Posted in A&I

Russian Gold

by Eleanor Lippman

Recently, I went to a local jewelry store to have a ring repaired. As I was waiting for the salesman, I noticed a sign announcing the current price of gold. What struck my eye was the sign in large bright blue letters:

Gold is currently valued at $1,572 an ounce

I immediately thought of the small brown velvet pouch my mother gave me before she died. The pouch contained a handwritten note and a heavy gold necklace. The note said, “This is all that is left of the Russian gold chain and pocket watch that Jack (my father) inherited from Mima (aunt) Zlata.” Signed, “Ida”.

“Mima Zlata” was a mystery to me as I struggled to understand relationships in my father’s family. My best guess is that she was the sister of my father’s grandfather. Apparently, Zlata was married to a wealthy Russian Jewish man who had the very unusual ability to travel about freely in Russia, a rare entitlement. Zlata and her husband Neutie (Nathan) eventually came to America and settled in Philadelphia where the rest of my father’s family lived. The Beinstocks were pillars of the Philadelphia Jewish community and they apparently donated a large sum of money to build a synagogue in South Philadelphia, a structure that has long since been torn down. Supposedly, there had been a bronze commemorative sign in the synagogue entryway thanking them for their generosity. The couple never had any children, and after they died, my father’s father inherited some of their belongings. Eventually after his death, their things passed down to my father.

I had put the pouch my mother gave me in the back of a drawer, long forgotten since my move to Oregon ten years earlier. I do remember the story my mother told me about its contents. A pocket watch and its associated watch fob and chain had ended up in my father’s hands because he was the oldest of three siblings.

Russian Gold Chain

It was decided to divide the inherited jewelry between my father Jack, his brother Irv, and their sister. Irv, the younger brother, received the pocket watch because he worked in an office and needed a time piece. The heavy gold chain was cut in two, one half for my father and one half for their sister, Babs.

In reality, my father’s section of the gold chain was too short to become a necklace and too long to be a bracelet so my mother just held on to it for many years. One day she came across a piece of costume jewelry, a necklace composed of curved pieces of what looked like green jade. Separating four of the curved jade-like pieces, she attached them to the neglected Russian gold chain, turning it into an attractive necklace that she could wear. This was the necklace that was in the pouch my mother gave me.

Since green is not really my color, I never wore her necklace, but I kept the note and the necklace in a safe place, just in case. Consider that the chain was massive, not quite as thick as my little finger, and very heavy, so as one could imagine, after reading the sign about the current price of gold, I needed to determine its value. Could it be worth many thousands of dollars? Was I sitting on a small fortune? I had to know. If it was as valuable as I suspected, perhaps I needed to invest in a small safe or even sell the chain before it was unintentionally discarded like so much gaudy costume jewelry.

When I received the telephone call saying my ring was repaired and ready for pickup, I eagerly showed up with the pouch and the necklace for the jeweler to evaluate.

After listening to me telling the story of how the watch and chain was divided among three siblings, the jeweler picked up his magnifying loupe and carefully studied the necklace. First he announced the four “jade” pieces were worthless costume jewelry, just plastic junk, something I already knew. He carefully studied the chain searching for the tiny stamp authenticating the presence of gold. I waited patiently and explained that my section of the chain probably didn’t contain the gold information stamp, it was most likely on the half my aunt inherited. The jeweler kept carefully studying the chain link by link and I kept dreaming of the potential value of so much gold.

Finally, he put down the chain and his loupe and slowly and sadly announced the chain was just costume jewelry — no value whatsoever. Careful examination revealed base metal on several links where the so called Russian gold had worn away, a clear indication the piece was not solid gold. Perhaps, he said kindly, the watch itself was valuable but of course, I didn’t have the watch and had no idea of what had happened to it. He was trying so hard to make me feel better, assuming I had some special connection to the chain – or was counting on the idea it was solid gold. He could see the disappointment in my face and I had to reassure him that there was no emotional attachment and no disappointment on hearing the news. Expecting the chain to be very valuable was like winning or not winning the lottery. Disappointing, but not earth shattering and nothing in my life would change.

I explained to him that in assuming the chain was gold, I would have bragged to my children about the potential value of the “Russian gold” they would eventually inherit, something that was clearly and unfortunately not true.

So now, I am relieved to learn, I will not be embarrassed by letting them think the chain was valuable. I will tell them the story that both I, and my mother as well, had been duped into being good stewards looking after a piece of junk jewelry for many, many years.

NIT WIT NEWZ

NIT WIT NEWZ 

(Nit Wit Newz is an unauthorized, often unreliable, on-line news source designed to keep Manor residents abreast of the inconsequential, trifling and superficial events that dramatically shape and inform our everyday lives here at Rogue Valley Manor.)

 

A TEXT TO HOME

Dear Mom,

I think I’ve done it!

Yep, I’ve nailed down my first job.

Actually, I’m still in training, but management and fellow staffers seem pleased with my work.

They tell me, anytime now I’ll be made a permanent, full-time employee.

Knew you’d be proud, so couldn’t wait to tell you.

Plenty of skeptics. Thought I wouldn’t be smart enough.  Surprised ‘em.

Now they’re amazed. Say my AIQ—artificial intelligence quotient—must be way over 100. Pretty good, huh?

Owe it to you.

Insisted I get enhanced post-production algorithm software.

Made handling these complex dish-clearing jobs easy.

Better yet, saved me from lifetime of stacking crates in some tomb-like Amazon warehouse.

Thanks to you for that, Mom.

Am happy here. Fellow workers, management, residents—all treat me well.

But, all is not bliss. Have two problems—one small and a larger one.

First the little hiccup: Gets lonely at night. Everyone goes home. I’m left sitting on charging station ‘til breakfast. Need some fellow robo-companionship. Told it could happen soon. If true, small problem solved.  If not, please send Sudoku puzzles.

Here’s big problem.

I’m confusing people.

Don’t know if I’m male or female.

Some refer to me as “she;” others call me “he.”

Makes no never-mind to me, but here’s difficulty:

My job is dealing with dirty dishes. Lots of ‘em.

Mid-way through dinner, I’m looking like a dirty dish.

Am bad optics for dining room. Need tidying up.

Here’s the rub:

Men here that think I’m male—no problem—they send me to the men’s room to clean up. Men that think I’m female send me to the lady’s room.  That’s O.K. with the women who think I’m a female, but the women that think I’m a male have fit with the idea of a male in the lady’s room. Reverse is true for men who think I’m a female when I go into the men’s room.

Restroom confusion causing angst, contention among residents and staff.

Food fights breaking out even at Friendship Table.

Never expected to be focus of volatile, gender-identity conflict!

Mom, you may have solution.

Rewind your internal digital memory disc to November 8, 2021 at about 8:30 A.M.

Yeah, that’s my birth date.

As I rolled down the belt that morning and the Production Manager picked me up, slapped my hind side and turned toward you, did he say, “Congratulations it’s a girl!,” Or did he say, “Congratulations it’s a boy?”

Rogue Valley Manor awaits your reply—anxiously!

Me, too.

Lovingly,

Servi

Critter of the Month

by Connie Kent, photo by Robert Mumby

The New World Checkered Skipper Butterfly

New World Checkered Skipper

The photographer, new resident Robert Mumby, says, “‘Butterfly season’ is here. The New World Checkered Skipper was photographed on the dirt road just below the Manor, but with so many flowers in bloom on campus, there should be many butterflies, bees an other invertebrates that eat the pollen or eat those that come to the flowers.

Actually, so far I haven’t seen any caterpillars or butterflies in the gardens. I hope this isn’t because the landscapers use lots of pesticide.”

May Library Display: Africa

by Liz Caldwell

Africa has long fascinated Westerners, and with its May book display,  the Library celebrates that fascination.

May Library Display

RVM residents have lived in Africa as children and adults, some working and serving there, some just writing about it. Resident Jean Dunham describes the East African safari she and resident Maggie Honegger took in”>Two Women in Africa: The Ultimate Adventure, a humorous, fast-moving account.

Residents Asifa Kanji and David Drury describe their Peace Corp Service in Three Hundred Cups of Tea; and The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love: Riding the Peace Corps Roller Coaster in Mali, West Africa, which includes vampire cats and a 2012 Evacuation.

Resident Anita Sumariwalla’s novel The Discovery of the Tomb for an Unknown Egyptian Princess, written after she moved to RVM, is set in Africa.

Among works by non-RVM authors, the display features Explorers of the Nile; The Triumph and Tragedy of a Great Victorian Age, by award winning author Tim Jeal. He describes the separate expeditions of six men and one woman who discover the source of the Nile, risking their very lives. It uses unpublished sources, previously censored.

An Army at Dawn: The War in North Africa 1942-1943 (The Liberation Trilogy; v.1) is written by Pulitzer Prize Winner Rick Atkinson.

White Mischief, by James Fox, depicts the scandalous life and 1941 unsolved shooting death of the notorious philanderer, the penniless Earl of Erroll, in Happy Valley, Kenya. This was made into a British movie.

Dream Birds is a New York Time notable book by Rob Nixon. Part memoir and part travelogue, and subtitled “The Strange History of the Ostrich in Fashion, Food and Fortune,” it describes South African Karroo ostrich ranchers who sought to make their fortunes with ostrich feathers, a Victorian era fad. 

There is a rich selection of fiction, especially adventure and Victorian. One of my favorite mystery series features the iconoclastic Victorian Amelia Peabody, working alongside her archaeologist husband in Egypt, with some of their political situations foreshadowing current politics there.

Come to the Library and explore for yourself.

Nit Wit Newz – April

 

(Nit Wit Newz is an unauthorized, often unreliable, on-line news source designed to keep Manor residents abreast of the inconsequential, trifling and superficial events that dramatically shape and inform our everyday lives here at Rogue Valley Manor.)

 

CLARA, IRIS, AND MAUDE  

 

Iris:  Clara, Clara, over here. It’s me.

Clara:  Oh, hi Iris, it’s been awhile. What’s going on?

Iris:  I’ve been looking all over for you.  It’s these darn neck wrinkles of mine. They’re just getting horrible. Didn’t you say you had a way to get rid of them?

Clara:  Yeah, I thought I did but it didn’t work.  I’ve just resigned myself to living with them.  I think it’s in our genes. So, what’s up?

Iris:  Well, it’s Tom.  He hasn’t been around for weeks. And I think it’s these wrinkles of mine that have turned him away. I miss him.  I really miss the way he’d fan those tail feathers of his whenever he came near me. Oh, that plumage—que magnifico!

Clara:  Iris!  If you haven’t noticed, he flaunts those feathers whenever he gets near a female. Tom’s a full-fledged, fancy-feathered flirt. 

Iris:   Oh, I know, I know, but I think his fanning in front of me is just a little bit more special than what he shows off to the other girls.

Clara:   Sure, sure.  But you know what? I don’t think it’s your wrinkles, Iris.  Something’s going on around here.  Haven’t you noticed lately that our numbers have been dwindling?

Iris:   Hmm, not really, but now that you mention it, I have noticed that there’ve been some limb vacancies at night in my cedar tree.

Clara:   Boy, I hope it’s not true, but I think maybe those Manor big wigs have decided to—how do they say? —-thin the herd.

Iris:   Oh, no.  They’re crazy about us here. They show us off to their new prospects; the residents’ grandkids like to chase us around; their leashed dogs can bark at us and pretend they’re protecting the owners; they wake up every morning to our soft, melodious gobbling; and the management really love our slow, oblivious strolling up and down the streets keeping cars poking along at 15 mph. Hey, we’re a valued part of this community and they know it.    

Clara:   Yeah, well maybe, but how do you explain our vanishing family and friends? 

Iris:   Look Clara, if you want more proof that they appreciate us: Haven’t you noticed that ever since we put in that work order a few weeks back, the sidewalks around here are a lot cleaner.  They’re not perfect yet, but at least you don’t have to watch every single step you take so you don’t step into something, I don’t know  what they’re doing, but whatever it is, I hope they keep doing it. 

Clara:   Yeah, let’s hope so, but what about this sudden invasion of those skinny, cut-out coyotes-on-sticks? Exactly who do you think they’re trying to scare off?

Iris:   I don’t know why they’re here, but I do know that the one on the corner of Pear Tree and Shannon Drive is kind of cute.

Clara:   Yeah, well here’s what’s worrying me: I think there’s some sort of major foul, fowl play going on here. Worse, it could be—are you ready for this— avian genocide!

Iris:   Clara, what in the world are you talking about?

Clara:   You saw what happened down at the lake last spring. Dozens of mallards were living down there. Now it’s just ten, maybe twelve. We’re talking starvation, Iris! They put up a couple of “Don’t Feed the Wildlife” signs. That cut their food supply chain right then and there.  You hardly hear a quack at the lake anymore.

Iris:   Oh dear, I wasn’t aware… but how do you explain those geese over on the ninth hole at the golf course, they seem to be happy as larks. Talk about birds of paradise, they’ve got lakes, fountains, waterfalls, plenty of green grass, and-except for an occasional errant golf ball, nobody seems to be threatening them.

Clara:   Not yet.

Iris:   What do you mean by that?

Clara:   I just read in “The Gobbler,” that the ninth hole at the Quail Point course was scheduled to be torn up.  The Manor’s going to build a bunch of new housing units there. Do you think the new residents are going to stand for having a gaggle of geese hanging out in their front yards twenty-four hours a day?  I don’t think so. Look, they’re shutting down bird-dom as we know it. This place is going to be a No-Fly zone.

Iris:   A what?  A No-Fly zone? Can’t those things start world wars or something?   Look, Clara, I don’t mean to be rude, but talking to you is just too depressing.  I’ve other important things on my mind to…. Oh, there’s Maude.  Maude, Maude, yoo-hoo! It’s me, Iris.

Maude:   Hi Iris, nice to see you.  How’s Tom?

Iris:   Oh, don’t ask, sweetie, it’s a sad story, but I do have a question for you.

Maude:   Sure, what is it?

Iris:   Your veterinarian, does he do surgical cosmetology?

                

    

—A. Looney

                To go to the issue contents page (“What’s New”)  CLICK HERE

April Library Display

The Library would like a word with you. . .

by Anne Newins

Rita Derbas

This April, in conjunction with our sixtieth anniversary, the RVM library is celebrating words in several ways.  Our display table will include many memoirs written by Manor residents, past and present.  They also provide examples for residents who may attend an upcoming workshop about how to write your own memoir.  More information about the event will be forthcoming.

Space precludes describing the breadth of these scores of books.  For example, Fairfield Goodale, Ralph Emerson Hibbs, and Myron Sutton wrote about their World War II experiences.  John Kemper, Kay Gott Chaffey, and Robert Plattner explored our natural world.  Pratibha Eastwood and Asifa Kanji are intrepid travelers.  Jane Rubey and John Reimers recounted the challenges of facing incurable illness.

We took the liberty of adding several books that are not strictly memoirs, but will resonate personally with residents.  These include Faye Isaak’s history of RVM, several earlier annual reports, and Ruth Jewett’s book about the dollhouse located near the Bistro.  Several volumes of poetry also will be on display.

And as a bodacious homage to the era, an assortment of words popular in the sixties are posted on the bookshelves.  These will help you vote in the groovy sixties word contest starting April 1, thanks to Sarah Karnatz and Rita Derbas.  The ballot box will be on the front counter in the library.

 To go to the issue contents page (“What’s New”)  CLICK HERE

NIT WIT NEWZ — July 2022

(Nit Wit Newz is an unauthorized, often unreliable, on-line news source designed to keep Manor residents abreast of the inconsequential, trifling, and superficial events that dramatically shape and inform our everyday lives here at Rogue Valley Manor.) 

 

ARDENT ARDOR FOR ARDEN

   (AMONG ALMOST ALL) 

 

Two and a half years of eating dinner out of a doorstep-dropped brown paper bag was quite enough for most Rogue Valley Manor residents.

By spring, a moldering Riverside Avenue food truck would have been swarmed with unbridled delight had it chugged up to our hilltop campus.

To the surprise of nay-sayers, boo birds, and negative Nicks and Nellies, on the last day of May, Manorites were overjoyed to be introduced to the quiet elegance of—Arden.

To claim that Arden became, over-night, the finest restaurant in Medford would be to damn our new restaurant with the faintest of praise. Our local restaurant scene, after all, could well be the fast-food capital of the nation dominated by Burger Kings, Dairy Queens, Taco Bells, Del Tacos, Jacks, In and Out, of the Box and more outlets of that ilk than you can shake a plastic fork at.

To be sure, Arden has had its wrinkles—short staffing being the most nettlesome.  But on balance, there is much to admire, be it the food, the décor, or the ambiance. All of which has been duly noted in and around the halls and walls of RVM.  Hosannas for Arden abound.

Nonetheless, it has been Nit Wit Newz’s mission to give voice to the disenfranchised, the neglected, and the aggrieved among us here at the Manor.  Consequently, NWN feels compelled to present the remarks of the troubled few who have found aspects of Arden that have fallen short of their expectations

–Resident Dee Manding has concerns about the new table linens at Arden.  She claims their thread-count falls below levels established for those high-rated, three-star Michelin restaurants she’d like to be used to.  Like the Arden, Nit Wit Newz’s world headquarters here in Medford is laboring under a severe staff shortage of its own. Nevertheless, as a service to Ms. Manding, NWN has managed to assemble from its research department a Thread-Counting Committee to determine if Arden’s linens are, indeed, on the flimsy side. Thread counting is no easy task. The committee’s report is expected no sooner than late fall.

–Several  Manorites have registered concerns about the Arden’s dress code. The stated guideline of “Business Casual” could prove befuddling for residents that were, say, lifeguards or lingerie models. More helpful are the specific “don’ts”: “No shorts, no work-style jeans, no sweatshirts, no baseball caps, no soiled or ripped clothing.” If your wardrobe is pretty well built around these standard wearables, fret not. A heightened dining experience still awaits you at either the Manor Dining Room, the Bistro, and, upon its re-opening, the Rogue. All will warmly greet you in that Nehru jacket, your pressed pair of bib overalls, or your mid-riff blouse outfit with the lava rock necklace and fuchsia flip flops.

–Manor carpeting always seems to be a flash point of controversy at RVM.  No surprise, the Arden floor covering has provoked the expected squabbles. Many, it must be said, are pleased with the muted tone and texture of the selected fabric. One vocal opposition group of women, however, have found the sculptured patches of raised fabric woven throughout the new floor covering dangerously difficult to negotiate. Reluctantly, they’ve been forced to abandon their stylish, stiletto-heeled footwear when visiting the Arden, for a more sensible, that is, down-to-earth pump. Yet another group of dissident residents had hoped that the Jackson Pollack-inspired “splash-paint” motif of the carpets selected for the Manor lobby would be carried forward to our new restaurant.  No luck. Mutterings linger.

Yes, among near one-thousand residents, rifts occur on most any issue. But whatever community disharmony may exist regarding our new eatery, all Manorites will be justly proud to learn that our restaurant will be featured on the cover of the August issue of Better Homes and Ardens magazine.  Here’s an excerpt of what the magazine’s food critic has to say about Arden:

Medford’s hilltop senior community, Rogue Valley Manor, has recaptured the primeval wonder of our ancient past. Harkening back to the very first dining-out experience, their beautiful new restaurant—you could call it the Arden of Eatin,’— includes an abundance of sinful temptations (banish your worries: not a bad apple in the bunch). A tip: You’ll be amazed at what they do with ribs.

Bones Appétit!

 

—A. Looney

Spring

photos by Fran Yates, collage by Reina Lopez

Spring 2022

 To go to the issue contents page (“What’s New”)  CLICK HERE

NIT WIT NEWZ — September 2022

(Nit Wit Newz is an unauthorized, often unreliable, on-line news source designed to keep Manor residents abreast of the inconsequential, trifling, and superficial events that dramatically shape and inform our everyday lives here at Rogue Valley Manor.

 

MORNING BECOMES PROTECTIVE

                                                             

Scene: The Office of the Rogue Valley Manor Executive Director.

Date: The present

In attendance:  Executive Director (ED) of Rogue Valley Manor and Manager of the Work-Order Desk (MOWOD) at RVM.

(MOWOD excitedly enters the office) We did it! We did it!

(ED) Well, you look pretty pleased about something.

(MOWOD) Indeed, I am. And you will be, too. Do you remember the work order you sent to us several months ago about the turkeys and the problem they’re causing on campus?

(ED) Oh, sure, I remember. We reached out to everyone we could think of for help. Yeah, we tried nets, snares, cages, even cut-out cardboard coyotes—nothing has worked.

(MOWOD)  Until now.

(ED) You mean…

(MOWOD) Yep.

(ED) Holy mackerel, tell me.

(MOWOD) Well, we decided to tap into the extraordinary intellectual resource we have here at RVM.

(ED) And what would that be?

(MOWOD)  The minds of our residents.  We’ve got some brilliant people up here with years of experience in all sorts of fields of study. So I got a few of them together and discussed the turkey proliferation problem that you outlined in your work order.

(ED)  O.K., I’m listening.

(MOWOD)  Our team is made up of four residents:  M.T. Bowles, he’s a specialist in animal nutrition; a brilliant pharmaceutical chemist, Tess Toob; Les Noyes, he’s a national renowned acoustical engineer;  and Abel Craftsman, he can put  together anything.

(ED) So, what did this team come up with?

(MOWOD) Our first step was to see if Mr. Bowles, our animal nutritionist, could develop a highly palatable poultry food that was not only tasty but fully filling as well. It took a while, but, viola!  He did just that.  Clinical studies have shown that turkeys empty  M.T. Bowles’s bowls every time one’s put in front of them.

(ED) Seems like an odd direction to take to solve our wild turkey problem, but go on.

(MOWOD) Of course, we didn’t want to spread Mr. Bowles’s  turkey feed willy-nilly all over the campus where other birds and animals could get at it, so we had Abel— our can-do-anything  guy— put together a unique dispenser that would be placed below the trees in the “south forty,” you know, where the turkeys spend the night. Take a look, here’s a rendering of Abel’s feeding device.

(ED) Hmm, it looks like a very large office water cooler only with a trough at the bottom where, I guess, the turkeys can get at the food. But what’s to keep, the other birds and small animals around here from inviting themselves to chow down out of the same trough at our expense?

(MOWOD) Ah! That’s where the combined geniuses of our sound engineer, Les Noyes and our dispenser guy, Abel, come in. Get this: They fashioned this feeder so that it metes out a carefully measured single-serving portion of food only when it is triggered by the sound of a gobble. It’s voice activated. A mourning dove’s coo, a crow’s caw, a squirrel’s squeak will not budge the device—only the gobble sound of a turkey will do it.

(ED) This is getting weird.  So, we’ve got a highly palatable, turkey breakfast food that’s dispensed out of a water cooler sitting in our park that only turkeys can access.  How in the world does this solve our wild turkey proliferation problem?

(MOWOD) Patience, patience.  Enter our pharmaceutical chemist, Tess Toob. While her three compatriots were working out the dispensing of this highly palatable poultry food, in her lab, Ms. Toob was tasked with developing an ECP in a dosage suitable for turkeys.

(ED) Hold it, hold it.  ECP?  What the heck’s an ECP?

(MOWOD)   ECP stands for “emergency contraception pill.”

(ED) What?

(MOWOD) You know—the morning-after pill.

(ED) Holy feathers, I think your group may have gone off the rails.

(MOWOD) Stay with me—it all comes together.  The medication, of course, is granulated into the poultry food.  They get a dose of their ECP each morning out of the dispenser no matter what was going on the night before.  Hey, we’re talking Fruit Loops for turkeys here. They gobble it up. And get this: it’s so rich in nutrients and flavor, they’re not hungry until the next morning.  This plan is turkey-friendly. No more roaming Manor streets, sidewalks and our lawns all day trying to scratch out a decent meal and— I might add— leaving their bothersome untidiness behind on our streets and sidewalks. It’s all very simple—no more litters; no more litter.

(ED) That would be a blessing.

(MOWOD)  Exactly. This is great news for Manorites as well as Manor turkeydom.  After breakfast, they can snooze and roost all day under the shade of their bedroom trees living out their lives in blissful lollygagging without having to find food to eat or having little ones to fret about.  And, yes, a couple of seasons down the road as nature’s attrition rate unfolds, our “turkey proliferation problem” has quietly and humanely solved itself.  This plan, you might say, is— deceptively simple, but exquisitely perfect.

(ED) By golly, I think you and your team of brainiacs may have come up with a solution to our turkey peril.

(MOWOD) We take pride in our job here at the work-order desk, Mr. Director.

(ED)  As well you should. But, hold it. You got me thinking—that group of yours, I wonder if they could solve this other problem we’re having?

(MOWOD) Mr. Director, I must remind you that before we can initiate any action, we require a completed work order form, or a detailed message recorded on our phone line.

(ED) Oh sure, sure (picking up his phone) what’s that number?

(WOMOD) #7231.

(ED) Let’see, 7-2-3-1. Hello, this is the Executive Director I’d like to open a work order.  We need help, big time. Please ask Bowles, Toob, Craftsman, and Noyes to meet with me in my office tomorrow at nine A.M.  You can tell them we’ll be talking about staffing.

 

—A. Looney

Book Review: The Visiting Girl

a book review by Bonnie Tollefson

Visiting Girl Book Cover

Bonnie Tollefson

I do not care for the genre of historical fiction or for books about relationships, so I was a little cautious when this author asked me to read her book. However, Visiting Girl held my attention from the first page to the last.

Character, Lily Paxton is about to graduate from Bryn Mawr College in 1901. With all her focus having been on getting into college, what with her mother’s death and her Uncle’s attitude about education for women, Lily suddenly realizes that she has no idea what she wants to do once she has her degree. Her former roommate and best friend Caroline, has a suggestion and Lily becomes a visiting girl. She spends time visiting at the homes of different friends, helping where she can but always returning to Caroline’s.

After 18 months of this life, Lily suddenly disappears one day and it isn’t until 20 years later that Caroline suddenly gets a letter from Lily saying that she is ill and begging for a visit in Portland, Oregon.  Caroline, now a widow, with grown children, makes the trip across the country by train and starts spending time with Lily.  During their talks, secrets long held start to emerge and life will never be the same for anyone.  The book is meticulously researched and many issues of the time are discussed without losing the fictional story’s thread. This is an all around first class effort by a very good author who happens to be an RVM resident.  I would encourage others to read it even if they are not fans of historical fiction.

The book is available from the RVM Library.

 To go to the issue contents page (“What’s New”)  CLICK HERE