Monday, May 5, 2025

The National Gallery

Annamaria on Monday

With apologies for my absence last week.  

A longtime friend lives in Bethesda.  Since I was there for Malice, I played hokey on writing a blog so that I could spend last Sunday with her.  We spent a lot of that time wandering around the National Gallery.  Here are some highlights of what we saw:


James McNeil Whistler's Symphony in White. Blogger will not
let me enlarge the picture, but it will let me enlarge the detail
 of the head of the animal that was sacrificed to make
 the rug on which the woman in white stands!
(Good thing you cannot hear me cursing.)  









I am giving up trying to upload the names of all the artists and their works.

Henri Matisse
I love the skeptical look on her face!
She mirrors my feelings about struggling with Blogger. 


Here are some of Alexander Calder's delightful animals.  Just looking at them dissolves my cranky attitude over tech difficulties.


Notice the shadow on the wall.





The view from one of the windows.  
It reminded me of this:



Saturday, May 3, 2025

Stopped by Woulds...What Ifs...and Maybes (none by Robert Frost)

 




Is this US?


Whose words these are I think I know.
My mind is on to pillage though;
To find something for blogging clear
Some thoughts that matter, not for show. 

My blogmates all must think it queer
To see a poem this time here
With so much news of fraud and fake,
And daily tales of more to fear.
 
But now I think it’s time to wake
And trust there might be some mistake.
To hope somewhere beyond the sweep
There will be peace for all God’s sake.
 
We know what’s out there’s dark and deep.
And if we choose we all could weep,
But I prefer to pause to reap,
The promises men swore to keep. 
                    *****
Robert L. Frost (1874-1963)

Of all the words Frost did compose.
The ones that hit it on the nose,
For how to live amid the whirl,
Are those his tombstone did unfurl:

“I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.”

A churchyard in Bennington, Vermont

Not a bad philosophy for all that’s about us these days.

For those few interested in Frost's version

Thursday, May 1, 2025

Jackie Baldwin Guest Blog.

 Introducing Jackie Baldwin and her novel, Murder at Whiteadder House.

So what do I know about Jackie? I think she may be a Twisted Sister, I  know she was a lawyer.... and she writes great crime fiction. That's all you need to know really!

Here's bits and bobs from her website. Jackie knew she wanted to write a novel from about seven years old. There was a bit of a rocky start as she wasn't as quick at learning to read at school as the other kids. Once she got hold of the right specs, and a good ear surgeon, she was fine. Her parents had a small café  and young Jackie would sit and read, and write stories with titles like ‘The Dark Horrors of Destiny.’

She studied law at Edinburgh University, and then specialised in family and criminal law, all good stuff for a crime writer. Family life, children, dogs and a career back in Dumfries put her writing on the back burner, but a weekend workshop in writing drama with the great Peter Mullen got her passion for writing reignited.

And the rest is history.

When not writing or working she explores the beautiful East Lothian countryside and coastline with her golden retriever Lucy. She also swims in the icy waters of the North Sea. With that kind of insanity, we really had to have her as a guest blogger in her own words......

Here's Jackie,

Jackie!

A very scary book.
What does happen behind the closed doors of a so called medical establishment?
Knowing Jackie? It might be murder.

The genesis of this three part series came from in part from the pandemic, even though it isn’t mentioned in the books. I had moved up to rural East Lothian which is a short drive from Portobello beach on the east side of Edinburgh just before lockdown hit. It was a bleak time for everyone and I wasn’t immune to the mood of grief and melancholy sweeping the nation. As is usually the case with me, it all started with the image of a character. This woman was in the throes of unabated grief after the loss of her son who had drowned at Portobello Beach. I saw her swimming out to sea, her tears mingling with the salt water attempting to feel any remaining essence of him. Each day, she would swim out in the early morning and each day, she contemplated not turning back. So far, so cheery. However, Grace McKenna was also a fighter. A former police office, she opened a private detective agency on the Esplanade.

                                                   

                                                   

Part of the reason I chose this location at Portobello was that it was one of the few places I was familiar with in my new home at a time when we were all geographically restricted. I loved the real ‘Espy’ pub/café with its outdoor tables looking out over the beach where you could sit with your dog and watch the world go by. I was intrigued by the idea of doing a serious job in a place where, if you opened the door, some sand would blow in on the breeze. Harvey, the gorgeous golden retriever in the books, who provides solace and humour, was based on a much loved dog I had called Poppy. It was my way of giving her another lease of life.

                                              

                                              

For this particular book, I needed to find a remote, isolated location for a mysterious clinic that was still only a thirty minute drive from Portobello and, thanks to my husband, who can read a map, unlike yours truly, I found that up in the hills at Whiteadder Reservoir. Believe it or not, locals pronounce that ‘Whitudder.’ 

                                              

                                             

Fast forward a few years and I am very settled into east Lothian, with its beautiful, deserted beaches and quaint market towns. To my surprise and delight a train station has now opened in the village where I live so all the cultural excitement Edinburgh has to offer is a mere twenty minutes away. There are also beautiful mature woods where I can indulge my obsession with trees and how they express themselves as they grow. Another feature of the area is its fabulous castles. My daughter got married in the small but perfectly formed Winton Castle in Pencaitland which formed the inspiration for Murder at Castle Traprain. Yes, even at my daughter’s wedding, I was mulling over the choice places I could stash a body!

                                                


Thank you Jackie. I loved the book. We are now writing neighbours, both setting our new series in and around Oban. We shall hear from you again once you have that book written and on the shelf!



The Happiest Place on Earth?

Wendall -- every other Thursday

Disneyland provokes strong reactions in almost everyone – they either love it or hate it. 


View from the Blue Bayou Restaurant

A reflection of Sleeping Beauty's castle.


My hero, Carl Hiaasen, not a fan.

And, as much as I was amused and horrified by Carl Hiaasen’s book, Team Rodent, I’m still a baby boomer who grew up on The Wonderful World of Disney, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Dumbo, Lady and the Tramp, Alice in Wonderland, 101 Dalmations and beyond, so there’s still a kid inside whose heart leaps up every time I get close enough to the Peter Pan ride to hear the recurring strains of “You can fly.”  

 

Getting ready to take off on the Peter Pan ride. 

I love that ride so much, that I talked my publisher into creating a cover for my book Fogged Off that is as close as I could get to looking down on the London from those mechanical ships.

 

The closest I could get to that view of London inside the ride.
 

We were lucky enough to visit Disneyland this weekend and it sent me back to pictures of so many times James and I have been there during our marriage and wondering what it is about the tea cups that I love so much.  

 

Heading into Roger Rabbit. 

 
About to take off on Dumbo. 

Only James could look cool in a Mad Hatter hat.

That damn sword just won't come out.


Tea cups.

 
Tea cups.


Tea cups



 
Tea cups, you get the picture.

And again.

Mouse-ear popcorn? Terrifying.

Obligatory trip to see the Cheshire Cat.

Every year.

The thing I noticed most this trip was, despite what must have been an equal number of “blue” and “red” supporters, any differences disappeared the moment anyone spotted Tigger, donned mouse ears, headed into Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, or sported a silly hat.

 

A must.

Try, but don't buy! 
 

A different view of the fireworks.

 

Rainbow!

Plus, there was a rainbow over The Haunted Mansion.

So, maybe there’s hope.

--Wendall