Monday, November 25th
The Fortunes of Francesca
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| Medical student brother, evil uncle, MOC. |
Upcoming Reprise
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The Fortunes of Francesca--Reprise
This is my last reprise and, let me just say, it's been a peach rolling around in all this Betty awesomeness. Having read through all the comments on the original post and discussion thread, I have two observations. 1) I think it's agreed that Francesca is one of the best heroines in the late Canon. and 2) The comments from the Great Socking Betty Blogland are the thing that has made this so fabulous. Here are snippits of comments from just this novel:
- It was nice for an RDD to recognize a snub and react against it (rather than hand one out himself like, oh I don't know...Nasty Reilof?) when he walks out on his godmother's shindig. She doesn't know it (after all, you're kinda stuck with godmothers), but FRANNY does. Good for him!
- You failed to mention that Lady Trumper is Marc's godmother. I think this is the only time a Neels hero has a rotten godmother. I was quite surprised when that little plot point came along. How did either of his parents come to know such a person? and value her enough to make her godmother to their child? Or maybe Lady T was nicer 35 years ago??
- $5000 pounds for Harrods? Really? Wow. I've never even shopped at a place where I could spent $5000 in one go. There are no such places in Podunk, PA. None.
- Betty Barbara here--
Thanks for mentioning the mobile phone, because that jogged my memory for something else I wanted to mention. Mayhap this book was written earlier that it was published--a lot earlier.
Marc's elderly butler/man of the house is mentioned to have been in the resistance with Marc's dad. Given that the book was copyrighted in the late 1990's, that would make faithful retain around 80 years old(If he had been in his 20's during WWII). If Marc's dad was his contemporary, and Marc is typical RDD age(say 37), the Marc's dad was well into his 40's when Marc is born. Of course, dad and retainer could have been teens during the war, which would make retainer in his early to mid 70's and put dad back to typical RDD age when Marc was born.
Anyway--a round about way of mentioning that I think this is the last Betty Book that mentions WWII.
Love, love and lardy cakes!
Betty Keira
I can't believe this is my last review. I was a little nervous about doing The Fortunes of Francesca - I know it's not a universal favorite (as if there is such a thing!). There are no 'other women', no pet rescues, no adorable kiddies...the romance is really long in coming...despite all (or perhaps because of) that, I adore this book. Adore it. Let's dig in.
Francesca Bowen (23) is sorely in need of work. She's had two years worth of nurses training, that and a dollar bill will buy you your hearts desire (as long as your heart only desires things from the dollar store). She's the breadwinner of a family that includes, a) her aunt, Mrs. Blake and b) her younger brother (and medical student), Finn. Auntie can't work (health issues), and Francesca and Auntie won't allow Finn to work. Their household is oddly devoid of animal companionship.
Francesca answers an ad seeking a 'girl Friday'. Lady Trumper is not willing to engage her, Francesca is not deemed suitable. She is however, suitable enough to do a spot of heroic rescue work in Lady Trumper's kitchen wherein Elsie (a servant) is bleeding from a nicked artery. Professor Marc van der Kettener (35) is impressed with Francesca's sangfroid-i-ness. It's not every day that you meet a small mousy stranger who's that cool in the face of adversity.
Working for Lady Trumper is not particularly fun, but Francesca manages to spread a little sunshine, endure what must be endured and enjoy whatever little pleasures are offered - and she's a pro at recognizing the good things in life. Editor's Note: If you don't like characters like Pollyanna, you probably won't like Francesca - she seems to go through life playing The Glad Game (see first paragraph of the plot summary on wiki if you're not familiar with this game).
The Professor sees Francesca walking down a busy street - so he pulls over and picks her up. She's her usual outgoing self, but he's not sure what to make of her. It's like she doesn't have an off switch.
'I trust Lady Trumper doesn't have to listen to your chatter?'I'm not sure that you could call the Professor a kindred spirit - at least not when it comes to chatting, but he is intrigued by Francesca's indomitable spirit. When life hands her lemons, she doesn't just make lemonade, she makes a friggin' lemon meringue pie.
'No, no...I speak only when spoken to. Sorry to have bored you, but you did look like the kind of person one could chat with.
Franny, being Franny can't help but be forthright. When Lady Trumper discloses her unethical bill paying strategy, Franny corrects her. Faster than the grass is growing in my front yard (the van der Stevejincks have an embarrassment of lush greenery at this time of year), Lady T sacks her. Francesca isn't overly fussed - after all, she was planning on quitting in a few days. Lady Trumper threatens non-payment of wages, but Franny very reasonably counter-threatens to take her to court.
The Haven in Pimlico. It sounds to me like a place where old racehorses are put to pasture - which is sort of what it is. The Haven is a small rest-home/geriatric facility, conveniently located only a short bus ride from Francesca's home on Fish Street. The pay isn't great - neither are the hours, but at least it's a job. At least it's a job right up until Francesca slips and sprains her ankle. Then loses her job. The little household is firmly wedged between a rock and a hard place. There's simply not enough funds to go around. Truly the low point for Francesca, Auntie and Finn. If only the Professor was around to chat with...
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| Francesca could have whipped the winged Nazgul all by herself...if she hadn't needed to protect Auntie. |
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| You have no power here. I plan to marry Francesca. |
He's back in London and Franny is on his mind, but where is she? Not on Fish Street, that's for sure. She's gone without a forwarding address. The Professor is not without resources...and by resources I mean Finn. Finn has been uneasy about Franny - her letters don't sound like her. The two men cook up a rescue plan. Leaving at the crack of dawn, the men drive down to Dorset and beard the dragon in his den. Uncle William doesn't care if they take Mrs. Blake, but for some reason he feels that keeping a 23 year-old niece is his right. The Professor says,I have that right, we're to be married. Franny just about swallows her tongue - but Finn shushes her - leave it to the professor. Auntie is dropped off at the hospital and Francesca is to stay at Marc's place.
- Francesca might be too thin, too pale and too tired, but she had the light of battle in her eyes.
- Marc's secretary, Mrs. Willett, will chaperone (and thus preserve Francesca's reputation).
- Marc gives Francesca carte blanche at Harrod's for a new wardrobe, including wedding outfit. Francesca sensibly agrees to it - she has no money of her own.
- Marc watches Francesca walk back to his place looking 'as though she intended to conquer the world'.
- Francesca tries to be more of a silent type...I find your silence quite terrifying. Francesca has a knack when it comes to chatting with absolute strangers. She gets to hear about all sorts of interesting things - how proud the saleslady at Harrods is that her son got into cathedral choir school, which hospital the cabby had his appendix out at, the butler's sister's chilblains, etc...Her effort at being quiet is to try and fit herself into a mold - a mold of what she perceives as the ideal wife for Marc. Although he's not able to articulate it yet, he just wants her to be herself. He's had glimpses into her awesomeness - just enough to know that while she may be small and plain and mousy, she is also happy, courageous and, well, awesome.
- Oh, and she realizes she's in love with him. Has been for some time.
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| Truer words were never spoken. |
Back in London Marc tells Francesca that they are going to a dinner party at Lady Trumper's. No! says Franny. Yes! says Marc. He's not ashamed of her. Franny finds her friendly salesgirl at Harrod's and together they find The Amber Chiffon Dress of Destiny. It turns Franny into a stunner. Marc is somewhat gobsmacked at how pretty she is. She can see the unspoken compliment in his eyes, which helps carry her through the cocktail hour. Lady Trumper can't help but be spiteful and rude about Francesca - to Marc, who won't stand foranyone to insult Francesca. He invents a medical emergency and takes Francesca out to dine and dance. Editor's Note:Marc has been very gradually leading up to falling in love with Francesca - I think this evening is the critical eye-opener for him. He's still not quite ready to admit it to himself, but he does very soon hereafter.
Marc has to go to Israel for a week or so. On the brink of leaving, he nearly confesses his love - but is interrupted. Dang. There's just time to give Franny a kiss.
The final scene is as cute as it is short...
- Marc hides out in his downstairs office - Franny knows he's there because she can see his car. She finally goes downstairs to see him.
- Franny thinks Marc is happy because he's fallen for someone - she tells him she just wants him to be happy.
- Why?
- Because I love you more than anything in the world.
- I love you too - and I was sitting here wondering how to tell you.
- I'll tell you how to do it, said Franny...(brilliant, absolutely brilliant)
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| Family van der Kettener, the later years. |
'...Two of each, said Franny, then they can make up a tennis four.'
'...At least you don't hanker after a cricket eleven.'
The End.
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| Francesca reminds me of a doll I owned in the early 1960's . |
Food: Eggs, bacon and fried bread, fish and chips supplied by the Professor, steak and kidney pudding (twice), tea and crumpets, 'warm milk laced with the best brandy', fairy cakes, sprits, roast pheasant, red cabbage and a rich pudding with whipped cream. Franny makes three kinds of sandwiches - Gentleman's Relish, cucumber and egg and cress.
Fashion: navy skirt with a white blouse topped with a navy cardigan, a sodden woolly hat and a mac that clings damply, TWO pre-wedding shopping trips to Harrods - fully financed by Marc! At her first post-wedding dinner party she wears a dark red velvet dress. To go to Lady Trumper's dinner party, Francesca splurges on the Amber Chiffon Dress of Destiny that pretty much stops Marc in his tracks.
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Betty in the Wild: Lubbock!
So BettyAnoninTX and the PRT took me in for a couple of nights in Lubbock. Once I'd figured out the time zones (Arizona doesn't do daylight saving, which makes it a little extra complicated), the visit was pure delight.
We visited the Buddy Holly Center, to mourn the early death and celebrate the great achievements of Lubbock's favorite son. We also visited his gravesite, where his family got a chance to correct the historical record by spelling his surname correctly; it's 'Holley.' They used his nickname, however -- 'Buddy' -- in place of his birth-name, Charles.
Then we were off to the National Ranching Heritage Center, which includes a park adorned with actual homes, businesses and a schoolhouse (no church?) moved to Lubbock from various points in Texas and maybe eastern New Mexico. These were fascinating. BettyAnoninTX and I agreed that, had we had to build a house from cactus to survive the harsh desert in the 19th century, we most likely would have died sunburnt, thirsty, hungry and soon.
After dinner at Chuy's, which is every bit as good as BettyanoninTX will tell you it is, we strolled the Pumpkin Path in celebration of the vulgar American holiday Halloween.
And on my way out of town, I saw a working ranch with traditional entryway. Lovely visit! Thank you so much, BAiT and PRT!
We visited the Buddy Holly Center, to mourn the early death and celebrate the great achievements of Lubbock's favorite son. We also visited his gravesite, where his family got a chance to correct the historical record by spelling his surname correctly; it's 'Holley.' They used his nickname, however -- 'Buddy' -- in place of his birth-name, Charles.
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| This total stranger, wearing Buddy-style specs, agreed in the most friendly fashion to show Alexandra around. |
Then we were off to the National Ranching Heritage Center, which includes a park adorned with actual homes, businesses and a schoolhouse (no church?) moved to Lubbock from various points in Texas and maybe eastern New Mexico. These were fascinating. BettyAnoninTX and I agreed that, had we had to build a house from cactus to survive the harsh desert in the 19th century, we most likely would have died sunburnt, thirsty, hungry and soon.
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| Where Penny Bright wound up after her misspent months in Vegas. |
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| Penny would no doubt have shacked up with this cowpoke if he had any money at all. But he doesn't. (Note book resting on his left wrist.) |
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| If Taro were a poor man, Alexandra would have loved him just as well, and would have made their home a haven of peace with the help of her trusty (American-made) Singer. |
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| BettyAnoninTX loves one-room schoolhouses, which this is not. |
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| BettyAnoninTX and the PRT both love pronghorn, even when desecrated -- I mean, decorated -- by 'yarnstormers.' |
After dinner at Chuy's, which is every bit as good as BettyanoninTX will tell you it is, we strolled the Pumpkin Path in celebration of the vulgar American holiday Halloween.
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| Trick-or-treaters are fine for vulgar Penny; Alexandra will stick with mummers, thank you veddy much. |
And on my way out of town, I saw a working ranch with traditional entryway. Lovely visit! Thank you so much, BAiT and PRT!
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| Jenny might not be right at home on the range, but this is at least as substantial a family heritage as are most of the estates in Somerset. |
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Upcoming Reprise
Monday, December 2nd
The Final Touch
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| MOC, twins, burn unit. |
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The Final Touch - Reprise
It's been 2 1/2 years since Betty Keira and I finished reviewing all the books in the canon.
The first time.
Nine hundred and fifty days ago.
It's been fourteen hundred forty three days from the very first post. Nearly four years.
The Founding Bettys never imagined that their secret love of all things Neels was shared by anyone else...or at least by anyone else willing to admit it. Our Uncrushable Manifesto was simple...
"Our original goals were modest. Review all the Betty books and enjoy ourselves and try not to talk about it too much in front of our not-yet-Betty sisters. Maybe, just maybe, our signal fire on the beach would catch a stray visitor but we knew better than reach for the moon. After all, this was a blog about Betty. And nobody we knew ever read Betty. And even if they did...would they know how to use 'computer'?"Well, our signal fire has grown to 1,494 published posts (yes, I checked) and well over half a million page views (over 579,277 according to the stats on Blogger). That's a lot more action than we ever anticipated when we began.
The Uncrushable Jersey Dress hasn't been the only thing The Founding Bettys have been involved in during this time:
Betty Keira's family has grown...in both size and number.
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| Betty Keira's family at the very beginning of our blog... |
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| ...and at the end (well, she still has a husband, evidently he was taking the picture here). My family has had its share of milestones: 1 child graduated from high school, 2 kids returned from missions, 2 kids graduated from college, 2 kids got married, one grandchild was born, and we've been on about a million road trips/vacations. |
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| Grandson Henry meets his Uncle Alex for the first time. |
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| The van der Stevejinck family has driven countless miles...(COUNTLESS!!!) on their many road trips... |
Betty Keira and I won't be abandoning this blog completely - feel free to make comments on old posts, take Betty in the Wild pictures (and email them to us), send recommendations for Betty-approved Life After Betty suggestions (non-Neels authors/books), Cinema Betty suggestions or whatever else floats your boat.
Plus, for those inclined, there is always Facebook.
It's been our sincere pleasure sharing our love of The Great Betty with our fellow Bettys. Thank you so much for participating.
Love and lardy cakes,
The Founding Bettys
p.s. I hope you enjoy The Final Touch. It's a lovely little book to finish up with.
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| Even Bono feels it: 'And the last Betty read, yeah, sounds the clanging chimes of doom...' |
Professor Tyco van der Brons, 39, does not work in the Path Lab. So why is he staring with microscopic intensity at the mousy English nurse? He knows her history--hasn't it been hospital grapevine fodder for weeks now? She found a job here in Holland on the recommendation of Cor van Kamp (a worthless young scalp-collector) and, with a trusting instinct no more developed than a babe newly born, she built high hopes on the lines he fed her. Tyco sees all this but his own troubled romantic history lends him an extra-sensory perception. Though he is a lofty professor/consultant of 39, he sees that Nurse Charity Pearson , 23, is about to have a similar romantic fall. Moreover, he seems to know that she won't be able to brush it off like other girls her age. He doesn't love her but he, nevertheless, knows that she's JUST. LIKE. HIM.
Charity is heartsick--not just to be on the receiving end of pitying glances and bracing smiles, but genuinely torn up that Cor proves himself to be so unworthy of her, by this time, unwilling regard--and accepts the Professor's brotherly hand of friendship with happy relief. Still, Cor is becoming a growing problem. He's like a barnacle that has attached itself to her hull and won't shake itself loose. She's convinced that an extended stay at a maritime museum dry docks is just what the doctor ordered--barnacles will be scraped and no new ones will have a chance to try their cement glands on her at all.
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| My side-arm is in my other pants... |
Tyco already knows that Charity has self-control, dignity, a fine work ethic, empathy toward the disfigured and a willingness to throw her punches straight from the shoulder but he also has occasion to learn that she's an Urban Supergirl. Rushing into a burning row house she saves the life of an infant and a toddler, receiving some burns on the backs of her hands herself (which, btw, seems like a funny place to get them unless you're holding a baby and pushing open a door with the exposed part of your hand). Tyco discovers her in shock sitting on her bed in the nurse's home, treats her and (I think) decides then and there to sometime soon offer her a marriage of convenience. Why else would he lay bare the sordid history of his philandering first wife? He establishes himself as a fellow sufferer of love's outrageous fortune, gets to tell her about his marital status...and the kids.
Oh, have I not mentioned them? Letizia and Teile (First wives--for that matter, all wives--in Neelsland are Fertile Myrtles) are two precocious 10-year-old twins brought up by their soon-to-be-leaving governess, Miss Bloom--a velvet hand in the steel glove. They like Charity right away (which Tyco observes with relief) and press her to visit them again. (She's there for tea.) Not very long after, she makes the amazing discovery that Cor no longer matters.
Hard on the heels of that is Tyco's proposal. Only believe me when I say I have a great regard for you and believe that we could be happy as a family. He proposed for the sake of the girls, of course. That, and the cold fact that she doesn't excite him. Why else? Not even Tyco could answer that one.
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| There's Newly Married and then there's Snuggie Married |
Until he falls in love with her. He thought he knew what she was like--and he did know on some cerebral level that she was loyal, brave, plucky...But living with her is something else entirely and maybe he remembers that first, wretched marriage (that was never any sort of marriage at all) contrasted with the quiet pleasure now of coming home to his family and his feelings become quite jumbled. Suddenly it matters awfully that anyone would ever hurt someone as wonderful as Charity and maybe it matters, too, that he's so much older than she is and...As you can tell, Tyco is on his beam ends.
But Charity is still wandering flashlight-less in a Dark Romantic Fog and might still be if not for the untimely appearance of Eunice, who, is probably as flat-chested as her name indicates. She is Charity's step-sister and your average, run-of-the mill fashion model come to play tennis. (Not tennis? Then why is her back-hand so good?)
I love this part because it could really have gone off the rails but doesn't.
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| Charity had the exterminator on speed dial. |
- Eunice invites herself to the townhouse. (I'm reminded of those Orkin commercials where the life-sized bug wants to use the phone as a pretext to home invasion.)
- Charity lies to her face and tells her she has to leave at the end of the week. (Birthday party. Loads of family. Don't let the door hit you on the rear on your way out.)
- Tyco backs Charity up to the hilt (Which is a welcome relief from all those RDDs who think out of a mistaken sense of honor that one mustn't dislodge a guest under circumstances short of burning the house down--which, come to think of it, Charity might have been willing to do.), making the most of his opportunities by ramping up the endearments.
- One of the girls gets sick on the very night that Tyco promised to take Flat-chested Eunice out to dinner. A minor spat ensues and then, later that night as Charity lurks in the shadows, Tyco KISSES Eunice...or she pretends to.
Happily, Charity doesn't have to resort to burning down the house. Though Eunice was to leave the following afternoon, she tells her to get the $^%$ out of her #@!$# house and not to darken her *@#;*!@ -- ;#@@#^ door ever again. (Think of a Samuel L. "Bleep-Bleep" Jackson-Snakes-on-a-Plane freak out.)Tyco and Charity have another spat (pretty minor stuff) where they are more than willing to meet each other half-way (but not at the same time) and it is just too bad that when Tyco leans forward to deliver an affectionate kiss Charity steps away. Don't do that. I can't bear it.
A mini ice age develops on their front doorstep.
Later the next day, Charity is trotting down the hospital corridor on her way from having tea with the SNO and probably feeling less the Grand Married Lady than she ever has, when Cor oozes out from under the nearest rock. Though he attempts to break her composure, she sweeps past him in a gesture that reminds me of when the mad-cap Sister Maria returns from her honeymoon with The Captain and he has to sing Edelweiss in front of everybody and she moves to his side, picking up the threads of his lost melody and beckons with all the confidence of a happily married woman to her children to join them.
Tyco sees them, however and missed the subtleties of her confident gesture and accuses her of "meetings". She fights back the only way she knows how; by reaching up on her tippy-toes and kissing his chin.
He chases her down, bundles her into the car, gets her nice and alone and kisses her back.
The End
Rating: Queen of Puddings. I really like this book and maybe it doesn't deserve this high a rating but my Wistful-O-Meter (see right) over the end of reviews has been hovering around Anne Murray and threatening any moment to enter the hitherto uncharted Don McLean reaches so I'm giving myself some artistic license on this one.I have a theory about books--that any one of them can find a comparable Jane Austin equivalent. So, The Final Touch is not sparkling like Pride and Prejudice but quietly romantic like Persuasion. Charity has such a raw deal and Tyco expects so little happiness in life that, even though they're not riding many emotional roller-coasters, you're rooting for them to make a happy family. I'm never tempted to get irritated with Charity for that I-shall-never-love-again business because her hurt and humiliation are just so fresh. Tyco is forgiven for it because his first at-bat was a fiasco of Homeric proportions.
Letizia and Teile are darlings. I love the part where they make doll houses out of old boxes with Charity.
I enjoy all the hospital set-up in this one too. You really get a sense of the enormous social chasm that ought to have separated them (underlined vividly when Charity returns after her marriage to have tea with the senior nursing officer) but doesn't because, at heart, they are cut from the same cloth.
Eunice is an interesting distraction and, happily, Tyco isn't terribly good at dangling her in Charity's face (for that matter, Charity is being rather obstinate about her motherly duties), even going so far as to compliment Charity for her ability to lie like a trooper just to toss her sister to the curb.
Food: Groentensoup, zeetong (sole), spekpannenkoeken with stroop, kerstkrans (a ring-shaped Christmas cake), poulet a l'estragon, pumpkin souffle, biscuit glace with fresh raspberries, wedding cake, little mushroom pancakes, and vichyssoise (just saying it makes my IQ jump ten points).
Fashion: Charity owns a soft, grey jersey dress which sounds suspiciously mouse-like, a burned coat gets replaced with a dark green winter coat and she buys a cranberry needlecord that carries her through upsetting social occasions like getting proposed to. She has to talk the girls out of satin and yards of lace and a pearl-embroidered veil and satin slippers and long white gloves and into the considerably less romantic wool coat, hat and patent leather shoes (If Kate Middleton shows up in these tomorrow I lay odds that the monarchy could cock its toes up.). She totters around on high heels for the girls and owns a gorgeous sapphire dress. Sister Eunice swans around in fashions that probably reached their sell-by date before the book hit the publishers.
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Betty in the Wild: OOOOOOklahoma (and a bit more Texas)
After a lovely Lubbock visit, the Betties and I hit the road once more, heading east and north through Texas. As previously noted, we saw classic ranch entrances whilst we traveled toward and through the panhandle.
Throughout the mid-section of the United States, I have been struck by the beauty of the grasslands. The long, multi-colored grasses glimmer in the sunlight, unlike the not-quite-so-long, pretty-much-just-green grass of my front yard.
I had never been in Oklahoma before! As per, I loved it. Big, broad, beautiful landscapes every which where, except in Oklahoma City, which seemed to stretch about 30 miles.
Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge in Oklahoma is helping to preserve not only prairie dogs and bison, but also longhorn cattle. It's gorgeous and has great hiking trails.
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| Not Jenny's ancestral estate |
Throughout the mid-section of the United States, I have been struck by the beauty of the grasslands. The long, multi-colored grasses glimmer in the sunlight, unlike the not-quite-so-long, pretty-much-just-green grass of my front yard.
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| Not the conventional floral beauty of Madeira and the Canaries, but Texas nonetheless offers some pretty awesome scenery. |
I had never been in Oklahoma before! As per, I loved it. Big, broad, beautiful landscapes every which where, except in Oklahoma City, which seemed to stretch about 30 miles.
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| Not Jenny's ancestral home farm. |
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| Not Jenny's ancestral autumnal hill. |
Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge in Oklahoma is helping to preserve not only prairie dogs and bison, but also longhorn cattle. It's gorgeous and has great hiking trails.
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| Oh, give me a home... where the winds go sweeping down the plains... |
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| Fuzzy! Wuzzy! I should have put Tishy and Jason in this photo, so they could save George from goring. Bison run fast. |
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Quick Quiz
Courtesy of my English brother-in-law, who seems to have dug into the oeuvre. Please, no web-searches for book quotes; just answer as best you can from your standing knowledge of the World of Betty:
#1) In which Betty does our plucky heroine consider "Michael Caine and Kojak" (!?!?) the pinnacles of masculinity?
#1a) Whom do you consider to be the pinnacles of masculinity?
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#2) In which Betty does our plucky heroine get covered in chips (french fried potatoes)?
#2a) What is the most distressing thing in which you, or your favorite hero or heroine, have ever been covered?
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#3) In which Betty does our plucky heroine own a dog named Rough?
#3a) Have you ever accidentally named a dog something you couldn't shout easily when s/he escaped the lead whilst gamboling in the park?
#1) In which Betty does our plucky heroine consider "Michael Caine and Kojak" (!?!?) the pinnacles of masculinity?
#1a) Whom do you consider to be the pinnacles of masculinity?
#2) In which Betty does our plucky heroine get covered in chips (french fried potatoes)?#2a) What is the most distressing thing in which you, or your favorite hero or heroine, have ever been covered?
#3) In which Betty does our plucky heroine own a dog named Rough?#3a) Have you ever accidentally named a dog something you couldn't shout easily when s/he escaped the lead whilst gamboling in the park?
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Betty in the Wild: Not Everything is Up-to-Date in Kansas City
For instance, the steamship 'Arabia,' which sank in the mighty Missouri River in 1856. Just three years old at the time of the wreck, the Arabia was pretty high end for her time. However, no boat of those days was a match for the Big Muddy; the ships that survived were just luckier than the ones that went down. The river was famously described as, "too thick to drink; too thin to plow," and less famously, its course could alter by as much as a mile in a single day. In other words, one could cut engines, paddlewheels, oars or whatever and drop anchor in one place in the evening, and be a mile west or east of that by morning. Since the steamships of the day were powered by burning wood, sailors cut down trees all along the shifting banks, which created erosion, which sent tremendous tree trunks and root systems into the thick and mobile riverbed. Those downed limbs, trunks and roots became 'snags' that could stove in a wooden hull without warning. That's what happened to the Arabia. Everyone managed to debark in darkening evening, but most of the luggage and all the cargo, and one unfortunate mule (kind of like a donkey, Betty) were left aboard, and all had vanished into the water and mud by morning.
Over a century later, an intrepid family managed to locate the deeply-buried ship with the help of friends, and dig it up between harvest and planting seasons. They've put most of what they found on display in a museum in Kansas City, Missouri. Their story is quite a bit more interesting than the Arabia's.
They've recovered 200 tons of cargo from the ship, much of which is on display. It's mostly mid-priced housewares and farming and hunting tools.
The more up-to-date parts of KC include a delightful New Orleans-style cafe called Beignet, a happy dog at a sidewalk table, and the super-wonderful chocolatier Christopher Elbow.
Over a century later, an intrepid family managed to locate the deeply-buried ship with the help of friends, and dig it up between harvest and planting seasons. They've put most of what they found on display in a museum in Kansas City, Missouri. Their story is quite a bit more interesting than the Arabia's.
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| The paddle wheel. Sarah Ann and Hugo will surely go on a cruise someday. |
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| The hapless anchor. Hugo is Sarah Ann's anchor. |
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| A portion of the snag that wrecked the Arabia. Sarah Ann and Hugo encounter several less literal. |
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| The reconstructed hull of the Arabia. Doesn't Sarah Ann feel rudderless at points? |
They've recovered 200 tons of cargo from the ship, much of which is on display. It's mostly mid-priced housewares and farming and hunting tools.
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| Hardware. Is that Alice's department? |
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| China, mostly, and not Delft. |
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| Boots, etc., for use in the Highlands. Or frontier. Whatever. |
The more up-to-date parts of KC include a delightful New Orleans-style cafe called Beignet, a happy dog at a sidewalk table, and the super-wonderful chocolatier Christopher Elbow.
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| New Orleans is strongly influenced by French culture; the van Elvens visit France. |
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| Non-stray dog who seconds before I snapped this photo was all over me. As soon as his human companion returned to luncheon, however, Pup was through with me. Obviously loved and well-cared-for, otherwise I'd have thrown him in the car and brought him 3,000 miles and eventually home with me. Very handsome and personable pup. |
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| Inspired, no doubt, at least in part by Dutch confectionary, KC favorit son Christopher Elbow is one of the world's most acclaimed chocolatiers. The woman working the register (my tab was over $150!! Lots of gifts for friends and hosts! Plus a hot chocolate for me. And a few choccies for me. I like choccies) was born near Detroit to Canadian parents, moved as an adult to Washington, DC and then to Los Angeles, and settled a few years ago in Kansas City. She loves it. |
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Betty in the Wild: Meet Me at the St. Louis Zoo
St. Louis has one of the premier zoos in the world, and it's free to all. Amazing.
Sightseeing, as we all know, is exhausting, and requires a reservation for tea at The London Tea Room. While not quite Fortnum's, it has a massive selection of teas, with a Betty-worthy literary quality to the menu. As a for-instance, this is their menu listing for their grilled cheese sandwich: "The Grilled 3-Cheese Sandwich - Sharp English cheddar, Swiss and chèvre cheeses cross international boundaries and melt unilaterally with caramelized onions on Pugliese bread. One frightening step closer to the New World Order and/or heartburn." Ha ha!
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| This statue might seem vulgar at a Somerset estate or Den Haag mansion, but a heffalunk with a late-October celebratory punkin on its head is just the right welcoming touch for a zoo. |
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| Nothing is more relaxing for a convalescent aunt then a peaceful afternoon gazing at ephelumps. |
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| Margaret is not a hyena. |
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| Cats don't get a lot of type-space in Grasp a Nettle, but you know Jenny cares about them. And these cats can keep up with Eduard's Great Dane. |
Sightseeing, as we all know, is exhausting, and requires a reservation for tea at The London Tea Room. While not quite Fortnum's, it has a massive selection of teas, with a Betty-worthy literary quality to the menu. As a for-instance, this is their menu listing for their grilled cheese sandwich: "The Grilled 3-Cheese Sandwich - Sharp English cheddar, Swiss and chèvre cheeses cross international boundaries and melt unilaterally with caramelized onions on Pugliese bread. One frightening step closer to the New World Order and/or heartburn." Ha ha!
 |
| Jenny would not approve my choice of Jasmine Dragon Tears green tea, but she'd be able to pick a more traditional blend, like maybe Queen of Hearts -- certainly not Naughty Vicar! |
↧
↧
New Year's Resolution
I will get back to work on my work-in-progress. In a bid to push myself along, I plan to post an installment every two weeks or so, unless y'all beg me to stop.
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter 1, part 1
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter 1, part 1
Amsterdam, justly renowned for the beauty of its city center, is nonetheless a bit of a maze. Tory stopped in a convenient ell to study her map. After a not-very-edifying morning around Dam Square, she wanted a traditional Dutch pancake for her lunch, and had no interest in accidentally veering into the Red Light District on her way to the pannekoekhuis. “If I’ve figured out how to pronounce it,” she muttered, tracing the swirling lines of the city’s spiderweb, “I should be able to get to it.” She lifted her head, though, when an unexpected sound penetrated the bustle of the city – a shout for help?
Tory trotted toward the sound, and it came again as she reached a corner. There, just ahead on the side street, were three or four people clustered around a man lying on the sidewalk. She joined the group quickly, saying, “I’m a nurse. Could I help?”
“Thank goodness,” one of the women standing by said with an English accent, as the man on the ground spoke up through clenched teeth.
“I only stepped off the curb, but my foot slipped oddly from under me, and my right leg’s quite painful.” His pale face, lightly beaded with sweat, testified he was understating the case.
“Has anyone phoned for an ambulance?” Tory asked, kneeling by the stranger and beginning a gentle examination of his leg. “It’s easier than you might think to break a bone just by twisting it while walking about. And I’m afraid,” she added, skimming a hand lightly over the tell-tale protrusion, “that you’ve fractured your fibula.”
Her sidewalk patient grimaced while above them the Englishwoman cried, “Oh, Frank!”
“The ambulance?” Tory asked again.
“Perhaps I might assist?” a new voice interjected, in a deep rumble with just a hint of the mellifluous Dutch accent. Tory glanced up – and up – a long way up! The newcomer was strikingly tall, and strikingly handsome; and now he was kneeling on the other side of the injured man from her, speaking rapid Dutch into a cell phone. While her hands automatically did the limited first aid appropriate, her eyes and brain registered fair hair shading to silver at the temples, pale blue eyes, determined chin, not-quite-Roman nose and full lips. She blushed as she realized those lips were now directing a question to her, and those eyes had noticed her staring.
“You’re a doctor?” he asked. “I am, as well; an orthopedist with a practice here in Amsterdam.”
Tory rushed to explain, “I’m just a nurse, doctor. This gentleman seems to have a closed fracture of the fibula, with possible involvement of the tibia. I think I’ve done all I can for first aid.”
“Surely there’s no such thing as ‘just’ a nurse, please,” the doctor replied. “You and your colleagues are essential to the successful practice of medicine, and you’ve done well here. I’ve contacted the hospital, and our ambulance will be along shortly. How are you feeling now, sir?” he asked, turning to the patient. “The technicians will be able to administer some pain relief.”
“Well, I’m very grateful for the diagnosis and the young lady’s help,” the Englishman answered. “I admit I wouldn’t say no to some kind of painkiller, though.” As he spoke, the sound of a siren neared, and people moved away to make room for the ambulance. Tory stood and felt a hand on her elbow. The Englishwoman who had spoken first had grabbed her.
“Thank you so much for helping my husband,” she said. “Poor Frank! My nursing skills don’t go beyond sticking on a plaster, and I know he was in a lot of pain, even if he was trying not to show it. I didn’t want to make it worse! Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“I’ve heard great things about the medical care in the Netherlands,” Tory answered. “In fact, I think the medical school at Leiden was one of the first in the world. Your husband should be fine here, and lower-leg breaks usually heal up thoroughly in a few months.”
“What a way to end a vacation! I’m Valerie Bailey, by the way; and Frank and I are indebted to you. Could I offer you dinner tonight as a thank-you?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t take you away from your husband tonight. He’ll probably need a minor surgical procedure, and maybe a night at the hospital. And I barely did anything.”
“Well, let me know your name, at least. Are you a tourist, like us?”
“Tory Bird.” They shook hands. “I’m here for just a few days, sightseeing. Then I’ll head home to the U.S.”
“Isn’t it funny you’d be the one to help us? We’ve been staying at the American Hotel, thinking it was an odd name for Amsterdam! It’s lovely, though the Leidesplein is a bit bright. But now here’s an American to help when we need it most. Are you staying at the hotel, too?” Valerie kept on chattily, keeping one eye – sometimes both – on the activity by the ambulance.
“I’m at the Pulitzer,” Tory answered. “They put it together from something like twenty of the old town houses, and the place is like a jigsaw puzzle with funny corners and doorways and odd little hallways, two steps up, then jog left and turn sharp right for the elevator. But it’s right on a canal, with the old-fashioned street lights. It’s a gorgeous city, isn’t it?” Tory figured some mindless social chat might help calm Mrs. Bailey’s jangled nerves.
“Oh, beautiful. And so romantic.” Valerie perked up as the doctor gestured to her. “They’ve settled him, I think, so I suppose I’ll be off. Thank you again for everything.” Another handshake, and she was darting away to follow her husband’s recumbent form into the back of the ambulance. Tory dusted herself off, slung her purse back onto her shoulder, and began to dig for the map she had stowed there.
“And my thanks to you also,” the doctor said, striding briskly toward her. Tory willed herself not to stare, though from his fair hair to his broad shoulders to his powerful legs the man warranted a closer look. “You showed fine presence of mind and kindness.”
“Good heavens, I scarcely did anything.” She ducked her head, embarrassed by the praise, and by the rush of warmth it induced in her.
“But a kind word, a kind smile, and a light touch mean the world to someone in shock and pain. Do you need directions, or transport? Where are you headed?”
“Just off to lunch,” Tory chirped brightly. “Pancakes.”
The giant’s pale eyebrows rose, then his lids dropped to hood the bright blue eyes. His smile was charming. “An excellent choice after unexpected exertion,” he said. “If you follow this street to its end and turn left, you’ll quickly come to the Prinsengracht. Turn right, and a few minutes’ walk will bring you to the Pancake Bakery – the best pancakes in Amsterdam. I’d be delighted to escort you there, but I’m due at the hospital for a consultation.”
“No, no, quite all right of course,” Tory gushed. “I’m really enjoying exploring your city. All quite beautiful and enjoyable.” How she wished for some of her sister’s savoir faire as she struggled not to babble. “Thank you, doctor.”
“Maximillan van den Nie,” he said, extending a large hand. Tory reached out her own, murmuring her name, and risked a glance up. She smiled a good-bye, and he returned the gesture, thinking how delightfully her bright smile transformed a rather ordinary face. Then she turned about and headed away, while Mr. van den Nie resumed his fast pace down the street, deep in contemplation of techniques for rehabilitating elderly knee-replacement patients.
Tory, moving in a more leisurely fashion, was likewise sunk into her thoughts, or rather her impressions of Mr. van den Nie’s deep voice, his strong hands, his thoughtfulness – and her own lack of social grace! She shook her head to clear her mind and struck out more briskly. It was no use worrying about what impression she might have made, or not made, on a man she’d never see again; better to focus on a plan for making the most of the Rijksmuseum in the limited time available that afternoon.
Stuffed with pancakes, 17th-century silver and Rembrandt, Tory strolled back to the hotel as evening settled over the canals and their gracefully arched bridges, peering into the well-lit, centuries-old houses for the ready views of warm, welcoming interiors. After making her way up two flights and down three corridors to get to the hotel room, she flopped onto the bed on her back and lifted her feet toward the ceiling – a favorite posture for relaxing after being on her feet all day.
A brisk stride in the hallway alerted her that her sister was returning from a day of business meetings, and as the door opened she peered around her raised legs to smile at Jane, who dropped her briefcase and kicked off her shoes.
“Busy day? Productive?” Tory asked as Jane flopped onto the bed beside her.
“Great, but now I’ve got tons of notes to sort through. Three days and eleven investment prospects! I think I’ve got two definites and three definitely-nots, but it’s the maybes – the ones I’m not sure about, one way or the other – that are always hardest. How about you, lazybones? Did you find some fun?”
“Dam Square and the Palace, pretty boring; french fries with curry mayonnaise, pretty greasy; giganticpancake that flopped over the edges of a dinner plate with cheese and ginger, fabulously delicious, yummiest thing I’ve tasted in ages; and the Rijksmuseum is incredible. I would love to go back if you want to take a look tomorrow,” Tory reported.
“Absolutely,” Jane confirmed. “I’ve seen ‘The Night Watch’ but I’d see it again and again, and I’m sure there’s lots more to explore there. So did you like the Rijksmuseum better than the van Gogh?”
“Silly question, Jane. They’re too different. How nice we live in a world where we get both. A world where we have high-powered, glamorous, urban businesswomen and mild-mannered, mousy, country nurses. Oh,” Tory added, raising her arms against the pillow Jane swung toward her head, “I helped out an English tourist who broke his leg.”
“Broke his leg? Here in the city?”
“One of these cobbled side streets, and he caught his foot in a tiny pothole and twisted the leg as he went down. Very nasty way to end your vacation, I must say,” Tory clarified.
“You didn’t have to do much, did you? No splinting? Open break or closed?” Jane asked.
“Don’t turn into Dr. Jane on me, now. Basically just gave him a hanky, identified the injury, and waited for the ambulance. And not even much of that,” Tory admitted, “since a big Dutch doctor came along and took over just before the ambulance got there.”
“A big Dutch doctor? Is that a new specialization? They don’t run to fat much here,” Jane noted.
“Not fat,” Tory said. “Tall. Very tall, and broad, and blond, and actually quite – I don’t know – hunky? – in a well-dressed, low-key way.”
“Well, well, well.” Jane leapt up and began pulling off her dark wool suit. “You’ll tell me more about him over the rijsttafel. Let’s get going soon, though, because I missed lunch and must have my dinner. You’ve got first dibs on the bathroom.”
Tory flipped upright and walked into the luxuriously-equipped bathroom, peering at her reflection in the well-lit mirror. The familiar face peered back, not magically transformed, still soft outlines of rounded cheeks, a slightly snub nose, unremarkable mouth. Her skin shone with youth and health, and her large, wide-set eyes were an unusually deep green, “But who ever gets close enough to look?” she muttered, pulling a brush through her mouse-brown hair.
“What’s that?” Jane called from her foray through the closet in the next room.
“Just wishing I had cheekbones,” Tory called back, clipping her thick ponytail into a barrette.
“Three shades of foundation and two of blusher, and you’ve got cheekbones,” Jane announced, taking control of the sink and mirror with a thrust of her hip. She had changed into slacks and a thick, cowl-necked cashmere sweater. “You’ll want a warmer jacket, I think. It was getting a bit brisk as I came back.”
Easy to joke, Tory thought as she dug into their shared closet, when you’ve got cheekbones that would slice a tomato, and auburn hair most women dye for, “and you’re tall enough to reach the back of this shelf!” she finished at a quiet roar.
“Oh, dear,” Jane commiserated, reaching over her literally-little sister’s head, “someone needs a good meal with plenty of protein, and a bit of perspective. If you’re not careful, I’ll ask Dr. Bachman to send you to work in a burn ward for a few months. Is this what you want?” she asked, handing over the chunky Nordic-patterned sweater Tory had knit herself the previous winter.
“Thank you, big sis. Let’s get going; you’re right about the protein – though what’s really going to pick me up is a spicy peanut sauce.”
As they left the hotel, Jane asked casually, “So, I thought you were enjoying your visit here. What’s got you needing a peanut-sauce picking up?”
“Nothing, really. I’m loving the time off, and believe it or not I’m enjoying city living for a few days, especially in this particular city. It’s great. I guess I got a little down talking about that doctor, and thinking about how I decided to do my nursing degree instead of going off to medical school, and not being a sparkling, fascinating woman of mystery that tall blond men would follow down the street.”
“Well, I don’t know whether this helps at all,” Jane replied, “but I think all of us have moments like that. I mean, here I am, 34 years old and heart-whole, living a fast-paced, overpaid, high-stress life in investment management when I trained to be a doctor to help and heal. I’ve got a swank apartment and expensive clothes, but when I think of the life you lead in Bristol, and the warmth and kindness of the community you have there, a lot of what I’ve got and what I do seems pretty hollow.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Tory exclaimed. “Jane, you’re so good. You’re such a great sister, and you’re so good at your job, and that socially-responsible investing thing is going to change the world, and – yikes, look! Don’t look!” Tory paused for a breath, then hissed, “Just stop here, stay casual. Look at the canal. Now look just on the other side of the bridge, that gray car pointing toward us. I’m pretty sure that’s Dr. den ver Nie, or whatever his name was, driving.”
“They do have long names, don’t they?” Jane answered, pointing at nothing as her part in the charade. “That’s a Rolls-Royce, by the way. The Phantom. A little roomier, and less pricey, than the Coupé, but still a very rich man’s automobile.” She dropped her hand as the car eased toward them. “And I see what you mean about the driver. Even without the car for background, that’s a handsome man.”
“Well, that’s my Amsterdam adventure, then. Helping an Englishman and stammering stupidly at a millionaire Dutch doctor. Let’s get at that peanut sauce now, and on the way back to the hotel we can peer in people’s windows. I love that they leave the curtains open. I saw one room today, honestly in a 17th-century house or whatever, that had dark purple walls with pale purple trim and wide, random slashes of turquoise. Apparently someone got tired of lace curtains and dark wood and Delft pottery on the mantelpiece, glowing discreetly in a beam of filtered light.”
Jane laughed and threw an arm around her sister as they set off again. At the restaurant, Tory actually forgot Maximillan van den Nie in the novelty of the Indonesian buffet set down on their table, with its two-bite tastes of twenty different dishes to serve over rice. She and Jane laughed and talked their way through the various offerings, celebrating their pleasure in each other’s company, and the fun of trying something new, and the beauty of the Netherlands’s capital city. As they sat over tea after the meal, both quiet for once, Tory reflected on her great fortune in having such a strong friendship with her big sister, despite the eight-year age difference, and the very different lives the two of them live. “And then there’s the twins,” she said, half-aloud.
“What’s that?” Jane asked.
“I was just thinking about the twins,” Tory answered. “I’m going to bring them some gouda.”
“Well, that sounds lovely,” Jane answered, smiling. “You’re such a genuinely nice person.”
“I was brought up right,” Tory teased – Jane having been responsible for much of her upbringing, while their learned parents had focused on academic research, teaching and frequent travel. “Let’s head back, shall we? I’m still fighting the adjustment from New Hampshire time. And thanks for the compliment!”
Just for a moment, walking back in the crisp, fresh air, watching the moonlight gild the water of the canals, enjoying the almost lacey delicacy of the arched bridges, Tory’s mind flashed up a memory of Dr. van den Nie’s smile. It is a romantic place, she thought, remembering Valerie Bailey’s words, and hooked an arm through her sister’s, drawing her close. The two of them strolled contentedly, looking forward to a Saturday exploring together. And not too far away, the big Dutch doctor, checking Frank Bailey’s altogether satisfactory chart, gave a moment’s thought to the quietly competent young American nurse. Lovely eyes, he recalled, and nothing fussy about her.
↧
Economizing with Dearest Eulalia
Betty Anonymous on a timely post-holiday topic...
Did you ever have to economize, or, in other words, have to scrape and scrimp, cut down on expenses, lay out your money with a careful eye?
Economizing with Dearest Eulalia
I don’t know how many times I have read Dearest Eulalia. I know I had always read things the way The Great Betty had meant them. But this time my eyebrows shot up with mounting incredulity, in utter amazement, in total stupefaction... – What was that, dear little red pen? You think I’m overdoing it? Nah!– penlikeSnort!
With something like nostalgia, I remember my days as a student, "far away" from home (about 480 km/300 miles). – Ok, I had worked at a place more than ten times that distance from home before but that was different. – Anyway, I always had enough money during those days but I tried to keep expenses down to a minimum so I could afford the train ride home during holidays, between semesters, or for the odd weekend. (Hey, that’s almost like a Neels heroine!) I bought a lot of my groceries at discount stores, back when discount stores did completely without frills or brand names. The cheapest pasta, the cheapest cheese, the cheapest bread... You get the picture.
If only I had known, back then, that there was another way to save money on groceries, a way that would help me keep up appearances and eat like a king at the same time...
But then, the book I could have used as a guide would not be written for more than a decade.
![]()
Eulalia‘s Shopping List
Earl Grey
cheap tea bags
the finest coffee beans
tin of instant coffee
Cooper‘s marmalade
![]()
sugar
flour
Bath Olivers![]()
farm butter
butter substitute
Brie
Port Salutcheese
a few slices of the finest bacon
streaky bacon
lamb cutlets, a couple
chicken breast
lamb’s kidneys
minced beef
some sausages
potatoes
cabbage
celery
carrots
grapes
If this is what Eulalia buys when pay day is a week away and the housekeeping purse is almost empty, then I don’t want to see what’s on her shopping list on pay day and the days thereafter. In fact, I am no longer surprised their housekeeping purse is almost empty at this point.
"She frowned as she spoke; pay day was still a week away and the housekeeping purse was almost empty. The Colonel's pension was just enough to pay for the maintenance of the house and Jane's wages; her own wages paid for food and what Jane called keeping up appearances [...]
"'That's a mercy. Now, Miss Lally, you do your shopping; I'll hang out the washing—see if you can get a couple of those small lamb cutlets for the Colonel and a bit of steak for us—or mince. I'll make a casserole for us and a pie if there's enough...'
"Eulalia got her coat from the hall and fetched a basket and sat down at the table to count the contents of her purse. A week to pay day so funds were low.
"'It had better be mince,' she said. 'It's cheaper.' And then she added, 'I hate mince...'
"She looked up and saw that Jane was smiling — not at her but at someone behind her. Mr van der Leurs was standing in the doorway holding the coffee tray. 'Delicious coffee,' he observed, 'And I was delighted to meet the Colonel.' [...]
"Mr van der Leurs, without appearing to do so, noted that she bought Earl Grey, the finest coffee beans, Bath Olivers, farm butter, Brie and Port Salut cheese, Cooper's marmalade and a few slices of the finest bacon; and, these bought, she added cheap tea bags, a tin of instant coffee, a butter substitute, sugar and flour and streaky bacon. It was the same at the butcher's, where she bought lamb cutlets, a chicken breast, lamb's kidneys and then minced beef and some sausages. He hadn't gone into the shop with her but had stood outside, apparently studying the contents of the window. At the greengrocer's he followed her in to take the basket while she bought potatoes and a cabbage, celery, carrots and a bunch of grapes.
"'We make our own bread,' said Eulalia, bypassing the baker.
"Mr van der Leurs, keeping his thoughts to himself, made light-hearted conversation as they returned to the house. It was evident to him that living was on two levels in the Colonel's house, which made it a sensible reason for him to marry her as quickly as possible."
It is sooo sweet of Eulalia and Jane to scrape and scrimp just so that the Colonel won’t know how bad the state of their finances really is, to let him enjoy the creature comforts he is used to probably all his life. I don’t know what I would have done in their stead. I am very much afraid I would have been a bit more of a realist and would have introduced meals to the Colonel’s menu that would have been a little easier on the housekeeping kitty.
Did you ever have to economize, or, in other words, have to scrape and scrimp, cut down on expenses, lay out your money with a careful eye?
Economizing with Dearest Eulalia
I don’t know how many times I have read Dearest Eulalia. I know I had always read things the way The Great Betty had meant them. But this time my eyebrows shot up with mounting incredulity, in utter amazement, in total stupefaction... – What was that, dear little red pen? You think I’m overdoing it? Nah!– penlikeSnort!
With something like nostalgia, I remember my days as a student, "far away" from home (about 480 km/300 miles). – Ok, I had worked at a place more than ten times that distance from home before but that was different. – Anyway, I always had enough money during those days but I tried to keep expenses down to a minimum so I could afford the train ride home during holidays, between semesters, or for the odd weekend. (Hey, that’s almost like a Neels heroine!) I bought a lot of my groceries at discount stores, back when discount stores did completely without frills or brand names. The cheapest pasta, the cheapest cheese, the cheapest bread... You get the picture.
If only I had known, back then, that there was another way to save money on groceries, a way that would help me keep up appearances and eat like a king at the same time...
But then, the book I could have used as a guide would not be written for more than a decade.
Eulalia‘s Shopping List
Earl Grey
cheap tea bags
the finest coffee beans
tin of instant coffee
Cooper‘s marmalade
sugar
flour
Bath Olivers
farm butter
butter substitute
Brie
Port Salutcheese
a few slices of the finest bacon
streaky bacon
lamb cutlets, a couple
chicken breast
lamb’s kidneys
minced beef
some sausages
potatoes
cabbage
celery
carrots
grapes
If this is what Eulalia buys when pay day is a week away and the housekeeping purse is almost empty, then I don’t want to see what’s on her shopping list on pay day and the days thereafter. In fact, I am no longer surprised their housekeeping purse is almost empty at this point.
"She frowned as she spoke; pay day was still a week away and the housekeeping purse was almost empty. The Colonel's pension was just enough to pay for the maintenance of the house and Jane's wages; her own wages paid for food and what Jane called keeping up appearances [...]
"'That's a mercy. Now, Miss Lally, you do your shopping; I'll hang out the washing—see if you can get a couple of those small lamb cutlets for the Colonel and a bit of steak for us—or mince. I'll make a casserole for us and a pie if there's enough...'
"Eulalia got her coat from the hall and fetched a basket and sat down at the table to count the contents of her purse. A week to pay day so funds were low.
"'It had better be mince,' she said. 'It's cheaper.' And then she added, 'I hate mince...'
"She looked up and saw that Jane was smiling — not at her but at someone behind her. Mr van der Leurs was standing in the doorway holding the coffee tray. 'Delicious coffee,' he observed, 'And I was delighted to meet the Colonel.' [...]
"Mr van der Leurs, without appearing to do so, noted that she bought Earl Grey, the finest coffee beans, Bath Olivers, farm butter, Brie and Port Salut cheese, Cooper's marmalade and a few slices of the finest bacon; and, these bought, she added cheap tea bags, a tin of instant coffee, a butter substitute, sugar and flour and streaky bacon. It was the same at the butcher's, where she bought lamb cutlets, a chicken breast, lamb's kidneys and then minced beef and some sausages. He hadn't gone into the shop with her but had stood outside, apparently studying the contents of the window. At the greengrocer's he followed her in to take the basket while she bought potatoes and a cabbage, celery, carrots and a bunch of grapes.
"'We make our own bread,' said Eulalia, bypassing the baker.
"Mr van der Leurs, keeping his thoughts to himself, made light-hearted conversation as they returned to the house. It was evident to him that living was on two levels in the Colonel's house, which made it a sensible reason for him to marry her as quickly as possible."
It is sooo sweet of Eulalia and Jane to scrape and scrimp just so that the Colonel won’t know how bad the state of their finances really is, to let him enjoy the creature comforts he is used to probably all his life. I don’t know what I would have done in their stead. I am very much afraid I would have been a bit more of a realist and would have introduced meals to the Colonel’s menu that would have been a little easier on the housekeeping kitty.
↧
The Huge Roses, Chapter 1, part 2
American nurse Tory Bird is visiting Amsterdam in conjunction with her sister Jane's business trip. While there, she assists an injured English tourist, briefly meeting Dutch orthopedic surgeon Maximilan van den Nie.
When last we saw our heroine:
Moving ever onward:
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter 1, part 2
When last we saw our heroine:
"Just for a moment, walking back in the crisp, fresh air, watching the moonlight gild the water of the canals, enjoying the almost lacey delicacy of the arched bridges, Tory’s mind flashed up a memory of Dr. van den Nie’s smile. It is a romantic place, she thought, remembering Valerie Bailey’s words, and hooked an arm through her sister’s, drawing her close. The two of them strolled contentedly, looking forward to a Saturday exploring together. And not too far away, the big Dutch doctor, checking Frank Bailey’s altogether satisfactory chart, gave a moment’s thought to the quietly competent young American nurse. Lovely eyes, he recalled, and nothing fussy about her."
Moving ever onward:
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter 1, part 2
Nothing fussy indeed! Tory, with time to spare while Jane focused on business, had organized bicycle rentals in the Waterland for their Saturday together, outside the usual tourist haunts of the capital city. The two of them enjoyed a 20-mile bike ride, then caught the ferry that brought them back to the city center. Jane had chosen their lunch stop, an opulent café-cum-chocolate shop where Tory delighted in a grilled cheese and ginger sandwich, and the two of them lingered over the chocolate counter, picking and choosing to fill boxes for a dozen friends. “When we pass by a grocery store,” Tory announced, “I’m going to get some of that chopped ginger. The twins will flip over those sandwiches!”
After an afternoon at the Rijksmuseum, steeping themselves in the simple, beautiful light and lifelike figures of Rembrandt and his disciples, Tory and Jane returned to their hotel to find their room had been enlivened by a gigantic bouquet of flowers in many shades of blues and yellows. “Why would they send you flowers on your next-to-last day?” Tory asked. She knew Jane was a valued customer of several hotel chains, and sometimes received upgrades and other perks.
“They wouldn’t,” her sister answered, picking up the card lying next to the vase. “They’re for you. And there are two cards.” She handed both envelopes over, and Tory opened the first in puzzlement. “Oh, they’re from the English people I helped yesterday. The wife and I talked about our hotels. And the other envelope...” she paused in astonishment. “It’s from that doctor. ‘I am unable to use the enclosed tickets for tonight’s orchestra performance at the Concertgebouw, and hope they may be useful to you. It is, in my view, a quintessential Amsterdam experience. You will be pleased to know that Frank Bailey is recovering well; one of my colleagues set his break and he is responding nicely. Yours sincerely’ – I can’t make out the signature. It’s a good thing the rest of this is typed. There’s definitely an ‘M’ to start, and then a few blobs.”
She looked up, staring at her sister. “I suppose Mrs. Bailey must have told him where we’re staying. We talked about hotels. Do you think we should go? The concert starts,” she checked the tickets, “in about an hour and a half. I bet they’re good seats, too; him and his Rolls.”
Jane burst out with a laugh, and said, “Of course we should go. Let’s doll up a bit. They’re a smidge more formal here than we might be at home.”
Doll up! Easy for Jane to say, with her salary and the shops of Boston to peruse at her leisure, but Tory had a different kind of wardrobe. She mentally reviewed her packing: khaki slacks, a twill skirt, the black skirt – no, not denim. “Jane, does a cotton knit dress count as dolling up?”
“That pretty leaf-green one? That should be fine; I’ll lend you a scarf that will gussy it up a little, and pearl studs. Sound okay? I’m just wearing one of my suit skirts,” she threw a black wool pencil skirt onto the bed, “and this sweater.” A lavender cashmere scoop-neck followed. “And chunky amethysts,” Jane finished, striding to the bureau. “I’ll shower first, if you don’t mind, since I have to blow-dry.”
‘Dolled up,’ Tory and Jane splashed out on a taxi to the concert hall. Well, a splash for Tory, though she suspected Jane was getting used to chauffeured sedans. She had a chance to eye the Vondelpark, one of Amsterdam’s few green spaces, as they drove by, and then stood gaping at the Concertgebouw while Jane paid the driver. “Isn’t it supposed to be neoclassical?” Tory asked of the imposing building in front of them.
“Like I’d know neoclassical from – whatever. Georgian? Rococo?” Jane answered. One of the many things Tory loved about her sister was Jane’s fearlessness in admitting what she didn’t know.
“Well, I guess I don’t know, either. But I didn’t expect so much brick. Or the flourishes,” Tory explained. They joined the well-behaved crowd moving into the main hall and found their excellent seats, settling into the red plush. Tory gazed around in awe at the magnificent organ and ornately carved walls and ceiling. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered to Jane as a plump, older woman settled next to them. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Still lost in the beauty of the elaborate balconies, Tory started when their neighbor spoke. “You are the American nurse?” she asked, and Tory paused, then nodded hesitantly. “My son, Max, told me he had shared his tickets with you. It is too bad that he and his partner are both caught up in surgery – a construction site accident, with several people badly injured, I understand. However, we are delighted to meet you. Max was impressed with your cool head and kindness.”
Remembering what she’d read about the Dutch custom, Tory held out her hand and stated her name. “Marijke van den Nie,” the other woman responded as they shook hands. “Jane Bird, Mevrouw van den Nie,” Jane said in her turn, using the Dutch honorific for a married woman as the two shook hands across Tory. “I’m Tory’s sister.”
“My companion is Juffrouw Christina de Groot,” Mevrouw van den Nie introduced, and Tory gazed past her with the beginnings of a smile. She quickly withdrew both her smile and the hand she had extended when she encountered a cold, brief nod from an elegant, impeccably made-up blonde. “How do you do,” she said, reverting to American protocol, then busied herself with the concert program to mask her surprise at the other woman’s hauteur. However, Marijke van den Nie commented on the evening’s selections, and Tory enjoyed a brief, pleasant chat with her before the lights dimmed.
After a splendid program of Mahler, Brahms and a short burst from the contemporary composer Nico Muhly, Tory found herself outside once more, humming quietly along with the string section still playing in her head. She gazed gratefully at Mevrouw van den Nie, extended her hand again and said, “Thank you so very much. That was wonderful!”
“I enjoyed very much meeting you,” that lady replied. “You were good to tell me something of Vermont. I may not yet be a convert to your countryman Muhly’s music, but the New England country sounds lovely, a bit like the English Lake District. Perhaps I’ll manage a visit one day.”
“Oh, do,” Tory replied, suddenly self-conscious at her dreaminess.
“Yes, do,” Jane added, recognizing her sister’s attack of shyness, “and perhaps work in a visit to the symphony in Boston, which is magnificent. I confess I prefer Brahms to Muhly myself – though I hadn’t heard of him before today. We would like to write to your son and thank him for his generosity if you could provide an address.”
“Surely there’s no need,” Juffrouw de Groot interjected, staring down her nose. “We must get to the car.”
“This will only take a moment,” Mevrouw van den Nie responded, somewhat brusquely. Her voice reverted to its usual warmth as she pulled a visiting card from her evening bag and handed it to Tory. “Please write to him at my address, and I shall be certain he has your thanks. He will be delighted to know you enjoyed the evening.”
“I had hoped to see Max this evening,” Juffrouw de Groot muttered, beginning to walk down the stairs of the Concergebouw. After another round of handshakes, thanks and good-evenings, Mevrouw van den Nie followed. Jane turned to Tory, smiling, and said, “Do you know, I think she snorted. Or maybe I should say, ‘If she weren’t so elegant, I’d think she snorted.’”
“Snorted?” Tory asked, confused by Jane’s apparent non sequitor.
“I suspect your Mevrouw doesn’t much care for Miss de Groot,” Jane explained. “And that’s not just because I didn’t like her myself.”
“I wonder if she’s the girlfriend,” Tory said. “She looks like she’d fit nicely in a Rolls-Royce, and in the society page pictures from the big charity ball.”
“Well, it’s how you act that really matters,” Jane contended. “Especially if you’re trying to raise money for charity. Anyway, how do you know he’s not married? They don’t always wear rings in these parts. Here’s a cab for us. Let’s get back to the hotel and get that thank-you note written. We’ll just have time in the morning for a last stroll around the canals before we head for the airport.”
The next day, stretched out in the luxury of a business-class seat, Tory watched the clouds and ocean below her. Voicing a thought aloud, she asked, “Jane, am I a prude?”
The next day, stretched out in the luxury of a business-class seat, Tory watched the clouds and ocean below her. Voicing a thought aloud, she asked, “Jane, am I a prude?”
“Are you?” her seatmate answered. “I wouldn’t have thought so. Why are you asking?”
“I met a gorgeous man the other day, and I didn’t think about having wild sex with him in a hot tub or something, I thought about working in the garden together with our kids. And now I’m imagining him sitting by the fireplace in Bristol, reading bits of a book aloud to me while I knit. I mean, who does that?”
Jane laughed her warm, ready laugh. “You do, little sister. I heard enough of your randy heart-rendings over Rob Tucker in high school, and that snowboarder in college, and Dr. Dark Eyes during your practicals, to know you’re not a prude. You’re a homebody and a nurturer and all kinds of other lovely things that will do you a lot more good in the long term than a hot and heavy sex life at 26 would do.”
“Oh, no, that snowboarder! I had forgotten about him. At least my taste has improved!” Tory agonized, and picked up the airline magazine to puzzle through the quiz questions while Jane reviewed her meeting notes. And if her thoughts turned rather too often to the blond Dutchman – he probably is married, she reflected – well, perhaps that’s just part of the fun of a vacation.↧
Worst Betty Scene Ever
An anonymous Betty recently commented on Betty Keira's magnificently entertaining review of Ring in a Teacup, saying, amongst other sapient things, that it's one of her favorites. (There I go, just assuming the commenter is female.) I loveRing in a Teacup myself, but it will never be a favorite – because of that ludicrous, horrible, ridiculous final scene, when Lucy runs away from Fraam's home, checks into a hotel without any money, and gets locked into her room by an hotel employee, who phones Fraam to let him know they've got a penniless impostor claiming to be his fiancée penned up on the premises. This, for me, qualifies for inclusion on the short list of competitors for Worst Betty Scene Ever.
Other contenders? Please share your views.
Just guessin’:
Betty JoDee: pages 1 through 224 of The Hasty Marriage, but especially the wedding;
Betty Anonymous: the Worst Betty Scene Ever is still better than anyone else’s best;
Betty Keira: cold, damp Scotland and Eliza charging a hill and being outflanked by a major meteorological event;
Betty Debbie: each description of Sarre’s parenting ‘skills’.
Oooh, ooh – I’m also nominating:
- scenes in which Maggy speaks in Scots dialect, even though the action may be magnificent, amusing or thrilling, as the random insertion of 'och' and 'wee' is sheerly irritating;
- every ruddy time Ivo and Julia discuss how unappealing intelligence is in a woman;
- Loveday plotting with Sieska or whatever her name is to get her married to a gold-digger via cruise ship skullduggery that makes absolutely no sense at all. Why couldn’t she just have written as Loveday saying, ‘well, let’s go on a cruise so you can get to know him better and we don’t have to tell your cousin that golddigger will be on the ship, too’;
- Alcoholic Louisa of Heaven Around the Corner being prescribed 1-2 alcoholic beverages per day; and
- Jake, that pompous twit, abusing Browning to his own ends, in All Else Confusion.
What say you, Betties?
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Betty in the Wild: the Deep South
There is, of course, no such thing as a deep south in either the UK or the Netherlands. However, Betty would certainly find much of interest in Sarasota, Florida, and Savannah, Georgia.
Sarasota's Marie Selby Botanical Gardens might help an old-fashioned English girl lose her distrust of vulgar Americans. Or maybe not - are orchids vulgar?
I understand that they would not wish to live there, but Florida can certainly make a great place to visit, say if the Scottish winters start to feel a bit daunting. Maybe I'm just thinking that, though, because I was in Sarasota back in October, and now I'm back in DC, where the second segment of a good-size snowstorm is dropping another 4-6 inches of snow on the driveway I just cleared of approximately 14 inches. My Florida friend is testy because the upcoming holiday means the beaches are crowded with tourists.
Ha ha to her come spring, though, when I get back out into the garden as she ducks back into the air-conditioning and mosquito screens.
As we all know, touring, whether in Avignon or along the Gulf coast, is exhausting, and requires a nice pick-me-up in the mid-afternoon.
Savannah, Georgia, is famously eccentric in ways that might not appeal to everyone, but it also has proud traditions that would surely earn the Van Elvens's approbation.
By the way, that last one's for you, Betty JoDee. Mwah.
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| Sarah Ann loves arranging flowers, for instance. A handsome clump of Spanish moss can add unexpected, New-World flair to an heirloom Delft vase-ful of tulips or whatever. |
Sarasota's Marie Selby Botanical Gardens might help an old-fashioned English girl lose her distrust of vulgar Americans. Or maybe not - are orchids vulgar?
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| Maybe purple generally is vulgar. It is certainly neither pink nor clerical gray. |
I understand that they would not wish to live there, but Florida can certainly make a great place to visit, say if the Scottish winters start to feel a bit daunting. Maybe I'm just thinking that, though, because I was in Sarasota back in October, and now I'm back in DC, where the second segment of a good-size snowstorm is dropping another 4-6 inches of snow on the driveway I just cleared of approximately 14 inches. My Florida friend is testy because the upcoming holiday means the beaches are crowded with tourists.
Ha ha to her come spring, though, when I get back out into the garden as she ducks back into the air-conditioning and mosquito screens.
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| Personally, I'd prefer not to garden with mangroves, but I suspect Hugo and the Mrs. are up for anything. |
As we all know, touring, whether in Avignon or along the Gulf coast, is exhausting, and requires a nice pick-me-up in the mid-afternoon.
 |
| Tea at Selby gardens. Really, paper cups were all they had. Oh, woe. But the menu of loose-leaf teas available was a skosh insane with the variety. |
Savannah, Georgia, is famously eccentric in ways that might not appeal to everyone, but it also has proud traditions that would surely earn the Van Elvens's approbation.
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| For instance, birthplace of Juliette Gordon Low, founder of the Girl Scouts. |
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| Birthplace of the Methodist church, or something like that. Sure, Methodism isn't CofE, but it's pretty well-mannered. |
By the way, that last one's for you, Betty JoDee. Mwah.
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Betty Pets: Living in Harmony
We all know that Betty loved her pets, mostly in the cat-and-dog categories, but further in horses, ponies, donkeys and an occasional chicken. With the notable exceptions of the Founding Betties, most of the tribe here at TUJD are fans of the house pet as well. Last summer, Betty Magdalen and Betty Ross were kind enough to invite me to their home in the rural mid-Atlantic, and my stay at Harmony was not only blissfully serene but also happily enlivened by the presence of:
Unless I misunderstood something, all of these wonder-critters are rescue pets. Hooray for Betty M. and Betty R., and for each of their loving, soothing (and occasionally invigorating, cf: Mimi walks above) companions.
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| Linus |
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| Polly! Sorry for the glare off the book cover. |
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| Mimi, who took me for brisk, Betty-esque walks every day, albeit with a bit more potential for rushing off to chase deer than one finds in Betty-land, where the pets are so extraordinarily well-behaved, and only fall in canals when necessary to bring two young hearts (okay, one young and one verging-on-middle-aged heart) together. |
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| And is also an avid frog hunter |
Unless I misunderstood something, all of these wonder-critters are rescue pets. Hooray for Betty M. and Betty R., and for each of their loving, soothing (and occasionally invigorating, cf: Mimi walks above) companions.
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The Huge Roses: Chapter Two, part one
In chapter one, American nurse Tory Bird, visiting Amsterdam with her sister Jane, meets Dr. Maximilan van den Nie whilst giving first aid to an injured English tourist. After a lovely weekend that includes meeting the doctor's mother at the Concergebouw thanks to tickets provided by the doctor, Tory returns home to the United States.
For installment one, look here. Installment two is right here.
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter Two, part1
For installment one, look here. Installment two is right here.
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter Two, part1
Her five days in Amsterdam had been wonderful, but after an uneventful flight and the long drive home from the Boston airport, Tory was thrilled to see her elderly Subaru’s headlights shining onto the Bird family’s 19th-century farmhouse. Life in a sleepy lakeside village in New Hampshire held plenty of excitement for her, especially with her parents out of the country for a year-long research and teaching project in Turkey. She switched off the engine and heard the welcoming barks of Jennet and Hal, the family’s adopted mutts, and smiled with deep contentment. As she opened the door, the dogs rushed out while a long-haired grey cat, Fiona, slipped in.
Tory turned up the thermostat, dropped her suitcase at the foot of the stairs and checked food and water bowls; Jenny Fisher, her nearest neighbor, had taken good care of the pets while she was gone. Jenny had also left a loaf of bread on the kitchen table, and a note directing Tory to a pan of lasagna waiting in the refrigerator. She set the pasta in the oven to warm and headed upstairs to unpack, shower and change. Thirty minutes later, in flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers, she sat at the scrubbed wooden kitchen table, tucking in with the peculiar hunger of the jet-lagged. With the cat on her lap and the dogs at her feet, she felt the strong, peaceful pull of home. There might be a tinge of loneliness, but the next day would bring work, neighbors and friends. Jane was right, and Tory felt herself fortunate in living a very good life.
In the next few days, she slipped quickly back into her daily round, helping patients at the local family doctor’s office and doing chores at home. There was always a lot to do, since the Bird family home was old, and sat on a large plot of land. Tory tilled compost into the vegetable garden, picked the last of the apples to make and can applesauce, and called on that high school boyfriend, Rob Tucker, to help her get the storm windows up. She stopped by the Shop ’n’ Save to re-stock the refrigerator and pick up ingredients for Halloween cookies, looking forward to the parade of ballerinas and goblins that arrived that night. Walking and biking around her small town, she took time to notice the fading autumn colors against the brilliant blue of the October sky. It was always especially vivid at this time of year, and Tory relished it as insulation against the greyer days to come.
At work, Dr. Bachman and his receptionist, Millie Sharpe, quickly brought her up to speed on town happenings, with an emphasis on the progress of the local infants and elderlies, with an occasional foray into cancer, heart disease or bone fracture. Josh Brown, a town stalwart and busy orthopedist, was getting a first-hand view of his own rehab facility in Hanover after shattering an ankle while mountain biking. Millie’s mother was talking about moving to South Carolina. Diana Schwahnn, eight months pregnant, asked about the sisters’ trip to the Netherlands after her check-up. “I really, really envy you,” she said. “All your traveling! I told Andrew that we may be baby-bound this winter, but next year, as soon as the thermometer hits freezing, we’re flying out of here. This little girl won’t get that helicopter-parenting thing. As soon as she’s big enough to stay with her grandpa and grandma, I’m finding myself an exotic vacation spot and fleeing the cold and snow.”
“Well,” Tory answered, “I’m trying not to envy you a great husband and a baby on the way. Seriously, if you need a break when your daughter comes, I’d be happy to come over one evening.” She smiled at the thought of a fuzzy-haired newborn, and Diana smiled back.
“It’s a good thing you’re such a happy person, Tory,” she said. “You’re just beautiful when you smile. And there’s no one I’d trust more to babysit. When you’ve found Mr. Right, we can start one of those childcare cooperatives. Now I’d better waddle out of here before the snow starts. I don’t know what I’ll do if there’s a blizzard on when I go into labor!”
Diana hadn’t been speaking idly; the local news was warning of an early snowfall. At home, Tory checked the pantry to be sure of her supplies: canned food, of course, plus kerosene for the lamps, fresh batteries for the radio, and a couple gallons of water. It would be unusual to get a serious storm before November, but as Jenny down the road had remarked, “The weather around here is always unusual,” and Tory believed in being prepared. She trundled more logs up from the barn and stacked them in the mud room, ready to feed the wood stove.
The skies held out long enough for the smaller children to do their trick-or-treating in daylight. The office closed early that day, so its employees could be home to greet the early arrivals. Tory exclaimed over visiting astronauts, dragons, mice and witches and encouraged the kids to take miniature packets of peanuts or trail mix, rather than sweets, from her cauldron of treats. “I have to admit,” she told one rueful mother, “I would have taken something chocolatey when I was their age, too. In fact, I probably still would.”
“Speaking of chocolate,” her friend answered, “Jenny shared some of those chocolates you brought her from Amsterdam with me. They were outrageous! If that’s the payment, please let me take care of the dogs next time you’re away. Any more plans to travel?”
“Good heavens, I just got back. Mother and Dad would like me to come out to Turkey while they’re there, and I might try that toward spring. It’s a long trip, though; it’s hard to do with just a week off from work.”
“I forgot – all of you Birds love the winter here, don’t you? Now me, as soon as the kids are grown and I can figure out how to work a telecommute deal, I’m for a condo in Florida from October ’til April!”
Looking up at the sky as the older children started to appear toward dusk, Tory gave thanks that she did indeed love the winter. It certainly looked like they were getting an early start that year, as the clouds massed and lowered, and the wind began to pick up. Switching on the outdoor light, she looked with satisfaction at the Franklin stove that could keep the whole house warm if needed. She’d already started a fire in it, and set a kettle of water on top to heat for a cup of tea before supper. When she opened the door at the next ring of the bell, she saw the snowflakes were beginning to fall.
“Hey, Ms. Bird,” a gangly teenager greeted her from the group on the front step. “We wanted to make sure we stopped by here in case you made cookies.”
“Mack?” Tory asked, and the tall boy’s friends parted to allow a better view. “In whiteface? Oh, you’re a mime! That’s a great outfit.”
“I’m an evil mime,” Mack clarified. “You can tell by the eyebrows.”
“Fantastic,” Tory clapped her hands together, enchanted by the kids’ creativity. “And you must be an evil prom queen, and you are clearly a headless basketball player. And is that Gina? Gina, I’m stumped.”
“I think I should only tell you if you’ve got cookies,” the glamorous girl in cat’s eye glasses, white makeup and a stethoscope answered.
“They’re just out of the oven,” Tory promised. “Oatmeal-cranberry-chocolate chip.”
“Awesome!” came the answer. “I’m an undead movie star! Look at my eyes!” Tory peered closer, and saw someone had skillfully used makeup to create the illusion of eyeballs – bright blue irises and dark pupils on a white field – on Gina’s eyelids. As she fluttered her eyes open and closed, she seemed always to be gazing straight ahead.
“Wow,” Tory said. “That looks really freaky – spooky, even. Congratulations. Hold on just a second, and I’ll get the cookies.” Returning with the cooling rack, she turned a puzzled look to Gina and asked, “Why the stethoscope?”
“Oh, you know,” the girl answered, pulling her opulent fake fur closer and waving her cigarette holder, “just adds a certain something, doesn’t it?”
The headless basketball player, clutching a handful of cookies, said, “You guys, we better get moving. It’s really starting to snow. Are you ready for the blizzard, Ms. Bird?”
“I think so,” Tory replied. “But if you’re one of the Boudreau family, you can be sure I’ll call your dad if anything goes wrong with the pipes. You kids be careful heading home, please – I hate rehabbing sprained ankles. They take forever.” As the group headed back to the street, Tory called after them, “That had better be a candy cigarette, Gina!” She closed the door on what was surely the last of the trick-or-treaters, wondering if the now fast-falling snow would stick, and accumulate, or just peter out. “It’s too early for a real storm,” she muttered.
Still, she was glad to have the wood at the ready and soup on the stove. There was always something kind of cozy about drawing the curtains and dragging extra blankets into the living room to pile on the couch. Curled up by the stove, with the dogs and Fiona the cat variously disposed in prime locations near the heat, she listened with half an ear to the news highlights while focusing most of her attention on her great-grandmother’s hundred-year-old, leather-bound edition of Jane Austen. Austen was always a good choice on a quiet night. “And even better if the lights are out,” Tory announced to the animals as the radio abruptly went silent and the room jolted into darkness. With lamps at the ready, Tory soon had light again, and used it to step to the door and peer into the night.
It looked like a real storm, after all, with an inch or so already accumulated, and the wind blowing hard. Padding up to bed after getting Marianne and Elinor to their happy ending, with the pets trailing behind her, Tory snuggled happily under her down comforter, enjoying a quiet so deep she really believed she could hear the snowflakes falling.
Waking to weak sunlight filtering into her bedroom the next morning, she reached out to flick on the bedside lamp. Nothing – the electricity was still out. Enjoying the feeling that modern life’s stress and busy-ness would have to cede to nature’s demands for a few more hours (or at least until the dogs’ demands got her up), Tory sank deeper beneath her comforter and dozed dreamily, listening for some sign of whether the snow continued. Instead, she heard the intrusive sound of a motor growing louder, then a mechanical squeal and a muffled thump. Someone out before the plows must have gotten into trouble on the turn. Always a good neighbor, Tory flung back the covers and leapt out of bed, not forgetting to proclaim, “white rabbits,” to the new month, a family luck-charm that had survived the Bird siblings’ childhood.
A thick, oversized sweater over her flannel pajamas, sturdy, fleece-lined boots on her feet, and her brother’s battered old ski parka topping the lot, Tory tromped to the front door. Just a few yards down the street, she saw a shiny new Mercedes – a big one – angled awkwardly into the ditch that bordered the street. Covered in snow, the sharp drop-off was impossible to see. With Jennet and Hal floundering happily ahead of her, she made her way to the car to offer assistance. The driver had already emerged to inspect the situation, and with a shock she recognized the blond giant she had met weeks before in Amsterdam!
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Betty in the Wild: The Less-Deep South
I know Betty will disagree - politely - but I like superhighways. Of course, the lesser byways of my native land are more likely to be lined with strip malls (pawn shop, hot-tub store (I'm serious; lots of hot-tub stores in the USA), nail salon, mini-food mart and not the kind where one receives proposals over the tinned goods) than with thatched pubs and white-clapboard churches. That makes the major roads, which are most often lined with grasses and trees, seem quite attractive. Nonetheless, I was a bit daunted by the thought of 1,000 miles on Route 95... but a few judicious exits made the trip a pleasure.
As, for instance, a stop at the Santee Wildlife Refuge in more-or-less Summerton, South Carolina, where there are endangered alligators (saw a skull at the visitor center, probably from a gator killed by a poacher, but no live critters, which is just fine with me; what ugly animals they are) and a burial mound that both Brits and Yanks used as a fort back in the Disturbance-in-the-Colonies days. By that time, the local Santee tribe had little use for it, as contact with Europeans had reduced their numbers from 3,000 to fewer than 500. The tribe was extirpated by 1800.
In Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, I accidentally purchased a gardenia that will not thrive in northern Virginia, and skidded into a u-turn when I saw this picturesque church. Why?
Finally, in Richmond, Virginia, once the capital of the confederacy, I perused the statuary, much as Beatrice did in Copenhagen. Except hers was a mermaid and mine was mostly soldiers, statesmen and allegories.
As, for instance, a stop at the Santee Wildlife Refuge in more-or-less Summerton, South Carolina, where there are endangered alligators (saw a skull at the visitor center, probably from a gator killed by a poacher, but no live critters, which is just fine with me; what ugly animals they are) and a burial mound that both Brits and Yanks used as a fort back in the Disturbance-in-the-Colonies days. By that time, the local Santee tribe had little use for it, as contact with Europeans had reduced their numbers from 3,000 to fewer than 500. The tribe was extirpated by 1800.
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| Not quite the Acropolis, but the site of a notable American victory over British forces in... oh. Sorry. |
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| Just to prove we're still in the South. Note commendable lack of alligators slithering from the mud, much as an over-indulged little sister might, or the imp of jealousy operating on an over-imaginative fiancee who catches sight of a pretty cousin kissing her fiance. |
In Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, I accidentally purchased a gardenia that will not thrive in northern Virginia, and skidded into a u-turn when I saw this picturesque church. Why?
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| Give you hint: not because it's picturesque. |
 |
| Get it? Get it?!? |
Finally, in Richmond, Virginia, once the capital of the confederacy, I perused the statuary, much as Beatrice did in Copenhagen. Except hers was a mermaid and mine was mostly soldiers, statesmen and allegories.
 |
| Then I had lunch at an old-world Italian place, followed by what Beatrice would call pancakes by way of a sweet. The restaurant pictured here, and I, call them crepes. |
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The Huge Roses: Chapter Two, part two.
In chapter one, American nurse Tory Bird, visiting Amsterdam with her sister Jane, meets Dr. Maximilan van den Nie whilst giving first aid to an injured English tourist. After a lovely weekend that includes meeting the doctor's mother at the Concergebouw thanks to tickets provided by the doctor, Tory returns home to the United States. In chapter two, an early snowstorm hits on Hallowe'en night, and Tory is surprised that the car that goes off the road near her house (what a coincidence!) contains Max van den Nie.
For installment one, look here. Installment two is right here, and installment three here.
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter Two, part 2
For installment one, look here. Installment two is right here, and installment three here.
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Chapter Two, part 2
A thick, oversized sweater over her flannel pajamas, sturdy, fleece-lined boots on her feet, and her brother’s battered old ski parka topping the lot, Tory tromped to the front door. Just a few yards down the street, she saw a shiny new Mercedes – a big one – angled awkwardly into the ditch that bordered the street. Covered in snow, the sharp drop-off was impossible to see. With Jennet and Hal floundering happily ahead of her, she made her way to the car to offer assistance. The driver had already emerged to inspect the situation, and with a shock she recognized the blond giant she had met weeks before in Amsterdam!
Before she could call a greeting, the dogs began their own, barking and leaping clumsily through the foot-deep snow. “Good mor – Hal! Jennet! Quiet!” Tory shouted. “Come back here!” But her ill-mannered companions had already reached their target.
“Not to worry, please,” Dr. van den Nie called. “I like dogs.” As he fondled first one and then the other, rubbing behind their ears in the magical dog spot, the animals showed they clearly liked him, too. Jennet leaned bonelessly against him, enjoying the patting, while the impatient Hal butted his new friend’s legs, flattened himself in the snow with tail wagging, turned a quick circle, and barked encouragingly for attention.
“I am so sorry,” Tory said, catching up. “You would think they’d never been out in public before. And I’m sorry you’ve run into trouble with your car. The road drops off sharply at the edges. I’ll try to help you get it out if you like, but those are rear-wheel drive, aren’t they? I bet it will need towing. If you’d like to phone from my house, you’re very welcome to stop here until a truck can make it out. Oh,” she paused, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know if you’ll remember me. I was in Amsterdam earlier in the month, when you helped an English tourist with a broken leg.”
“Indeed I do remember you,” the doctor answered, “and I’m delighted to see you here. Miss Bird, isn’t it? Or Nurse Bird. You make a regular habit of turning up just in the hour of need, it seems.”
“Oh, yes. Right. I mean, not really. And it was last month, since today’s November.” Tory stopped her dithering speech and took a deliberate breath, then started over. “Please, do call me Tory. We’re much less formal with names here than people in the Netherlands.”
“Then I shall be Max,” he answered, holding out an elegantly gloved hand. “Max van den Nie is the full-length version. I do think you’re very right that recovering my car will require more than you and I can accomplish together. If you’re quite sure, I’m pleased to accept your invitation for shelter. It will be very welcome.”
Tory felt her cheeks warm as they shook hands, and hoped to goodness she wasn’t blushing – but knew she probably was. She could only hope Max would put her reddened cheeks down to the cold air, and turned to lead the way back to the house. He followed, having grabbed a small case from the abandoned vehicle. “Well, here’s the house, and of course I’m sure you’re welcome. We New Englanders are proud of our hospitality, you know. And you’re hardly dressed for a tromp through the snow.”
“I’m not equipped for a drive through the snow, either,” he responded. “I ought to have pulled off when I encountered it, but the highway was well cleared, and after a long flight the thought of getting to a comfortable home was too tempting. If I had known of the conditions when I arrived in Boston, I might have stayed there.”
“My sister’s in Boston, and they hardly ever get snow when we do,” Tory commiserated. “Have you just come from Amsterdam? And are you staying here in Bristol? We’re not really on the way to much of anywhere.”
Max laughed. “Do you know an orthopedist named Josh Brown? I’m to stay at his house for a few weeks and take on some of his practice while he recovers from a complex ankle break.”
“Oh, yes, I know Josh. He lives just a few miles from us, and since I work for the local family doctor, I get to know pretty much everyone in town. It’s a small place, anyway, and I have a brother and sister who’ve needed orthopedic assistance more than a few times. But how do you know him?”
“We met at a medical conference several years ago, and have stayed in touch. I’m working with him and a few others at the hospital here on some ideas to help athletes return to full participation in sport after accidents. As much as we get done via e-mail and file sharing, I’ve been looking for an opportunity to spend some time at the research center here. Poor Josh’s accident offered an excuse.”
“I saw Sheila – his wife – a week or so ago,” Tory offered, pushing open the front door and gesturing a welcome, “and she told me he’s been a miserable patient, but everyone at the clinic is too afraid of him to make him behave. Apparently he’s so embarrassed about crashing his bike that he’s trying to make a super-fast recovery.”
“Yes, that sounds quite right. In fact, he was trying to jump rope on his one good leg recently, and set his recovery back quite a bit jostling his cast. So Sheila is forcibly removing him from the center and taking him to a facility in Maryland, where the staff can treat him like any other patient. It is humbling sometimes to see how very imprudent many in my profession can be when we’re in our patients’ place. I often see colleagues doing things in recovery that they would condemn in the people they care for.”
“The surgeon’s god complex carrying over from the operating room,” Tory laughed, then stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry, I hope that didn’t sound rude. I always think you do so much good, and sometimes so dramatically, that you have a right to a complex – especially with open heart and organ transplants and that kind of thing.” She stammered to a halt.
“Goodness, Tory, you’re welcome to say what you like. I expect you were joking, and in any case, you should, indeed, speak up if you see someone suffering delusions of grandeur. That can be plain dangerous in operating theater or examining room. But how solemn I am! Please extend some more of your New England generosity and believe I’m not deliberately being pompous!”
“Of course not,” she chuckled. “You set a great example of generosity. Here, let me take your coat. I can hang it by the stove so it drips onto the hearth, and I guess you’d better take off your shoes. Do you have a change in your bag?”
“My track shoes – or runners? No, what do you call athletic shoes?”
“Sneakers, sometimes, or running shoes, tennis shoes, that kind of thing. You’ve got a bit of an accent that seems more English than Dutch to me. Did you learn to speak English in England?”
“Partly that,” he answered, “but I learned your language in Holland from the time I was quite young, with the help of my English grandmother and that lovely, old-fashioned tradition, an English nanny. My native languages are Dutch and Fries – and both of those are so difficult that few people outside our country learn them. So, as you probably know, most of us learn at least one or two other languages from childhood.”
“What’s Fries?” Tory asked, adding quickly, “Wait, don’t explain yet. Come through to the kitchen and we can call for a tow truck, and I’ll start some breakfast. Have you eaten?”
“Breakfast would be very welcome,” Max replied. “What a delightful house this is. It has great warmth and character. Have you lived here long? Forgive me if the question is too personal, please.”
“Not at all. If that’s what you consider a personal question, you are in for some culture shock here! Believe it or not, my mother’s great-grandparents built the place when they married about 150 years ago, and it’s passed down to sons and daughters ever since. Though I suppose 150 years doesn’t sound that long to you, does it?”
Max chuckled, a deep, warm sound in the stone-floored kitchen. “I’m afraid my family home in Amsterdam is about 400 years old,” he admitted. “What’s more, I’m not aware of any case where a daughter got to inherit. Still, I’m a strong proponent of a family headquarters that spans the generations.”
Tory, having found the number for the local repair shop, got back to business. “The phone’s right on the wall,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s likely there won’t be anyone there yet, but you can leave a message and have them call you back here. The power’s out, but the phone’s usually very reliable in bad weather, and that will help save your cell phone battery.” After checking with his car-rental agency, Max put through a call to the local mechanic while Tory began scrambling eggs on the old gas stove.
Many hours later, having waved her unexpected guest goodbye, she padded back into her kitchen to slump at the well-scrubbed wooden table and reflect on an extraordinary – yet very ordinary – day. Max had settled into the old farmhouse like he’d been born there. After getting through four eggs, a mound of hash browns and copious amounts of toast, he had pitched in on the dishwashing like an expert. That chore finished, he volunteered to help with the shoveling. Dressed in oddments from his carry-on and Tory’s brother’s wardrobe, finished off with her father’s hip waders, he’d done yeoman work on the front walk and driveway. Then, while Tory made soup and sandwiches for lunch, he’d tackled some of the ancillary pathways.
Over lunch, he’d filled Tory in on the history of Frieseland, a part of the Netherlands with its own unique language and culture. She had to do some guessing, since Max kept his narrative largely impersonal and always modest, but she inferred that his family was ancient, close-knit and prominent. The conversation did give her a chance to thank him again for the symphony tickets he’d kindly provided in Amsterdam. “I’m delighted you were able to use them,” he said. “My mother sang your praises, as well. She thought you deftig, and you should know there’s no better compliment my mother can bestow.”
“Deftig,” Tory mused. “That’s one of those words that doesn’t translate well, isn’t it? I think someone told me it means elegant or chic or distinguished, which doesn’t seem like me, actually. Anyway, it’s a lovely compliment.”
She hadn’t meant to be funny, but Max’s chuckle rumbled out. “But the graciousness with which you’ve welcomed me here, and your ease and self-possession, are the kind of elegance the word encapsulates. Mother has a fine eye for those qualities.”
She was blushing again, and jumped up quickly, gathering dishes. “How very nice of you to say, and of her, too,” she said quickly. “I’m sure she’s very deftig, much more than I. At least, I think I’m sure she is!”
After their morning’s hard work, Tory recommended a restful afternoon, and they had alternated reading from the Bird family’s extensive bookshelves with a few hands of gin rummy until the sound of a booming engine broke into the living room. The plow had finally arrived, and the two of them headed out to meet it.
“Hey, Patrick,” Tory called, waving to the local man driving the truck. He pulled to a halt in front of the house, and pointed toward the Mercedes. “Colin will be along to help your friend out of the ditch,” he promised. “We tried to phone but didn’t get an answer.”
“We were out shoveling all morning,” Tory explained. “And with the power out, the answering machine wouldn’t have picked up. It doesn’t have a battery; I should have thought of that.” Patrick grunted a reply in typically laconic New Hampshire style. “Give a holler if you need anything,” he added, and maneuvered the plow carefully past the stuck car.
Colin had been equally economical with both words and motions. With a bit of help from Max, his truck had the Mercedes back on the road quickly, where they could see the damage had been minimal. One tire change later, her surprise visitor was bidding Tory good-bye. “I’m sure we’ll meet around the town over the next few weeks,” he said as they shook hands. “I look forward to getting to know all my new neighbors, if I may go by the standard you set for consideration and welcome.”
His lavish compliment set Tory to stammering and blushing again. Before she became hopelessly entangled in counter-thanks and disclaimers, Max had leaned down from his great height and kissed her, very lightly, on each cheek. “The continental style,” he’d explained, and swung around, sliding gracefully into the powerful Mercedes before putting the car into gear. Thankfully, Tory had had – just barely – the presence of mind to reply in kind to his farewell wave before pressing her mittened hands against her cheeks. “Oh, my,” she breathed, watching her breath fog in the cold air. “Oh, my.”
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Hilltop Tryst--Reprise
If I may steal from my original discussion thread:
When Beatrice has to pack in a hurry to leave Great-Aunt Sybil's, she throws her odds and ends into plastic bags...'A plastic bag!" exclaimed Great-Aunt Sybil. 'Must you, Beatrice? In my day, no young lady carried such a thing - why have you no luggage?'...I shall give you suitable luggage for your birthday".
I send the little pledges off to overnight with Grandma van Voorhees toting their belongings in plastic bags. I can see that it pains her--offends her ideas of a lovely childhood memory-to-be. But, in fairness, the 4th little pledge will probably have need of a plastic, semi-fluid-retentive bag when be totes his belongings back to Mother.
Love and lardy cakes,
Betty Keira
I remembered really not liking Hilltop Tryst...it was among one of the last Betty Neels I read. I couldn't remember what exactly bothered me about it, so I approached it with some trepidation last week. Thankfully, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought.
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| Beatrice got to the hilltop a little too early on Midsummer's morning. |
Beatrice's life is anything but exciting. Instead of training to be a veterinarian like her father, she is his assistant. Lots of on-the-job training, but no room for advancement either. Her lack of career leaves her open and available to take on such mundane jobs such as 'Acting Companion' to Great-Aunt Sybil - who she is not fond of (the feeling is mutual). Great-Auntie should probably have been set adrift on a convenient iceberg years ago, but failing that, she spends her time bad-mouthing her family and medical professionals. After a visit to a noted cardiologist in London (that would be our boy Oliver), a suitable companion is found. Or rather, a suitable companion is sent. Oliver just so happened to know someone.
Papa Browning, the village veterinarian, has a heart attack. It's sure a handy and convenient thing that Oliver is a cardiologist. Oliver suggests to Beatrice that she hire a locum. It's really a shame that he doesn't know a handy vet who happens to be at loose ends for a few weeks, because, well, you'll see.
The agency sends a man. I suppose we must call him a man, although he is more closely related to the reptile kingdom. Think of a snake with opposable thumbs.
Colin Wood, he of the showy yellow sports car with lots of luggage, several tennis rackets and a set of golf clubs.
Colin Wood, young and exciting. Danger, danger, danger...(I'm saying this with a fake Australian accent).
Colin Wood, sniffing around the veterinary practice account books.
Colin Wood, plotter of mercenary marriage to the unsuspecting Beatrice...until she overhears the Phone Conversation O' Doom wherein he outs his true mercenary motive for chatting up Beatrice.
Colin Wood, stalker extraordinaire.
Colin practically attacks Beatrice in the middle of the village - Beatrice is saved by Oliver - whom she calls her 'fiancee'. Oliver assures Colin that the announcement will be in the Telegraph the very next day. Which it is.
Oliver invites Beatrice to go on a two-week lecture tour with him (and his assistant, the delightful Miss Ethel Cross).
Colin has taken to writing impassioned letters to Beatrice. Beatrice is so over him by this time - the letters don't even mean anything to her.
Lecture Tour O' Liking or Great Hotels of Europe. Two weeks at the finest hotels in Utrecht, Cologne, Copenhagen and Brussels...Just as Oliver drives away from dropping her back at her house - finally, finally! Beatrice realizes she's in love - but since she has endowed Oliver with an imaginary fiancee, there's nothing she can do about it.
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| Chasing burglars was just a way to let off a little excess steam, after all, she couldn't bring herself to chase Oliver. |
If she wasn't already in love, two weeks of forced Oliver Drought would have certainly make her heart grow fonder...as it is, she's in such a muddle about her feelings for him, the faux engagement, his imaginary fiancee and life in general that she scampers into hiding the next time she hears the gentle purr of his Rolls. Two can play the sneaky game...Oliver pops up unexpectedly and asks her why she hid. Em-bar-ass-ing, much?
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| Sorry Colin, the better man is going to win this time. |
Time to wrap it up:
- Visit to Aunt Polly in Cornwall (a whole 3 pages worth).
- Kissing on the street.
- Takes her home...thorough kissing in front of the whole family. Muddled thoughts for Beatrice.
- Proposal on the hilltop where they met. 'I promised myself when we met that one day I would ask you to marry me on this very spot...'
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| Miss Ethel always wore her little black number when she received her employee of the month award. |
Rating: I'm pretty sure the reason I didn't like Hilltop Tryst before had to do with how monumentally thick Beatrice seemed. She meets a great guy, then falls for a weasel, then has to get over the weasel, THEN falls for the great guy. Ugh. On closer reading I'm willing to cut her a little bit of slack. Yes, she's still pretty (very) thick, but she'd been fending off the feeble advances of the local doctor's son for years - I get the impression she wants a little more zip in her love life, and her first impression of Oliver is that he's pretty un-zippy. Along comes Colin - he's a flash in the pan, but a charmer - in the smarmy, insincere kind of way. Beatrice is side-swiped by his flattery, and nearly falls for it. It takes her longer than I felt was strictly necessary for her to get over Colin - especially when he shows his true colours so boldly (and badly). I do love a few of the bit players - Great-Aunt Sybil is fabulously awful (but we've seen her type before), little sister Ella is fun (but we've seen...etc...). Miss Ethel Cross is one of my favorite characters, but considering her limited word count, that doesn't speak too well of the book. All things considered, I found this book both better and worse than I remembered. Better, in that I understood Beatrice a little more, and worse, in that it takes quite a while for not much to happen. Madiera Cake for me...
Fashion: My favorite outfit, by far, is the 'little black number' worn by Ethel Cross. Beatrice wears a pale rose wild silk bridesmaid dress to her sister's wedding while Oliver is 'wearing his morning coat as if he was in the habit of doing so frequently...it was certainly not hired from Moss Bros.' Blue linen dress and little jacket, pale pink cotton dress with a demur collar, dark blue one piece swimsuit.
Food: Bacon, eggs and mushrooms for breakfast, ham on the bone and potatoes in their jackets, pork pies, duchesse potatoes, strawberry tart, lettuce soup (???), grilled sole, fresh fruit, peach tart, brioche.
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Betty in the Wild: Namibia
Home again, home again, jiggety jig:
And then we're off to Africa! Just like Hugo! Except the minor difference that where he spent months establishing a feeding center for starving children, I spent two weeks at a 20-year old preserve feeding well-cared for cheetahs. It's the Cheetah Conservation Fund, should you be interested, and gets five stars for food (plenty of stodge!), accommodation (shared rondavel, check for snakes before heading down the gravel path to the bathroom), fun activities (dog walking, donkey care (okay, they were dead and I was feeding them to cheetahs, but they're still donkeys), brisk walks, peering through microscopes, etc.).
Plus: TWO DUTCH INTERNS!! Both definite charming younger sister types; no snooty Juffrouws here.
Daisy did not join me when I spent a half-day, or 12 hours, in a tiny brick blind with a handsome English intern. I am only about 30 years older than he, but still felt no need of competition.
Our visitors at the waterhole included:
I went on safari, for less than 48 hours, and no time for messing about with books. I had a mind to be blown and photos to take!
Back at the ranch,
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| It was almost Hallowe'en when I got back from my trip 'round the USA, so Cobweb Morning seemed appropriate. |
And then we're off to Africa! Just like Hugo! Except the minor difference that where he spent months establishing a feeding center for starving children, I spent two weeks at a 20-year old preserve feeding well-cared for cheetahs. It's the Cheetah Conservation Fund, should you be interested, and gets five stars for food (plenty of stodge!), accommodation (shared rondavel, check for snakes before heading down the gravel path to the bathroom), fun activities (dog walking, donkey care (okay, they were dead and I was feeding them to cheetahs, but they're still donkeys), brisk walks, peering through microscopes, etc.).
Plus: TWO DUTCH INTERNS!! Both definite charming younger sister types; no snooty Juffrouws here.
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| Every home has its big water tank - well, every white person's home - fed by a well. The rainy seasons have been slack just lately. |
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| Mariske goes to university in Friesland, though is not Fries. Note hungry cheetahs feeding in background. |
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| Marianne (MAH ree ahn ah) also at univ in Friesland; also not Fries. I would tweeze hairs from cheetah poo for her, and she would peer at them through her microscope to determine what the cheetah had been eating. |
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| Thorn bush with yummy little orange fruits. |
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| Beautiful and industrious weaver bird building its Christmas-ornament-like nest. |
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| And with this focus you can actually see the bird and nest. |
Daisy did not join me when I spent a half-day, or 12 hours, in a tiny brick blind with a handsome English intern. I am only about 30 years older than he, but still felt no need of competition.
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| Tom, looking for warthogs. |
Our visitors at the waterhole included:
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| Lots of zebra |
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| Many eland |
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| two giraffes and dozens of warthogs. |
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| a few guinea fowl |
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| Lots of kudu (female; males have horns). |
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| Several oryx |
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| Seriously, enough warthogs that I was starting to have uncharitable thoughts about them, expressed in a hiss thusly to Tom: "Can't we just start shooting them?" And a single red hartebeest. |
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| Blue wildebeest, or gnu. |
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| Ostriches in quantity. |
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| Elephants, including this charming family |
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| A charming lion family. |
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| And a charming couple intent on beginning a family, if you know what I mean. Knowing this is a Brighton-free zone, I chose one of the less-racy photos for you. |
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| Herds of springbok, and oh so much more. Etosha National Park, and I can get you the name of the guide and guide service if you like. |
Back at the ranch,
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| The male hornbill was still feeding his mate, still in her nest. |
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| The logistics of trying to rescue these guys befuddled me incalculably. Calling Dr. van Zeust! |
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| Also, must confess I love the kitties, and the kitties appreciate a bit of dark-red meat. |
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| That's why the CCF trains livestock-guarding dogs like Taya, who lives amongst goats to protect them from predators. American Ben and Mariske are cleaning up goat poo, while I down rake for a moment to record the scene. |
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| Of course, if a poor little steenbok wanders past a cheetah... |
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| Unless it's one of these 'human-habituated' cubs, who just like to wrestle each other. |
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| Good bye, Namibia. Thank you! |
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