Bookshelf

January Books

FICTION

The Maid, by Nita Prose

A charmingly eccentric hotel maid discovers a guest murdered in his bed. Solving the mystery will turn her once orderly world upside down in this utterly original debut novel. Molly Gray struggles with social skills and misreads the intentions of others, but her obsessive love of cleaning and proper etiquette make her delight in her job as a hotel maid. Molly’s orderly life is upended the day she finds infamous and wealthy Charles Black dead in his bed. Her unusual demeanor has the police targeting her as their lead suspect. This Clue-like, locked-room mystery explores what it means to be the same as everyone else and, yet, entirely different.

The Final Case, by David Guterson

From the award-winning, bestselling author of Snow Falling on Cedars comes a moving father-son story that is also a taut courtroom drama and a bold examination of privilege, power and how to live a meaningful life. A girl dies one late, rainy night a few feet from the back door of her home. The girl, Abeba, was born in Ethiopia. Her adoptive parents are conservative, white fundamentalist Christians and are charged with her murder. The Final Case is an astute examination of justice and injustice.

Mouth to Mouth, by Antoine Wilson

In a first-class lounge at JFK airport, our narrator listens as Jeff Cook, a former classmate he only vaguely remembers, shares the uncanny story of his adult life — a life that changed course years before, when he resuscitated a drowning man, a renowned art dealer, and begins to surreptitiously visit his Beverly Hills gallery. The dealer does not recognize him but casts his legendary eye on Jeff and sees something worthy. He takes the younger man under his wing, initiating him into his world, where knowledge, taste and access are currency; a world where value is constantly shifting and calling into question what is real, and what matters. The paths of the two men come together and diverge in dizzying ways until the novel’s staggering ending.

How High We Go in the Dark, by Sequoia Nagamatsu

A spellbinding debut that follows a cast of intricately linked characters over hundreds of years as humanity struggles to rebuild itself in the aftermath of a climate plague. From funerary skyscrapers to hotels for the dead to interstellar starships, Nagamatsu takes readers on a wildly original and compassionate journey, spanning continents, centuries and even celestial bodies to tell a story about the resilience of the human spirit, our infinite capacity to dream, and the connective threads that tie us all together in the universe.

Violeta, by Isabel Allende

This sweeping novel from the New York Times bestselling author of A Long Petal of the Sea tells the epic story of Violeta Del Valle, a woman whose life spans 100 years and bears witness to the greatest upheavals of the 20th century. Her life is marked by extraordinary events. The ripples of the Great War are still being felt, even as the Spanish flu arrives on the shores of her South American homeland almost at the moment of her birth. She tells her story in the form of a letter to someone she loves above all others, recounting times of devastating heartbreak and passionate affairs, poverty and wealth, terrible loss and immense joy.

NONFICTION

The Vanished Collection, by Pauline Baer de Perignon

It all started with a list of paintings — the names of the masters whose works once belonged to her great-grandfather, Jules Strauss — Renoir, Monet, Degas, Tiepolo and more. Pauline Baer de Perignon knew little to nothing about Strauss, or about his vanished, precious art collection. But the list drove her on a frenzied trail of research in the archives of the Louvre and the Dresden museums, through Gestapo records, to a consultation with Nobel laureate Patrick Modiano. What happened in 1942? And what became of the collection after Nazis seized her great-grandparents’ elegant Paris apartment?

CHILDREN’S BOOKS

Show the World!, by Angela Dalton

It’s a powerful thing to have even one person believe in you. A gift of this powerful little book would encourage anyone to make the world their canvas. (Ages 4-7.)

Dinosaurs on Kitty Island,
by Michael Slack

Awwwww! The kitties on Kitty island are so cute . . . or are they? When the dinosaurs come to play, they’ll see just who is cute and cuddly after all. This perfect read-aloud will have everyone giggling. (Ages 3-6.)

Twisty-Turny House, by Lisa Mantchev

Everyone has their proper place in the twisty-turny house. The cats are upstairs and the dogs are downstairs until one day a bold cat ventures down the stairs and opens the door for everyone to discover the wonders the whole house has to offer. A sweet story of sharing, misconceptions and new experiences. (Ages 4-7.)

Winnie-the-Pooh, by A. A. Milne

January is a great time to snuggle up with a classic, and this stunning new edition of the stories of a silly old bear is the perfect choice. The complete text of the 1926 classic is accompanied by full color versions of the original illustrations by E. H. Shepherd. (Ages 4-10.)  PS

Compiled by Kimberly Daniels Taws and Angie Tally.

Birdwatch

Winter Waterbirds

Coming in out of the cold

By Susan Campbell

The arrival of cold weather in the Sandhills and Piedmont also means the arrival of waterfowl. Our local ponds and lakes are the winter home to more than two dozen different species of ducks, geese and swans. Over the years, as water features both large and small have been added throughout the area, the diversity of waterfowl has increased significantly. Although we are all familiar with our local mallards and Canada geese, a variety of aquatic birds frequent our area from November through March.

Certainly, the most abundant and widespread species is the ring-necked duck, flocks of which can be seen diving for aquatic invertebrate prey in shallow ponds and coves. The males have iridescent blue heads, black sides and gray backs. They get their name from the indistinct rusty ring at the base of their necks. The females, as with all true duck species, are quite nondescript. They are light brown all over and, like the males, have a grayish-blue bill with a white band around it.

However, the most noticeable of our wintering waterfowl would be the buffleheads. They form small groups that dive in deeper water, feeding on vegetation and invertebrates. The mature males have a bright white hood and body with iridescent dark green back, face and neck. Also, they sport bright orange legs and feet, which they will flash during confrontations. But the females (as well as the immature individuals of both sexes) of this species are drab, too — mainly brown with the only contrast being a small white cheek patch. Interestingly, bufflehead is the one species of migratory duck that actually mates for life. This is generally a trait found only in the largest of waterfowl: swans and geese.

There are several types of aquatic birds similar to ducks that can be identified if one can get a good look, which usually requires binoculars. In small numbers, common loons can be seen diving for fish on larger lakes in winter, and even more so during spring and fall migration. Their size and shape are quite distinctive (as is their yodeling song which, sadly, they do not tend to sing while they are here).

We have another visitor that can be confused with loons: the double-crested cormorant. Along with its cousin the anhinga, it’s more closely related to seabirds, i.e., boobies and gannets. It is a very proficient diver with a sharply serrated bill adapted for catching fish. It is not uncommon to see cormorants in their “drying” pose. Their feathers are not as waterproof as those of diving ducks, so they only enter water to feed and bathe. Most of their time is spent sitting on a dock or some sort of perch to dry out.

Two other species of waterbird can be found regularly at this time of year: pied-billed grebes and American coots. Pied-billed grebes are the smallest of the swimmers we see in winter with light brown plumage, short thick bills and bright white bottoms. Surprisingly, they are very active swimmers. They can chase down small fish in just about any depth of water.

American coots — black, stocky birds with white bills — are scavengers, feeding mainly in aquatic vegetation. They can make short dives but are too buoyant to remain submerged for more than a few seconds. Given their long legs and well-developed toes, they are also adept at foraging on foot. You may see them feeding on grasses along the edge of larger bodies of water — or even on the edge of golf course water hazards.  PS

Susan Campbell would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. She can be contacted at susan@ncaves.com.

Good Natured

New Year, New You

Maintain a healthy microbiome

By Karen Frye

Your body is home to more than 100 trillion micro-organisms. They live on your skin and in every nook and cranny. It is like a community made up of bacteria, viruses, parasites and fungi. This is your microbiome. It’s unique to you — a gumbo based on your genes, where you live, what you eat, your age, the amount of stress you have, even what you touch.

A healthy biome is critical to good overall health. The largest number of micro-organisms are found in your intestinal tract and directly impact digestive health and how your body absorbs nutrients. The bacteria that make up your microbiome also regulate your immune system — about 80 percent of your immune system is located in the gut. Keeping the microbiome healthy and functioning well not only helps to prevent everyday ailments like colds and flu, it prevents more serious issues, too: oral health, bone health, heart health, vulnerability to allergies, even mental health issues like anxiety and depression. Balance of the flora in the intestines is essential for long-term good health from head to toe.

When the microbiome becomes unbalanced (dysbiosis), it can cause intestinal inflammation, leading to leaky gut (an unhealthy intestinal lining). There are a few key players that contribute to this condition. The first, of course, is genetics. Next is what we eat. Processed foods made with little attention to what’s good for the body are a major contributor to the state of health in the microbiome. Stress is also a contributing factor. It affects everything! And some medications, like antibiotics, can disrupt the terrain of the gut that leads to an imbalance of good and bad bacteria.

You can improve your gut health by taking a good probiotic supplement — a huge category in the health world these days. You can add more fermented foods to your daily diet and increase the fiber you consume daily. Chia seeds are a personal favorite. Try to eat as many organic foods as possible to lessen the body’s exposure to chemicals used in the growing process. Avoid fast food, eat more fresh fruits and vegetables. Add in more good fats like olive oil. Diets that are high in sugar and low in fiber are devastating to the microbiome. Artificial sweeteners can have a toxic effect on the friendly bacteria in the gut. Exercise is very beneficial to a healthy microbiome, increasing the diversity of beneficial species. Avoid environmental toxins. Lastly, sleep well and reduce stress.

A healthy microbiome is a major part of a happy, healthy life.  PS

Karen Frye is the owner and founder of Nature’s Own and teaches yoga at the Bikram Yoga Studio.

Golftown Journal

Centennial Curiosities

Mid Pines celebrates 100 years

By Lee Pace

Exactly one century ago, come Jan. 16, 2022, the inn and clubhouse at Mid Pines officially opened its doors. A paid advertisement in The Pinehurst Outlook proclaimed, “On that day all roads will lead to Rome. In many ways the opening of Mid Pines is an eventful period in the life of the Sandhills, for it adds a new factor of first magnitude to the facilities for caring for and multiplying the army of winter visitors.”

And 100 years ago, on Jan. 25, the golf course was christened with a 36-hole medal play competition open to all amateurs. “There is no question that Mid Pines is the most difficult course in the Sandhills country,” The Outlook said. “Donald Ross meant it to be just that way and succeeded . . . Leading professionals who have already played it consider it at least two strokes harder than even the difficult No. 3 course at Pinehurst.”

Interesting in those passages is the reminder that Pinehurst was founded in 1895 as a winter resort — a day’s train ride from New England just before Henry Flagler’s vision of building railroads and hotels along the east coast of Florida gained traction. Of equal note, the No. 3 course, just 2 years old, was considered a more formidable test than No. 2, which was yet to undergo routing tweaks in 1923 and ’35 and a major greens overhaul in 1935 that would buttress its stature as one of the nation’s foremost layouts.

What else might we glean about life in the Sandhills from a perusal of The Outlook during that month when Mid Pines was first functioning on all cylinders?

— That the Sandhills was not only a resort and golf enclave but a fertile agricultural community. “Where you find a peach ridge in this section you find tobacco soil close by,” proclaimed an offer for sale of land between Pinehurst and Southern Pines. Another missive proclaimed, “The Pinehurst peach orchards are the showplaces of the industry” and estimated that hundreds of thousands of peach trees would be planted that year.

— That the clientele was predominantly from the North, ergo the ads from hoteliers like the Waldorf-Astoria and retailers like Franklin Simon and Co. on Fifth Avenue in New York City hawking its Austrian angora golf jacket for $22, imported homespun tweed knickers for $6 and regimental striped scarves of imported silk in 46 colors for $1.50.

— That a century before the “webinar” was the “correspondence course” that operated via the U.S. Postal Service, such as this one out of Chicago offering, “Learn to play golf in thirty days. Send $5 and we’ll send you a complete course with 57 illustrations arranged in moving picture order and will send you absolutely FREE any golf club you wish.”

— That the fairer sex was well-entrenched in the golf experience with Miss Ann Merrill, “one of the many young college girls who enjoyed the holiday festivities in Pinehurst,” and actress Katherine Perry and her actor husband, Owen Moore, finding time “between films to enjoy an extended frolic over the Pinehurst links.”

— That a Swedish Health Institute was operating under the auspices of Professor Paul Roesell in the Carolina Hotel in Pinehurst with electro-hydro and mechanical therapeutic appliances offering patients “all the advantages of such an institution in any large city.”

— That twice Pinehurst residents had been excited over a potential visit from President Warren Harding, an avid golfer, only to be disappointed when the visits never materialized. “They have been twice fooled and will now sit back and wait until the President actually arrives,” The Outlook noted.

— That “golf insurance” was being peddled around town in a facetious note in The Outlook, owing to the fact that “golf balls are whizzing over hill and dell in such large numbers that the innocent by-stander’s only chance of refuge is the nearest shell hole.” A principal sum of $5,000 was offered for the loss of one ear via passing golf ball, but no claims would be honored if white lightning was present on the golf course.

— That Donald Ross, the golf architect and head of the Pinehurst golf operation, was leading an effort to change the stymie rule in golf and was set to deliver it to the United States Golf Association’s annual meeting later in the month. The stymie, at the time, prevented a player from moving another’s ball if it lay within 6 inches of his own ball, leading, Ross thought, to the occasional “impossible shot.” Ross proposed extending the window to 2 feet. It would be possible at that distance, Ross proposed, “to negotiate the stymie by pitching over the near ball or curving around it.”

— That the same foot powder called Allen’s Foot-Ease which the U.S. government shipped to Europe by the ton for American soldiers during World War I was now thought ideal for golfers to “take the friction from the shoe, freshen the feet and make walking a delight.”

— That tea and dancing were offered daily from 4 to 6 p.m. in the Carolina Hotel lobby, and that hotel staff would set up mid-winter canoeing parties down the Lumbee River.

— That representatives of a manufacturing concern in Connecticut were in Pinehurst to promote their new steel golf shafts. “The shafts seem to be a big success, and indications are they will become very popular among golfers,” the newspaper offered.

— That Australian pro Joe Kirkwood would compete in the North and South Open in March and also give another of the trick-shot exhibitions that in previous years had drawn huge galleries to the “Maniac Hill” practice range. Among his specialties were hitting drives off the crystal of a watch, off an associate’s foot and fingertips, and hitting a full mashie straight in the air and catching the ball as it fell to the ground.

As for Mid Pines, Ross took care to transplant some dogwoods on the course “which at all costs must be preserved.” The newspaper further noted that, “He left clumps of trees near the clubhouse so that they could provide a cool and shady place for the wives who were waiting for their husbands to finish their game.”

The architect believed the nature of the ground provided an interesting twist to the course’s personality. “It is less exposed to cold winds than any other course hereabouts, due to its sheltered location, just behind a hill,” Ross said. “The hill, acting as a chute, deflects all winds upward, over the course, which is really a fine thing.” 

One century later, Mid Pines remains one of the area’s finest layouts, each hole in the same location and configuration as the day it opened. One of the many devotees of the layout is Southern Pines resident Jeff Loh, who prefers to play the course lugging a pencil bag with a half dozen hickory clubs he’s purchased on eBay and other collectors’ venues. He plays with balata balls he finds online as well, feeling that the softer ball, the vintage clubs and the 100-year-old course are a sublime match.

“When Mid Pines opened in 1921, they were still playing hickory shafts,” he says. “Steel didn’t come along for a few more years There’s just something about playing hickory and persimmon in a setting like this that is more authentic.”

Indeed, on the cusp of its second century, you’ll find Mid Pines an original in every sense of the word. PS

Author Lee Pace wrote Sandhills Classics — the Stories of Mid Pines and Pine Needles, which is available in the golf shops at both courses.

 

Photograph from the Tufts Archives

Tea Leaf Astrologer

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)

If you agree to disagree with a Capricorn, you may never get the goat off your leg. But if you can learn to appreciate this stubborn Earth sign’s somewhat forceful nature — and, perhaps, let them think they’re right — then you quickly will discover that their hearts are usually in the right place. Driven by passion, Capricorns aren’t afraid to speak their minds. When life gets a little spicy in the wake of the full moon,
don’t poke the fire-breathing goat.

Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you:

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

Bowie said it best: Turn and face the strange.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

Sure, martyrdom works. For now. But they’re onto you.

Aries (March 21 – April 19) 

Get your popcorn ready.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20) 

Easy, skipper. Smooth sailing entails the whole crew.   

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)

Ready for a miracle? Try listening.

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

You’re the ringleader of your own spectacular. Dress the part.

Leo (July 23 – August 22) 

Either road will take you there.

Virgo (August 23 – September 22) 

My sources say no.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

It’s OK to circle back. Not all journeys are linear.

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)

Use your words.

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)

The stars are in your favor this month. Mostly.   PS

Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla. 

Poem

Against Desirelessness

The heart needs more than quiet,

more than a home without desire.

Sorry old masters, before I can let go,

won’t I need to be holding on,

refusing to let something loose?

In my fist, I hold the aroma

of spring, of roses, of mown grass.

In my ear, I can still hear the creek

and the wren’s song turned to scold,

as the snake comes down the tree

from her emptied nest. The touch

of the breeze as I open my palm.

— Paul Jones, author of Something Wonderful

The Omnivorous Reader

Retracing Washington’s Footsteps

Touring a nation divided, then and now

By Stephen E. Smith

When historian Nathaniel Philbrick decided upon the title Travels with George for his most recent book, he took on a hefty obligation. In three words he employed two significant allusions. First, “Travels with” references Travels with Charley, Steinbeck’s classic travelogue (Charley was Steinbeck’s pet poodle) in which the author of Grapes of Wrath takes a thoughtful look at a sedate 1960s America. Second, the name “George” alludes to the George in American history — George Washington.

Oh, no, you might groan, not another book about Washington. His diaries are available in a four-volume set, there are numerous explications of his writings, and we are inundated with scholarly biographies. Barring newly discovered facets of Washington’s life or a passing reassessment of his faults and virtues, what is there left to say about the man?

But if new material were unearthed, Philbrick would likely write about it. He is the author of a dozen popular histories and has a following among middlebrow readers who thrive on fascinating facts about our country’s origins. His works are perceptive and relevant and always worth reading. Travels with George is no exception.

The title immediately divides the book into two distinct narratives that Philbrick skillfully intertwines. The first is the “tour.” When Washington became president in 1789, he found America divided into two factions. There were no Republican or Democrat parties, but the country was split by two opposing views of how the government should function: citizens who favored the Constitution (Federalists) and those who didn’t (Anti-Federalists). If the country were to be united, there was one man who possessed the prestige to encourage a sense of unity. So, it was that Washington set out on a 1789-1791 journey that would take him from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in the North to Savannah, Georgia, in the South. He embarked on his tour in a fancy horse-drawn coach (the chariot) and kept a sketchy commentary of his journey. Philbrick and his wife travel by car with their dog, Dora, a red, bushy-tailed Nova Scotia retriever. The physical America they encounter would, of course, be unrecognizable to Washington, but the divisions that trouble our politics would not be foreign to his understanding of democracy.

Washington spurned undue adoration. He was not fond of crowds and military honor guards, and he avoided both whenever possible. But he was also sensitive to social and political slights. When Gov. John Hancock of Massachusetts avoided dining with Washington, the first president never forgot the snub. Moreover, the Washington most Americans think they know — Parson Weems’ godlike contrivance — has little in common with the Father of Our Country.

“This is the Washington who was capable of punishing an enslaved worker who repeatedly attempted to escape by selling him to the sugar plantations in the Caribbean,” Philbrick writes. “This is the Washington who in the days before leaving for the Constitutional Convention had an enslaved house servant whipped for repeatedly walking across the freshly planted lawn in front of Mount Vernon.” A particularly ghastly example of Washington’s cruelty was his habit of having living teeth pulled from jaws of his slaves and implanted in his own toothless head.

The new president completed his tour of the Middle Atlantic states and New England before turning his attention to the states south of Virginia, a part of the country with which he was unfamiliar. Once in North Carolina, he spent the night in Tarboro and left early the next morning to avoid the dust that would be kicked up by a company of local cavalry that planned to escort him to New Bern. When he reached “a trifling place called Greenville,” the riders — and the dust — caught up with him.

“By that point Washington had entered a landscape that was new and utterly strange to him,” Philbrick writes, “the domain of the longleaf pine — a species of tree most of us in the twenty-first century have never seen but that in the eighteenth century covered an estimated ninety million acres, all the way south from North Carolina to Florida and as far west as Texas.”

Washington found the North Carolina landscape a bit unsettling. The longleaf forests were dense and shadowy, and he wrote that the landscape was “the most barren country I ever beheld,” but conceded that “the appearances of it are agreeable, resembling a lawn well covered with evergreens and a good verdure below from a broom of coarse grass which having sprung since the burning of the woods, had a neat and handsome look. . . .”

Washington was feted at balls and celebrations. He endured flea-infested beds in dilapidated taverns and the adulation of the ever-present paramilitary escorts. He even inspired a little romantic speculation when he visited with Nathanael Greene’s widow at Mulberry Grove Plantation outside Savannah. From there he passed through Augusta, Camden, Salisbury and Old Salem before returning to Mount Vernon.

The second component of Travels with George is not a comparison and contrast with Washington’s tours, but is more a mildly political semi-narrative supported by documents, maps and photographs. The Philbricks and their dog are agreeable company — their perceptions are folksy and laced with wit and intriguing observations — but inevitably, Philbrick must address the political divisions that trouble contemporary America.

After visiting Greene’s plantation, Philbrick wrote: “I was tempted to believe that a monster had been born in Mulberry Grove. But it was worse than that. A monster is singular and slayable. What haunts America is more pervasive, more stubborn, and often invisible. It is the legacy of slavery, and it is everywhere.” Reinforcing this point of view, Philbrick quotes from observations Washington made in his farewell address to the nation.

What troubled Washington was what might happen if a president’s priority was to divide rather than unite the American people: “It serves always to distract the public councils and enfeeble the public administration,” Washington wrote. “It agitates the community with ill-founded jealousies and false alarms, kindles the animosity of one part against another, foments occasionally riot and insurrection. It opens the door to foreign influence and corruption, which finds a facilitated access to the government itself through the channels of party passions.”

Washington might well have been writing about America at this moment, and readers who find themselves agreeing politically with Philbrick and Washington are likely to experience Travels with George as a pleasant and reassuring read. Those who disagree probably won’t make it beyond the preface.  PS

Stephen E. Smith is a retired professor and the author of seven books of poetry and prose. He’s the recipient of the Poetry Northwest Young Poet’s Prize, the Zoe Kincaid Brockman Prize for poetry and four North Carolina Press Awards.

Simple Life

A Gentle Nudge

Mysteries of the golfing universe

 

By Jim Dodson

Not long ago, the host of a popular golf radio show asked me who I most enjoy playing golf with these days. We were discussing the various golfers and assorted eccentrics I’ve met, interviewed, and written about over a long and winding career.

“These days, I like to play golf with old guys,” I said without hesitation, “like my friend Harry.”

“So, who is Harry?” he asked.

Harry, I explained, is a gifted artist and nationally known cartoonist I’ve known for many years. He has a wry sense of humor, a beautiful tempo in his golf swing, and a refreshing take on life. Harry is 76 years old, deaf in at least one ear, losing bits of his eyesight, and battling a rogue sciatic nerve in his left leg that sometimes makes swinging a club difficult.

He was once a splendid single-digit player who now aims for bogey golf, and never gets too rattled by whatever the game gives him. He accepts that bad breaks happen and are simply part of this maddening Presbyterian game, not worth fretting about. So are aging body parts that can’t propel the ball the way they once did.

Instead, Harry plays for the occasional fine shot, the rare good break, and the fellowship of his companions that includes a good bit of affectionate needling and laughter. He’s never had an ace, but holds out hope of someday shooting his age, the proverbial goal of every aging golfer.

Though I’m almost a decade younger than Harry — he jokes that I am a pre-geezer in training — I love playing with him because he is a model of what I hope to be like in the rapidly shrinking years ahead: a man who has loved the game since he was a boy and loves it just as much, though differently, as an old man. He is living proof that the game can grow sweeter as the clock runs down.

Golf has been part of his life since he was 10 or 11 years old and an uncle allowed him to pick a club from a barrel of used irons. He chose a battle-scarred 7-iron and the set that went with it.

“It was a set of Dalton Hague clubs, really beautiful. I played with them for years bragging that I owned real Dalton Hague signature golf clubs.” He pauses and chuckles. “They turned out to be Walter Hagen clubs that had just been beaten to death. But oh, how I loved those clubs.”

We often meet late in the afternoon for nine holes at a beautiful municipal course set on a wide lake well out of town, surrounded by mature hardwood forests with no houses, streets or power lines visible anywhere. We often pause to watch the action as shadows lengthen and nature reawakens — deer crossing fairways, waterfowl in flight. We rarely bother to keep a score. We just play, talk, be.

Harry’s favorite hole is the short par-4 seventh that angles down toward the lake, with an approach over a wooded cove to an elevated green backdropped by a breathtaking view of the water. He has sketched and painted it several times, aiming to get it just right. “Isn’t this something?” he’ll say with a note of quiet wonder, pausing before his approach shot that sometimes lands in the water of the cove, sometimes just feet from the pin.

If nothing else, getting older also makes it easier to laugh in the face of Father Time. “That’s the easiest 69 I ever made,” Walter Hagen — aka Dalton Hague — playfully quipped upon turning 69.

One afternoon not long ago, as we were watching a spectacular chevron of geese heading south for the winter over the lake from his favorite spot on the course, Harry told me a little golf story that speaks of wonder and mystery.

After Harry’s mom passed away, her final wish was that Harry and his younger sister take her ashes and those of Harry’s father down to a lake in a park at Carolina Beach, where the couple first met and later married. Harry promised he would do that.

His sister was a busy surgical nurse. Her unpredictable schedule repeatedly delayed their planned journey to the coast. It happened month after month. One afternoon he was playing golf with a partner who was particularly wild off the tee.

“I was helping him look for his ball deep in the woods, when I stepped over a downed tree and saw a golf ball sitting on top of a rotting log — almost like someone had placed it there. I picked it up and tossed it over to my companion. But it wasn’t his ball so he tossed it back. It was a very old ball. When I looked at it, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.”

The ball’s colorful logo read Carolina Beach.

One word was printed on the opposite side — Mom.

“It sent chills down my spine. A day later, I drove my folks’ ashes down to Carolina Beach — four hours away — and spread them in the lake at a spot that meant so much to their life together. I felt real peace at that moment.”

As he told me this, he pulled the ball out of his bag and handed it to me.

“I’ve carried it with me ever since,” he explained with a very Harry-like smile. “This game, this life, is wonderfully unexplainable, isn’t it?”

Simple coincidence or a gentle nudge from the golfing universe? Harry’s not sure. And neither am I. But that’s part of the wonder of this game.

As we played on, hitting occasional nice shots and mishits that will never be recorded, it struck me that there was, as usual, a nice little message in Harry’s seventh-hole homily, perfectly timed for a couple “old” friends on a golden afternoon at the end of their golf season; yet another reason to be thankful for the game I aim to play just like Harry until I either shoot my age or simply fly away like geese in the autumn.  PS

Jim Dodson can be reached at jwdauthor@gmail.com.

 

Illustration by Gerry O’Neill

Out of the Blue

Furball Fun

Always up to scratch

By Deborah Salomon

Welcome, fellow felinistas, to Cat Column No. 8. I limit myself to one a year, in January, or else you might shred this beautiful magazine for litter. In the beginning I promised only good news, which continues since my two kitties are still spry in old age, perhaps 14 or 15. Unlike humans and dogs, teeth don’t tell.

So far, they’re not misplacing car keys or forgetting a vet appointment, either.

Recap: The saga began in 2011 when a coal black (even whiskers) kitty with fur as smooth and shiny as satin turned up at my door. I was without cat companions — always two, sometimes three — for the first time in 30 years. Of course I fed him and, six months later, opened the door to the most amazing animal I’ve ever met. Neighbors said his family, who took the trouble to neuter and declaw him, had moved away, abandoning him.

Lucky was at home instantly. He knew how to repay my kindness with love. He is calm, thoughtful, stoic, brilliant. I adore him.

Some months later a fat, lumpy girl with patchwork grey stripes against a white background came begging. Her gait defines “waddle.” She was a neighborhood semi-feral, fed by many, obviously, with a notched ear signifying that some kind soul had her spayed. She was skittish, unfriendly, short on smarts. She hissed at me and, especially, Lucky. I thought about naming her Edith (Bunker) but settled on the eponymous Hissy, which became Missy when she wised up, realized her good fortune and became a sweetie. However, after nine years she still dislikes the world, loves just me . . . and Lucky. She became his handmaiden, deferring to him, washing his face, following him into the yard, respecting his nests.

That’s right: nests. Cats are nesters, especially my Lucky. They find quiet out-of-the-way spots to curl up and sleep, preferably a place with a familiar aroma like a half-full laundry basket. Lucky’s first nest, pre-adoption, was under a bush by my front door. Once inside, he found a flannel jacket that had fallen off the hanger in the back of my closet. After a few weeks the fabric had conformed to his curled-up shape and I had learned the hard way not to shut the closet door.

I had also installed towel-covered perches on two sunny windowsills, which don’t qualify as nests because of visibility.

Next came the cable box, which is warm but only semi-private. He hangs over the sides, so I laid a book of the same thickness next to it. Ahhh . . . his expression conveyed.

To lure him off that nest I put a round, fleece-lined cat bed in a living room corner, underneath a low window. Here, tucked away, Lucky can see what’s going on outside and inside. This was nap central all summer, especially days cool enough to open the window.

Well, Hissy/Missy wasn’t taking this best-nest thing lying down. She would sidle by, checking occupancy, claiming the prime space when available. So, to keep the peace I installed a second fleece-lined bed beside it.

Fat chance.

Nests aren’t just for sleeping I discovered after putting down a cardboard box with an opening cut into one side, so Lucky could claim his fort, defend it from intruders. There he sits inside the box, smiling, while Missy attacks with swats and growls.

Such fun! Great exercise! Costs nothing!

When the game is over, Missy sidles up to Lucky and commences grooming him — a good thing, since arthritis prevents him from reaching nether areas.

I feel his pain in my own joints.

Last week, Missy displayed a rare intelligence. I brought out my suitcase in preparation for a quick trip to visit my grandsons for the first time in almost two years, leaving my kitties with a pet sitter possessing enough certifications to tend the Queen’s corgis. Missy became agitated. She napped less, talked more, even pooped outside the litter box, a sure sign of distress. Could she have remembered what the suitcase signifies? Decades ago we had an Airedale who went berserk, tried to destroy suitcases. A more secure Lucky reacts by curling up inside it, shedding on my new sweater.

A perfect nest, he purrs, albeit temporary.

But their ultimate nest isn’t a nest at all. My kitties found nirvana in full view, on the heating pad that eases my shoulder pain at night. I had to buy a double-wide second pad to accommodate us all. Talk about smart: On the first chilly day Lucky, followed by Missy, jumped on the bed, looking for it.

Sounds crazy, I know. Only animal people will understand my anthropomorphisms, let alone put up with Lucky’s insistent paw at 4 a.m. demanding breakfast and a spin outside before returning to the heating pad(s).

I could relate more but he’s sitting by my desk, giving me that look that says, “lap time.”

And people say cats are aloof and unaffectionate. Maybe, to aloof, unaffectionate people.

Same time, next year?  PS

Deborah Salomon is a writer for PineStraw and The Pilot. She may be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.

In The Spirit

Starting Over

Embracing the flavor of zero ABV drinks

 

By Tony Cross

I’ve always had a weird relationship with January. Part of me likens the month to 31 Sundays. It’s the day after a raging Saturday night; everything is kind of fuzzy; I’ve come down from the big high that was the holidays and all the excess that comes with it. The other part of me (probably my organs) is looking forward to getting back on track with diet and exercise. I never stopped any of that, but last month I doubled down on the debauchery, so they kind of canceled each other out. Kind of.

This January, I am taking the month off from spirits and am focusing on the year ahead as clear-headed as I can be. I hate February, too, but will have my half-filled bottles of whiskey and rum to see me through. If you’re like me and are taking a sabbatical — or maybe you’re pregnant or maybe you and alcohol don’t have a great relationship — here are some zero-proof drinks that can cheer you up after the big comedown. There are quite a few syrups and such to be made with these drinks, so be prepared. Of course, they’re delicious in spirit-based cocktails, too.

La Luz

Jon Feuersanger, 2019, Death & Co. NYC, New York

Hot off the press! The folks over at Death & Co. have just released their newest cocktail book, Welcome Home. Admittedly, I have not been able to read all of it, but when I first opened the book to skim through it, what did catch my eye was the addition to their repertoire of low- and no-ABV cocktails. The first ingredient in this drink is verjus. Verjus is the juice of unripened grapes. It’s usually acidic and can be dry. You can order it online and get it within the week. The Christmas crunch is over, right? As an alternative to using citrus juices, verjus can be a great base in a non-alcoholic cocktail. It’s also terrific as a balancer in cocktails with spirits in them. Feuersanger writes of his mocktail, “No-ABV drinks can be challenging. Ingredients interact differently with alcohol. I looked to Hawaii to inspire this summery drink. The tartness of the pineapple pulp cordial plays with the acidity and sweetness of the passion fruit purée and gives the drink the weight of a Gimlet or Sidecar. It sounds sweet, but it goes down easy.”

La Luz

1 3/4 ounces Fusion verjus blanc

1 ounce pineapple pulp cordial (recipe below)

1/2 ounce Perfect Purée passion fruit purée

1/4 ounce fresh lime juice

1 dash orange blossom water

1 lime wheel (garnish)

Shake all ingredients with ice, then double strain into a chilled Nick & Nora glass. Garnish with lime wedge.

Pineapple Pulp Cordial

450 grams unbleached cane sugar

450 grams filtered water

100 grams pineapple pulp (left over from juicing pineapple)

Malic acid

Citric acid

Combine the sugar, water, and pineapple pulp in a blender and process until the sugar has dissolved. Strain the mixture through a paper coffee filter or Superbag (available on modernistpantry.com).

Calculate 2 percent of the weight of the above mixture to get X grams of malic acid. Calculate 3 percent of the above mixture to get Y grams of citric acid. Pour X and Y into a storage container and refrigerate until ready to use, up to two weeks.

Business Casual

Jon Mateer, 2019, Death & Co. NYC, New York

Yes, I know — that last drink was a doozy. Fear not. This one doesn’t involve much math, but you will probably need to order a few ingredients online. The first is Giffard’s Aperitif syrup. It’s a great substitute for Campari or Cappelletti Aperitivo — red and bitter. This aperitif has flavors of bitter oranges, gentian root and spice. As a side note, you can enjoy this with sparkling water and an orange slice and be A-OK.

Business Casual

1 1/4 ounces Giffard Aperitif syrup

3/4 ounce chilled brewed black tea

1 ounce red verjus syrup (recipe below)

1 teaspoon cane sugar syrup (recipe below)

1 orange half wheel (garnish)

Stir all the ingredients over ice, then strain into a double old-fashioned glass over 1 large ice cube. Garnish with the orange half wheel.

Red Verjus Syrup

130 grams red verjus

60 grams vanilla syrup (see below)

31.5 grams cinnamon syrup (see below)

In a bowl, whisk together all the ingredients until combined. Transfer to a storage container and refrigerate until ready to use, up to 2 weeks.

Vanilla Syrup

500 grams simple syrup (equal parts sugar and distilled water)

2 grams vanilla extract

Combine in a storage container and shake. Refrigerate until ready to use, up to 2 weeks

Cinnamon Syrup*

500 grams simple syrup

15 grams crushed cinnamon sticks

Blend together and pour into a storage container to sit overnight in refrigerator. Strain out solids the next morning, and refrigerate syrup, up to 2 weeks.

*(The Death & Co. recipe is a bit much, this is a simpler version.)

Cane Sugar Syrup

300 grams unbleached cane sugar

150 grams filtered water

Combine the sugar and water in a blender and process until the sugar has dissolved. Pour into a storage container and refrigerate until ready to use, up to 2 weeks.  PS

Tony Cross is a bartender (well, ex-bartender) who runs cocktail catering company Reverie Cocktails in Southern Pines.

 

Photograph by Tony Cross