some fridged photography, some okay prose, and a sarcastic book review of Wuthering Heights


  it is half passed 7am and school is under yet another two hour delay because of windchill deemed too dangerous for children walking to school to face head on

mine sleep in and I hunker down with mug and pen


the sun: its shocking brightness lifts the soul, even as it is incapable to warm

gray shadows diagonal on blue-white snow still cast a pretty frame out my window that is freezing to the touch



the lady of the snowy lake that is now my sidewalk garden

stands vigil in weathered patina cracked base  sunlit silhouette



my soapstone birdbath capsized before Christmas and remains a permanent frozen fixture to the yard

unlike the wood ash that scatters and swirls as soon as it is thrown under the lilac

hopeful nutrients for the bush when the ground thaws



this clean slate of a month that forces us to slow down when the year is new

it has been cruel in its coldness brutal its restless arctic winds

but this season of desolation is good for the soul because somehow in a way i am not all together sure

the season enables Spring to be sweet Summer to be too swift and Autumn to be a jewel in a crown


It has been far too long since I ventured out for some photography.  Far too long since I tinkered around with words, for the sake of tinkering around with words, and far too since I have spent so much time on a goodreads book review, for the sole reason to get a laugh.  If you go to this social media site for bookworms and read other reviews on “serious classics” you will get usually one of two types of reviews.

Review type A going something like:  “it was long and confusing, and I did not finish it. {Please note, that in a nutshell, this is how my reviews of any Charles Dickens book I have ever tried to read have typically read…so do not write me off as a book snob…yet}.

Review type B then reads something like a collage term paper peppered with lots of snide remarks, akin to something the spin off character,Frasier Crane from Cheers, in his show Frasier would say. { I still watch the reruns on netflix} Oh, and they always write “protagonist” never “the main character”.

I had such mixed feeling with Wuthering Heights.  But it was the first book I was to read on a facebook book club I recently joined so I made sure to give it due diligence. But since some people in the group have not finished book, I did not want to discuss too much, and ended up with a very sarcastic commentary about The British and classical literature and the all the annoying characters in this depressing book, especially the protagonist in particular.


wuthering heightsone of the best illustrations out of the old vintage copy that I own

Wuthering Heights has long been one of those classics that I should of read long ago,and causes everyone who knows me to become instantly outraged upon learning I have not in fact read it, long ago. It took a book club for me to finally accomplish crossing “read Wuthering Heights” off my life list. Two chapters in I was vividly reminded why I never muscled through this British Literary Romance Classic {see it sounds so good, so ME!} For those of you not familiar, this entire book it is told from a minor character who happens to become acquainted with the famed “Heathcliff”, a Mr. Lockwood. After an awkward meal, a strange and horrible night encountering a ghost, Mr. Lockwood happens to meet the old housekeeper of the rude, unruly, and altogether surly, Heathcliff. She is the only nice one in the whole book: a Mrs. Dean. Heathcliff’s only friend, whom he regularly verbally abuses. From this point on nearly the entire remainder of the book, except for the last few scenes, are told from Mrs. Dean’s perspective, as she relates the sad, twisted tale of Wuthering Heights to the now stricken and sick in bed Mr. Lockwood. {NOTE: most characters are sick and stricken, weak, and prone to fever. Some eventually succumb to a slow drawn out death because they foolishly walked in the dew as it grew chilly…they should of known those fools! But the Brontes were a sickly, depressed lot, so I suppose it makes sense that Emily Bronte’s one and only book is full of weak sick characters.} A-a-a-nyway.
Getting passed the confusing way this novel is told, and once one gets a handle on, that like most British classic writers, the narrator will call one character about seven different names. {even the narrator herself is referred to as “Mrs.Dean, Ellen, or Nelly, and one occasion, Guster!
No not really. I just wanted to see if anyone read my rambling { }s. }
What I did enjoy was that you find yourself rooting for a character, then being only sympathetic because you feel so sorry for them, then maybe a little disgusted, then you wish they would die, then you think, “oh okay, I guess they can live, they are not that evil, they just have issues”. That is hard to do, and Bronte does that with nearly all of her characters. Obsession is portrayed, in all its dramatic insanity-driven proportions. At one point I truly wished “The Grange” would collapse and wipe out the entire cast of characters, except for Nelly/Ellen. I wished she could of ran away with a nice, honest milk man. I enjoyed the writing and the phrasing, especially the descriptions of the moors and nature and night. And lastly, Wuthering Heights portrays some redemption and closure in its sad tale, as those family members who have had to bear their parents sins and Heathcliff’s vengeful obsession, choose to rise above their supposed destiny. The end of the book leaves the reader with some delightful interpretation as to what some of the final scenes really mean, which always make for a good book club discussion.

The book was not this sexy, or I probably would of gave it four, not three stars.




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