Book 18 for 2025: “The Great Hippopotamus Hotel”, Alexander McCall Smith


After reading 17 serious books to date this year, I decided it was time to read something lighter and found this latest in the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series at the library. If you are looking for lighter reading, sort of mystery stories without murders, and insights into a different culture, Botswana, this series is for you. Start with at least several near the beginning of the series so you get to know all the main characters to fully appreciate what occurs and who’s who.

This novel gets its name from a traditional hotel located way out in the countryside far from city. It is a relaxing place with a lovely veranda and native gardens full of flowers and succulents. Strange things begin to occur–food poisoning, scorpions in rooms, laundry disappearing from the clothes line–too many for it to be by accident. The hotel manager comes to see Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi for help. At the same time Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni has a male client who asks him to find him a fancy, red, Italian sport car without his wife knowing anything about it. With their customary good humor and kindness, these characters set out to solve the problems of the hotel and deal with the sports car issue.

As usual in this series, one learns that quite often people accuse the wrong person, that things are often not as they seem, and that your own prejudices and inclinations can lead you totally astray.

“Barbie Doll”–in honor of my mother


Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed and blond, my

mother, one fearless, controlling woman. Long after Mom’s

death, Dad said, “Barbara was afraid of absolutely on one

and nothing.” They married late, 34 & 38. He adored her

unconditionally. She filled my life with horses, music, love,

cornfields, hay rides, books, and ambition. Whatever she felt she

had missed, my sister and I were going to possess: books,

piano lessons, a college education. Her father, who died long

before I was born, loved fancy, fast horses. So did she. During

my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my hysterical night

coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her in a wagon.

With less than one hundred pounds and lots of determination,

she stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri

River Bottom, strong, willful, free.

Note: This was first published in an anthology and later in my poetry memoir, “On the Rim of Wonder.” My mom loved the color pink and roses, had a rose garden. In the summer there were always crystal bowls on the dining table with roses floating. Today I have roses floating in two stemmed crystal bowls in my kitchen.

Book 16 for 2025: “The Blue Hour”, Paula Hawkins


Given the nature of the previous book I read by this author and this novel, I have come to the conclusion that she likes to create seriously disturbed, dysfunctional characters. The setting helps with the “mystery”–a somewhat remote island which really is not an island except when the tide comes in. Only one house with only one inhabitant, a steep wooded slope that ends in a rock outcrop with a long plunge to the sea, the disappearance twenty years before of the philandering husband of the famous artist who lived there, and now a lonely, strange, old woman living there alone add to the atmosphere. The relationships among several other characters reveal the continued class structure of British society, its effects. and add to the unsettling nature of the story. To top it all off, a gruesome discovery is made about an art exhibit of the deceased, famous artist who once lived on the island. Although not classified as a mystery, this really is several bizarre mysteries combined. If you like British stories, art, and mystery novels, you will like this novel.

Book 14 for 2025: “About Grace”, Anthony Doerr


This is one of the most heart wrenching books I have ever read. As a child, the main character, David Winkler, discovers he possesses the ability of premonition via dreams that come true. Only his mother understands him; unfortunately she dies while he is still young, leaving him with father who is only physically there. He becomes an hydrologist, specializing in the structure of snowflakes, leading a rather lonely life as a weatherman in Alaska. While at the grocery store, he meets a woman. He knows what she is going to do before she does it. Eventually, they develop a relationship. The remainder of the novel details the consequences of their relationship and their having a child, Grace. David dreams that he will not be able to save Grace from flood waters, his wife thinks he is crazy, and then to avoid what he perceives will be Grace’s fate if he stays, he disappears. Eventually, he arrives hungry and destitute on a Caribbean island where he is taken in by a kind family who have escaped imprisonment in Chili during the military dictatorship there. He agonizes over whether his running away saved Grace and is unable to find out what happened to her. Eventually he saves up enough money to search even though he has no idea where she might be or how she will react of he finds her alive. Will her mother forgive him, will Grace if he finds her? He is driven to find out no matter the consequences.

This novel’s main themes include love, longing, forgiveness, the meaning of friendship, and the human search for grace.

Note: I have now read everything published by Anthony Doerr. His works contain beautiful prose and detailed descriptions. One of the most impressive things about his work is the amount of research required to write in such great detail about so many subjects, e.g. structure of snow flakes, the anatomy of different types of shells, the history of the city now called Istanbul and its ancient neighborhoods.

Book 13 for 2025: “Honey Hunger”, Zahran Alqasmi


This Omani author has won prizes for his fiction. Only a few of his books have been translated into English. This one takes the reader into the remote villages and mountain regions of the interior of Oman. Azzan, the main character, had received highest honors as a child and teen for his academic excellence but fails to win a coveted scholarship to travel abroad for college. His father, who is mainly absent during his growing up, berates him, and Azzan turns to alcohol and addiction. Eventually, he saves himself by becoming a beekeeper. He finds solace in the more remote, wild regions rather than the narrow confines of village life which is controlled by gossip and tradition.

In these wild areas he meets two other men. Although they do not keep domestic bees, they go camping together in the far mountain areas hunting for the prized honey from wild bees. One of these men is a Bedouin who trains prized racing camels. Through him and his wife and friends, he learns how much freer Bedouin culture is compared to that of the settled villages. He learns to dance and talk more freely with women. While in one remote area, he meets a woman, Thamna, who too has escaped the traditional village life and roams the wadis and mountains with her herd of goats always looking for better pasture. He becomes obsessed with her, always on the outlook as he keeps his bees and roams the interior of Oman hunting bees.

This story is not only about Azzan, but also his friends, traditional Omani village life, bee culture, and Bedouin life. For those interested in bee keeping, the author provides detailed descriptions of bee keeping. The language is poetic and infinitely descriptive. I could feel the wind, smell the different wild flowers and the taste of the honey created from them, see the Bedouin dancing, and feel Azzan’s heartbreak when disaster hits.

Although this novel describes a culture far different from that of the US and Europe, I found some things not all that dissimilar: the strict rules of small town life, the greater freedom found in nature, how people develop and lose interpersonal relationships. The language used makes the reader feel there in the moment being described. Plus I learned that bee keeping is very labor intensive and wrought with many things that can go wrong. I eat honey daily and now will have a greater appreciation of what goes into its production and harvesting.

Simple Pleasures


Taste the honey on your tongue

avocado, dark brown

clover, golden

so many shades, textures

sweetness

pleasure

Feel the breeze caress your cheeks

bringing scents

honeysuckle

lilacs

peach blossoms

pleasure

Touch the silken fabric of your scarf

wind softness around you

midnight and snow

rainbows

desert sunsets

pleasure

Listen to the birds outside your window

mockingbird love songs

a rapture’s scream

the whir of hummingbird wings

emerald, indigo, grey

pleasure

Look at flowers blooming everywhere

crimson bougainvillea

roses, sunshine colors

pale pink, vermillion

beauty

pleasure

Sing a song of Gratitude

April Is Poetry Month–3 poems for the first three days


I am a bit behind so decided to share three poems I wrote more than ten years ago about my favorite animal obsession, pumas. These poems were first published in my poetry memoir, On the Rim of Wonder, which is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

I

My neighbor walked out her door

found a puma lying in the lawn.

Puma rose, stretched, disappeared.

At night when I open my gate

I wonder if she lurks

behind the cedar trees,

Pounce ready.

My daughter dreams puma dreams:

a puma chases her up a tree.

There are no trees here big enough to climb.

A Zuni puma fetish guards my sleep.

I run with puma

Night wild

Free.

I scream and howl

Moonstruck

Bloodborn.

I hike the canyon,

stroll around my house,

look for puma tracks.

I see none.

I would rather die by puma

than in a car wreck.

II

I watch for eyes, blue changing to amber and back.

I put my palm, fingers stretched to measure, into the footprint.

Too small, bobcat.

No puma.

My thin body squeezes between the rocks,

climbing quietly down the cliff.

Watching, listening, searching.

No puma.

Pale amber rushes across my vision line.

My heart quakes.

I watch; I wait.

It is Isabella, a golden whir chasing rabbits.

No puma.

At sunrise, I walk the rim,

watching.

At sunset, I walk the rim,

waiting.

At night, I walk the rim,

dreaming.

No puma, not yet.

III

I want

to walk

with you

in my dreams

scream your screams

feel your blood

rushing

your heartbeat

mine

soft golden fur

wound in my hair

your amber eyes

glowing

through my brown

death defying

together walking

moonlit

wild

free

Note: My puma obsession continues. This painting and several others of pumas hang in my house. I now have two puma Zuni fetishes. I hike in the mountains hoping to see one in the wild.

The Angel


Can you call yourself a creative writer if you have not written a word in months? I have a friend who promotes 20 minutes of writing per day, telling people to just write, forget quality, just write. Really?! I care about quality. Perhaps too much? I make sure to read quality writing 99.99% of the time. Is this just words I am writing here or is it quality or garbage? You tell me!

One thing I can do is read. I’m good at reading. And singing. And gardening. I talk to plants; that’s why they grow for me. I truly care. They bring me peace and joy.

In the last two months, I’ve read three collections of short stories, two by Anthony Doerr and one by Gayle Jones. Normally, I am not a short story reader, but here I am reading these. Talk about different. It’s almost like these two famous writers inhabit different planets. Doerr’s stories seem intensely emotional, often a bit fantastical and heart wrenching with a lush, descriptive, poetic style even though Doerr is not a published poet. Jones is a published poet, yet her stories are blunt, conversational, often first person and sometimes short–one page short.

In many, a character is telling his or her (most of the stories are her) story about where they are, some experience, somebody they knew, what they did or said. In one story the narrator says she’s an angel, explains where she’s been, whom she’s known, and ends up by asking readers if they’ve seen her near the Seine. I doubt anyone mistakes me for an angel.

Note: Book 13 for 2025 is “Butter”, Gayle Jones. A collection of short stories.