages long, of grocery items (including brand-names) that are contaminated with genetically engineered ingredients.  I found the scope to be quite startling including infant formula, granola bars, chocolate syrup, mayonnaise, salsa, cake mixes, frozen dinners, cereals, soups, soy products, boxes of rice, potato chips, soda and juice drinks, you name it.  Here is the link to that Comprehensive List.

It seems that some twenty years ago, the FDA decided that genetically engineered products did not need testing ... or labeling.  Fortunately, the Europeans have not been so corporate-friendly and have come up with their own tests that make it plain that GMO products are a definite health risk.  France is trying to ban GMOs from all EU countries.  Russian scientists condemn GMOs as well.  Here is a short (15-minute) film about the unparalleled threats ("nothing like them has ever existed") of GMO ingredients.  Film link

But there is some good news.  There is now a Non-GMO Project that puts its logo on GMO-free items.  If you go to their site here, you can do a search for specific items.

This is what the Non-GMO Project logo looks like, found here on a package of Lundberg™ Brown Rice Organic Rice Cakes

I feel fortunate to live in a town where we have an aware, au courant food co-op with a wide choice for those seeking organic, gluten-free, vegan, bulk, and (just getting started) non-GMO items.  Any bulk item labeled "organic" is GMO-free.  But even in our spiffy co-op, though meats now specify if they are hormone or antibiotic free, they make no claim to be GMO-free (though we do have a section for grass-fed beef).  So the animals could have been fed GMO grain and we wouldn't know it.  The same problem is surely true for those juicy rotisseried chickens in the deli.  They are labeled "natural" but that doesn't answer the question.  And then what about eggs and dairy products?  And cake mixes with powdered milk or cookies that contain eggs or soups with cream?  My understanding is that unless the item is specifically marked "organic" or "non-GMO," the chances are good that it has genetically engineered ingredients or the animals from which they came were fed GMO grain.

Here, at the top, is another GMO-free notice.

Obviously, the closer we can buy to the food source, the better since we can then query the grower directly.  Did you feed your chickens GMO corn?  Did you plant non-GMO seeds?  And the more we pester store managers with questions (and objections), the more awareness we will raise.

I've waited to post this until after the election to see if California's Proposition 37 passed--the Mandatory Labeling of Genetically Engineered Food Initiative--or if the corporations won again.  They did; it failed.  (Monsanto, largest developer of genetically engineered crops, spent some $46 million to block it.)  New state initiatives, however, are planned for Oregon and Washington.  And there's apparently a citizens' petition before the FDA.

Though our food co-op's prices can be higher than those found in regular supermarkets, I'm still going to shop there.  (Smaller helpings are always an option.)  Since I prefer to stick around as long as possible, then, yes, I'll buy organic and non-GMO and, yes, I'll pay more at the check-out.  But I figure I'll lessen the doctor bills later.

The Storm ... from My Perspective

My emergency station

We here in Vermont were told to have five days of non-perishable food on hand in the event of power outages from mega-storm Sandy--or what blogger James Howard Kunstler called Apocalyptoween.  We were also told to be prepared for flood and wind damage.  (Having experienced Tropical Storm Irene just a year ago, everyone was playing it safe.)  At least it seemed we wouldn't be in the direct path this time, but since the storm covered such a wide territory, was moving so slowly, and had such a low barometric pressure, we knew we'd be impacted.

So I did the responsible thing and made preparations.  I filled my gas tank and even organized a small evacuation bag.  (Might a tree fall on the house?  Or something go awry at our local nuclear plant?)  I bought extra non-perishable food and started eating the perishable (including what was in my freezer).  I set up a little "emergency station" with candles, matches, large and small flashlights, a battery-operated radio, and my newly-charged cell phone.  Though I'm on town water, I set aside drinking water in case the tap supply became contaminated.  (Glad not to have an electric stove, I knew I could cook by lighting my gas burners with a match.  And I figured that since it was a tropical storm, the temperature would stay warm enough that my pipes wouldn't freeze in the event of no heat.  I have an oil furnace but it's triggered by an electric spark.)   

With trees, trees, trees up and down the East Coast, power outages were a sure thing.  Okay, what then?  What does one do during a prolonged power outage, especially after dark?  My eyes wouldn't thank me for reading by candlelight.  There would be no television, no computer, no catching up on emails or sending queries out to friends in harm's way.  With Mozart-like candlelight, I could conceivably sit at the piano and play something.  Call friends on my cell phone if my land line went out and the cell phone towers stayed put.   Wonder how long we'd have this archaic system of above-ground power lines.  Worry about coastal nuclear reactors.  Wonder about such possibly extensive damage that it would impact people's ability to vote.  Wonder, as well, about New Yorkers particularly--conceivably trapped in high rises with no egress if the elevators weren't working.  (One Manhattan friend's elderly mother died in the 1965 Great Northeast Blackout because she had to climb the stairs to reach her high-up apartment.) 

But ... as it turned out, I needn't have done any prep work at all.  Our area did get high winds and bursts of heavy rain plus a bit of tree damage and some power outages, but right here, all was well.  No downed trees, no live wires littering the road, no broken windows or roof damage.  Power still on, what I ended up doing was watching the devastation on television (though since the storm's landfall and nightfall pretty well coincided, much wasn't apparent until next day).

Even as I watched, I wondered about the storm's ripple effect--the changes it would make in an enormous number of lives.  There would be the initial misery as a result of the destruction, but there would also be a new appreciation of what was truly important.  There would be new people in one's life as a result of the storm ... plus new resolve to put aside weary old ways, weary old attitudes and begin to work in new directions whether in hydrology, cinema, politics, banking, energy, food supply.  Along with those hints of roads to now travel (and roads to give up), there could even be great epiphanies including some that might help lead this country's power-mongers out of their hubris, greed, manipulation, and obstructionism.  As a result of the storm, someone might decide to leave the East Coast and go solar in Colorado.  Or finish up that degree at UCLA.  Or figure how to finally bury East Coast power lines.  Or go down the block and help a new neighbor.  So, yes, I was thinking about all this as I watched ... and as I listened to the wind pummel my tall trees, making a great whooshing sound, and the rain spatter the windows as if someone were tossing gravel against the glass.

Photos of Autumn in Santa Fe

When I lived in Santa Fe some years back, I bought a camera (a point-and-shoot, nothing fancy) and made regular excursions to find scenes to take back to my studio and turn into paintings.  I tried the plein aire thing--painting landscapes from life rather than from photos--but never found it satisfactory.  Ants would crawl up my legs.  Or I'd have to keep shifting to stay out of the sun.  Or a sudden squall would come up.  Or I'd see a striking scene where it wasn't convenient to park myself.  I even came to the conclusion that the best way to pursue plein aire art was to first find an appropriate place to sit and then look around for something to paint.

But I gathered a nice complement of photos.  Here are a few autumnal scenes, all of which I thought I might paint one day.

Mountain aspens

A blue, blue sky and an amazing patch of red

Bandelier Garden on Canyon Road

Up Hyde Park Road behind Santa Fe

The red gate, hint of the scruffy house, plus the silvers and bronzes seemed an unusual, painterly scene.

There's that red patch again ... Hyde Park Road on the way up to the Ski Basin.

Chamisa in bloom

O'Keeffe country ... Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu

Pastel Paintings of Autumn in Santa Fe

Pastels

The word "pastel" is so often associated with a soft-color palette that one might not realize it can also refer to little chalky sticks that are used a bit like crayons.  No brush is involved.  (And so I've always had a bit of an argument with those who call such works "paintings" but that, indeed, is the term.)  The artist, Wolf Kahn, once described pastels as being like "the dust on butterflies' wings."

I lived in Santa Fe some years ago turning my well-lit breakfast area into an art studio.  I attempted a few oil paintings but didn't like having toxic fumes--from both the paints and the turpentine--around food.  So I fished out a box of pastels that had belonged to my parents and used them instead.  One of my favorite activities when living there was to browse through a splendid art store on Canyon Road and come away with anything at all--a new little sketch book, a sable watercolor brush, or more luscious, colorful pastels.

Wanting to get into the Santa Fe art scene, I decided to do a series of pieces and present them to various galleries.  So, using pastels as my medium, I picked autumn as my subject.  In the end, I did manage to exhibit two or three but as for finding representation, I'd get such comments as, "Oh, pastel.  Well, we already have our pastel artist."  (As if they were only allowed one.)  Or "These are very nice.  If they were in oils, I'd take them."  Or (and this was from Elizabeth Taylor's son--he with her same violet eyes--in a gallery on Canyon Road), "Thanks but we already have a lot of work we don't even have space for."  I ended up hanging some on my walls, selling a few, and storing the rest in my portfolio between sheets of protective glassine.

An Alameda Hallowe'en

Aspen Autumn

Blue Chairs

Gathering Copper Light

One Hallowe'en in Bandelier Garden

October Orchard

Indian Summer (I expected to rephotograph this but sold it before I could.)

Tesuque Trail

Arroyo (Not autumn, but I like it so thought I'd include it.)

Next week's posting, the last in this October Splurge, will show photos of autumn in Santa Fe.

Photos of Autumn in Vermont

As the sun heads south and the days shorten, trees draw their sap, their strength, their chlorophyll into their core to keep from freezing.  All that remains is structure, cells, bare bones, color ... for, under the chlorophyll, an oak leaf is brown, a box elder yellow, a sugar maple red.  So saying, the countryside has now been awash in school-bus yellows and enough reds and oranges to bring leaf peepers in their out-of-state cars to meander our dirt-bumpy roads, stop at our over-looks, and photograph any covered bridge in sight.  Fun times.

Here are some local scenes from autumns past.

An apple orchard ... where the movie The Cider House Rules was filmed.

Some of its apples

Next week's posting will show paintings of autumn in Santa Fe.