from Chatterbox Stories of Natural History, 1880ooooooooo
Not that I mind Saturdays, oh no, I enjoy my Saturday mornings very much. That's when I listen to my favorite radio program and check what's new at Gutenberg. But I do mind that I never seem to keep up with life in between Saturdays.
There are twenty-four hours in a day. There are seven days in a week. There are four weeks in a month. There are twelve months in a year.
These are the seven days,—Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. These are the twelve months,—January, when it is often very cold; February, when it is dull and dirty; March, when the winds blow; April, when the flowers begin to come; May, when the trees are in bloom; June, when the hay is made: July, when it is so hot; August, when it is harvest time; September, when apples are ripe; October, when the farmers brew their best beer; November, when London is covered with fog; and December, when Christmas comes.
From Aunt Mary's Primer:
Adorned with a hundred and twenty pretty pictures. Printed in 1851
Or between Januarys.... The strange thing is that life is picking up speed all the time. (Because it is downhill?) I remember an episode form when I was around six years old. My mother was working hard to get everything ready before the guests would arrive. I was looking forward to the event and was hanging around in the kitchen — probably being a nuisance to my poor mother — asking how long is it before they come? She tells me it'll be 45 minutes. I sigh and say something about that it is such a long time. Whereupon my mother also sighs and says: no, I don't think so. How relative things are.
There are not always books that interest me but it is always interesting to see the wide spectrum of books. I'm sure Henry Ward Beecher's speech on slavery is interesting — but not what I'm looking for this warm morning. So I skip it as well as "Jungle Tales of Tarzan" and "Northern Nut Growers Association Report of the Proceedings at the Fourteenth Annual Meeting Washington D.C. September 26, 27 and 28 1923". Only a few books caught my attention this morning so I checked on all books by "Anonymous" (always thinking of Virginia Woolf when finding something by Anonymous). There is much to be found — I haven't even had time to go through all I found today.
There are twenty-four hours in a day. There are seven days in a week. There are four weeks in a month. There are twelve months in a year.
These are the seven days,—Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. These are the twelve months,—January, when it is often very cold; February, when it is dull and dirty; March, when the winds blow; April, when the flowers begin to come; May, when the trees are in bloom; June, when the hay is made: July, when it is so hot; August, when it is harvest time; September, when apples are ripe; October, when the farmers brew their best beer; November, when London is covered with fog; and December, when Christmas comes.
From Aunt Mary's Primer:
Adorned with a hundred and twenty pretty pictures. Printed in 1851
Or between Januarys.... The strange thing is that life is picking up speed all the time. (Because it is downhill?) I remember an episode form when I was around six years old. My mother was working hard to get everything ready before the guests would arrive. I was looking forward to the event and was hanging around in the kitchen — probably being a nuisance to my poor mother — asking how long is it before they come? She tells me it'll be 45 minutes. I sigh and say something about that it is such a long time. Whereupon my mother also sighs and says: no, I don't think so. How relative things are.
There are not always books that interest me but it is always interesting to see the wide spectrum of books. I'm sure Henry Ward Beecher's speech on slavery is interesting — but not what I'm looking for this warm morning. So I skip it as well as "Jungle Tales of Tarzan" and "Northern Nut Growers Association Report of the Proceedings at the Fourteenth Annual Meeting Washington D.C. September 26, 27 and 28 1923". Only a few books caught my attention this morning so I checked on all books by "Anonymous" (always thinking of Virginia Woolf when finding something by Anonymous). There is much to be found — I haven't even had time to go through all I found today.
A Book of Fruits and Flowers
shewing
shewing
the Nature and Use of them,
eitherfor Meat or Medicine.
I found this lovely book from 1653 and got totally absorbed in it. The picture of the strawberries reminded me of my strawberry patch that is more of a weed patch.... There is where I should be now instead of having tea on the verandah. The only thing I miss is a Tart of Straw-Berries.
Of Straw-Berries.
Of Straw-Berries.A Tart of Straw-Berries.
Pick and wash your Straw-Berries clean, and put them in the past one by another, as thick as you can, then take Sugar, Cinamon, and a little Ginger finely beaten, and well mingled together, cast them upon the Straw Berries, and cover them with the lid finely cut into Lozenges, and so let them bake a quarter of an houre, then take it out, stewing it with a little Cinamon, and Sugar, and so serve it.
Pick and wash your Straw-Berries clean, and put them in the past one by another, as thick as you can, then take Sugar, Cinamon, and a little Ginger finely beaten, and well mingled together, cast them upon the Straw Berries, and cover them with the lid finely cut into Lozenges, and so let them bake a quarter of an houre, then take it out, stewing it with a little Cinamon, and Sugar, and so serve it.
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