Many Thanks to all who have sent me e-mails with comments about my Circle series or anything else. It's always great to hear from you, and I will respond. My e-mail address is:
doloresriccio@comcast.net.
To those wonderful readers who have expressed an interest in the next two Circle adventures (all written), please be assured I am working diligently on finding a new publisher for this series, now that Kensington has bowed out. It only seems to take forever. I promise, these books (and more) will be out of my closet & computer and into the realm of published books...
someday.
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A Sultry Welcome to the Dog Days of Summer
These languid days of deep summer are favorites of mine. The shade cast by trees is darkly green and sumptuous, local vegetables are plump and abundant, and wild tiger lilies stalk the roadsides. It’s a time to enjoy iced beverages, chilly mysteries, boats, beaches, and summer nights of starlight and fireflies.
First observed in ancient times by people who lived around the Mediterranean,
the “Dog Star” Sirius (which means “scorching”) rose with the sun in the morning and set with it in the evening between the dates of July 3 and August 11—which therefore became known as those lazy, hazy, crazy “dog days” of summer. But because the earth wobbles on its axis (called “precession”), the dates when this astronomical event occurs have changed over the centuries. Now the Dog Star Sirius companions the sun from August 4 to September 11.
Speaking of Dog Days, it’s a time to be especially watchful of the health of our furred companions who need to be kept cool and comfortable—and
never, never locked in hot-box cars while someone makes “a quick trip through the store.”
Coincidentally, August 16 is the feast of
Saint Roch, also known as Saint Rocco, the patron saint of dogs
and those who love them. Born in France during the 13th century, Saint Roch was the son of rich, noble parents, but he gave away all his worldly possessions to the poor and made it his mission in life to minister to the victims of plague and pestilence. When he sickened with the plague himself, Saint Roch went away deep into the forest to die, but he was nursed back to health by a dog who brought the sick man food from his master’s table, and stayed by him until he recovered. Something like today’s “therapy dogs,” who bring solace to those in need of nurturing, from elderly residents of nursing homes to young victims of abuse.
Heather, one of the ladies in my Circle books, shares her home with a therapy dog named Honeycomb (a golden retriever, of course) who is the mother of Scruffy’s offspring Raffles. Her unsanctioned romance with Scruffy was short-lived, however, and now she barely gives him a rec.
Although Honeycomb is an officially registered
Therapy Dog with a Massachusetts group called BONES (an acronym for Building Opportunities for Nurturing and Emotional Support)occasionally she has an off-day (don’t we all?) In
The Divine Circle of Ladies Making Mischief, I am sad to report that she threw herself between Cass and a threatening nurse, knocking the woman to floor, and got Cass, Heather, and herself thrown out of the rehabilitation facility.
Oh, well! No one is perfect.
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Here's my summer poem about the frustrations of gardening. It was published in
Bellowing Ark.
All gardens are wild.
Resolutely you tear out weeds,
and before dawn the next day,
they grow back thicker.
The rain is their sister.
The sun is their lover.
Every time they thrust up,
their leaves grow fuller,
their roots stronger.
With spare untidy blossoms,
their tendrils reach out
to throttle your roses.
Wilderness is the name
of the way that has no name.
Here in your walled garden,
lush, lawless broods
encroach night after night.
Each morning when you wake,
you pray to a lucid god,
you begin again to restore order,
while in your darkly beating heart
some Other laughs.
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And a truly healthful summer treat...
Tabbouleh
Fresh mint, and lots of it, is essential. Mint, wherever you plant it, tries to take over the garden just like a regular lusty weed.
1 cup quick-cooking bulgar (cracked wheat)
½ teaspoon salt, divided
¼ cup olive oil
Juice of 1 large lemon, strained—or more
1 ½ cups seeded, diced ripe tomatoes (can be a mixture of red and yellow)
½ cup chopped sweet onion
3 tablespoons chopped fresh mint leaves
¼ cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Bring 2 cups of water to a boil, add ¼ teaspoon of the salt and the bulgar, and let it stand for a half hour or more, until all the water is absorbed. Transfer the bulgar to a large bowl, and separate the grains with a fork or your fingers. (The latter is easiest.)
Add all the remaining ingredients, including the remaining ¼ teaspoon salt, and mix well. Cover and refrigerate for several hours or overnight to allow the flavors to mingle. Taste to correct the seasoning, adding more salt, pepper, or lemon juice to your taste.
Makes 1 quart, 8 appetizer servings.
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Walt Whitman wrote: This is what you must do: Love the earth and sun and animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone who asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward people…and your flesh will be a great poem.
Akkadia Ford wrote: The experience of the sacred is profoundly connected to love. Magick is ultimately the art of living consciously, connected to all life. In this enraptured state…moonrise, sunrise, or star rise, every blade of grass…echoes within our cells. From her essay “Magickal Ecology” in Visions for a Sustainable Future, Llewellyn, 2005.
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It’s not a Circle novel but it’s something special to me.
If all goes according to plan, in November,
Bellowing Ark Press in Washington State is going to publish a collection of my poems called
Doors to the Universe. About 75 pages, trade paperback style.
Bellowing Ark is also a bimonthly literary journal, whose editor Robert R. Ward has been continually publishing my poems for a year or more. The journal’s title comes from a Dylan Thomas quote: “Look: I build my bellowing ark to the best of my love as the flood begins.”
http:/
/bellowingark.org/
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A Psalm for Gaia
The Earth is my mother, I shall not want.
She nurtures me in green pastures;
she freshens me with flowing waters.
She restores my body and awakens my soul.
Although I walk in the shadow
of changing seasons and passing time,
I will not fear death,
for the essence of life is within me,
the peace and beauty of Earth comfort me.
She teaches me to harvest her abundant gifts,
she fills my heart with compassion,
I drink from the cup of simple pleasures.
As I look to the skies with wonder
at the immensity of the universe,
I know I am blessed beyond measure
to live all the days of my life
in the bountiful house of Gaia.
© Dolores Stewart Riccio
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