A Sunny Sunday

Finished up two books today: Millions and Mrs. Daffodil. The first was written by the same author as Framed (here). Another story narrated by a young boy. This time it's Damian. He finds a bag of pounds sterling that is destined to be burned by the British government in preparation for switching over to the euro. The money is part of a bigger robbery and must be spent in just 17 days or it will be worthless.

Damian is in the fourth grade. His brother Anthony is in the fifth. Their mother is dead and the dad works long hours. Anthony wants to buy stuff; Damian, who studies the lives of saints, thinks perhaps the money (which he is sure was dropped out of the sky by God) could be put to more charitable purposes. There are Mormans, greedy classmates, their parents, the Man with the Glass Eye, and a donkey. And then there are the real saints...Francis, Joseph...who keep appearing to Damian. It is all rather a romp. Just the book for reading before going to sleep.

Mrs. Daffodil was a delight (here). I do love books written about country life. Having read Gladys Taber's first-person account of life in the country, Stillmeadow Calendar (here), it was a bit disconcerting to read this book which is written in the third person. I know all along that these are Gladys' experiences.

I wonder how she liked writing in this detached way. Makes me want to try it sometime.

Sunday with Mrs. Daffodil

Mrs. Daffodil and I have had a busy day. We shopped for a girdle, celebrated Thanksgiving without electricity, helped birth a litter of Cocker puppies, been interviewed by a journalist, and seen her daughter, Anne, married.

We ate plates full of roast beef, chicken, green beans, baked beans, potatoes, and drank many cups of coffee. Mrs. Daffodil likes coffee.

We started to straighten the desk but didn't get past looking through the photo album full of memories. We got locked in the old station wagon and had to be rescued by Kay, the woman who shares the 400-year old farmhouse with Mrs. D. We attended the church meeting to discuss remodeling which in 1950s New England means adding bathrooms and a gas stove.

We chatted with the postman, Henry, who doesn't call anyone by his or her first name for fear of appearing to be playing favorites. We stayed with Mrs. Wilson the night she became a widow when her husband was killed in an automobile accident.

We met Mrs. Daffodil's first love. We both wept.

Mrs. Daffodil (aka author Gladys Taber)  is certainly someone you would want to know. She is a bit absent-minded about where she has put one thing or another, would rather be in corduroys and a shirt than in a dress and heels, and welcomes all - family, friends, and strangers - to her farm, Driftway. A driftway, she explained, is the narrow path up the pasture where the cows come home.

I can barely wait to see what adventures tomorrow will bring.

Mrs. Daffodil Arrives

The daffodil is definitely my favorite Spring flower. So how can I go wrong reading a book titled Mrs. Daffodil? And to add to the pleasure of the name, said book is written by Gladys Taber of the Stillmeadow Calendar that I adored. She was my pick as the author I was so happy to discover in 2011.

Anyway, I first read about Mrs. Daffodil on Frisbee A Book Journal's blog. (I wish I knew how to insert the link to this woman's delightful reading adventures but I am just figuring out about inserting photos. I will need to work on that a bit.)

She wrote so tellingly of the book and the author that because my public library didn't have a copy, nor did the university library in my town, and it is no longer in print, I gathered up my skirts and e-mailed Frisbee and asked if I could borrow Mrs. D from her. I promised that I was very trustworthy and offered to send her my copy of The Egg and I to hold as ransom. Unfortunately, she didn't own the book so I went back to the library to see if it could be found in another system.

Today it arrived from the Hutchins Library at Berea College in Berea, Ky. I am so looking forward to settling in tomorrow, a rainy Sunday, and getting acquainted with Mrs. D.