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Historical Novels -Bobi Andrews

Thursday, June 9, 2016




Seems to have infinite beginnings
   but never absolute endings
      always has "and then"

Seems to have an assortment of aromas
   From a musty-cobwebbed cave to a
        jammed shelf in the corner
               of the garage

Doesn't seem to get its feelings hurt
   seems to always have something
      to chuckle about

Doesn't seem to have any distinct
   working or business hour schedule,
      no 8:00 am - 5:00 pm work days
         fact, sometimes 1:00 am is its most
            productive time.

Doesn't depend upon Competition,
   doesn't need the ego of winning.

IS totally unpredictable
   Its Motto is:
       Whenever the idea P O P S
          melt the butter
              shake on the salt
              have a large bowl ready!

Takes trips
   without going anywhere
      no expensive tickets needed
         "often fuzzy" on destination.

Often hides and plays Peek-a-Boo
   but eventually shows up in an articulate
      spider web-or a puppy chasing his tail.

TASTES everything
  LISTENS to every sound
    WALKS in the spookiest places
       has sixteen assorted wigs
          Wears Cinderella's Golden slippers

  Has ten letters--the Perfect 10
          Has only eight never to
             catch up with the Perfect 10.
                   Sometimes sniffs, snorts, and grunts
                       more often it "Whistles a Happy Tune"
                          to make sure that we
                            "Let a Smile Be Its Umbrella".

                                    GOD BLESS!  

Creativity--ISN'T just thinking "Outside the
Box" . . .  actually, there is NO BOX!
             (Only a faint dotted line, if you insist.)

                                                   -- Rose Nuernberger

Tuesday, June 7, 2016


Books are a lot like people.  Some people you like immediately, others you have to learn to like. And still others, they ain't for you.  If you belong to several book clubs like I do, we are exposed to many genres and writing styles.

Like people, some books are slow starters.  Others lose me in the first chapter with too many characters to keep track of.  Some are much too detailed--I don't need to know about each rain drop dripping from each tree.  Some are poorly crafted, confusing, contradictory.

A good book gives me an experience that I won't forget. 

I  just finished a book that I liked very much (Me Before You).The book before that, not so much. What do I do with the latter--well I apply my "Page 89" theory which is simply with any book I may have in hand, I read until at least Page 89.  If I'm not into the book by then, I prioritize my time with something else. In the past, books outside my reading genre that I gave up on by reading only the beginning, I've found later to be worth reading to the end especially if it's a club's selection.    

Our club coordinator had asked one of our members who had been absent for the discussion what she thought of the book.  She said she'd stopped on Page 89. We all laughed--we knew exactly what she'd thought of the book!    

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

KJ's Robin in the Neighborhood

Just when I thought spring couldn't get any better, three fledgling robins showed up in our backyard.  They can't fly more than five feet at a time, and one got to hopping so fast to catch up to its dad that it almost pitched a somersault  Gotta love it!  --Thanks KJ.  Bobi Andrews
It's funny how sometimes you start talking about something and all of a sudden you notice things you didn't notice before.  We know now that this little cousin was an egg thirteen or fourteen days ago!

Monday, May 23, 2016


The best of life is taking little things and blending them into our larger lives. Jerry B. does an excellent job of this in his thoughts on Rose's robins. Thank you!  -- Bobi Andrews

For Rose's Robin Log (if lucky to make the short list)

The pleasant and ethereal delight of bird chirps, grunts and groans as I lounge on the back deck by the Lake. What goes into the life, or for that matter, the day to day living of a bird, both parent and child? 

As I regale on the back deck taking in the sounds and bliss of the chirps and others of natures beauty, who's scheduling and planning and teaching and mentoring this nature to do  the Right Things?  Who plans out that the Mommy birds know about nests, birth, foraging for food, heck, keeping a Daddy bird happy to help in life's process. We humans lavish ourselves with self help this and self help that.  We boast with pride our degrees, our medals, our trophies, our stuff. We make sure we have training to take the test that measure our training to be admitted to college.  We try to trick the "system" to be better than, maybe, we really are.  We should stop for a moment to gather in what nature does to survive, not for accolade.  

We talk about stopping and smelling the roses, but do we?  When life's human external pressures weigh on our time
and thought and breath, we don't linger to wonder, imagine and regale with intent why this nature thing all works.  We say it's God's plan but shouldn't we read more between the
lines of natures existence.  For that matter, please contemplate a birds very survival coming into the World on  Day 1 and being told to move out of the House (nest) by Day 13.  Who told the baby bird how to forage, fly, live, build a nest, fight off foes and still regale in the place they live?  And in the time half the cycle of the Moon's turn, we take this baby bird from a bliss of existence to its very survival.  We humans are blessed to live amongst such turmoil and success of nature
as we navigate our own paths with a longer incubation of our Mom's and Dad's plying our assets we bring into the World.  

Thank goodness I wasn't kicked out of the house on Day 13.  I'm still struggling to manage all of Life's wonders at 55 years.   

If you're lucky enough to digest Rose's Life Log of the "Robin's  in the Bush", I hope you will have some of these thoughts to stretch your mind.  May Happiness and Joy always lead our Wondering and Imagination to the "What-if" around us!!

 Jerry B.  

Sunday, May 22, 2016


From the first stringy grass for the nest to the last robin sneaking out the back door to fly away, this has been a huge eye opener of learning nature's way for us.  I have tried to have Mrs. Robin sign a contract for her next brood but she was too busy to give me any kind of response. Of course, we'll leave her nest in our bush and do what we can to protect it.  We've been told robins use the same nest for the next brood. 

I spent many an hour trying to get an image of Mom Robin feeding all three of her young ones with their beaks all open.  As I have written before, it must be very confidential to Mrs. Robin--as I only got the "tail-end" of the procedure.  But I DID catch an image of Mrs. Robin with her long sought-after worm in her beak.Unfortunately, it wasn't the long four-inch earthworm being snatched from underground.  During the last few
days, we observed Mrs. Robin feeding her young, and then flying off with some "white thing" in her mouth. At first we thought it was pieces of the broken shells, but we figured they were removed a long time ago.

KJ, a very special friend, informed us that Mrs. Robin was carrying out the "droppings" that were encased in white bags.

Goodness me, Dear Lord, you were close to providing "diaper service" for your creations.  Bobi, my sister, said that perhaps I should have had a paper towel and a plastic bag hanging up close by for her "little errands."  The INSTINCT that these robins showed throughout this exciting adventure is infinitely endless!

Of course, she knew  there's not enough room in a nest for three almost fully grown teenagers and bags of poop, too.

This morning was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. When we got up this morning, there was only one robin left in the nest.  Apparently, the other two took off some time last night. (Maybe Nature has a timer since the two that hatched first, flew first, and the last one to hatch, flew last.)

I kept an eye on him/her during breakfast.  Since he/she seemed pretty fidgety, I got out my camera. I watched him/her preen himself/herself a bit.  Then before I could aim my camera, he/she turned around and fluttered his/her wings and actually "snuck out the back door."  THE NERVE OF HIM/HER!  So I didn't get a good picture
except for the empty nest.  Apparently, they followed the rules of what the computer said about baby robins taking flight within 13-15 days of  birth.  I previously was very, very sure when I stated at day three that they would NEVER, NEVER be ready to take off within ten
or more days!  NEVER! Guess they showed me "a thing or two!"

We didn't see any sign of Mrs. Robin this morning before the last flight.  She must have been out to "Palm Beach" and thought the last fledging would finally get the hint and go out and "search for his own worms."

But about mid-morning, Mrs. Robin cut her "Palm Beach" vacation short and was VIGOROUSLY snatching up worms in our backyard.  I should say she was literally GORGING herself!  Was she making up for lost time or was she loading up for a "post-flight" treat for the kids?

(Robins do feed their young for a while after they take flight.) Guess I should give her the benefit of the doubt--fairness goes both ways, doesn't it?

And so I  conclude, on May 21, at about 8:30 a.m. --a day to be remembered --

The REAL WORLD BECAME A REALITY for our "three pinkish-reddish-bubblegum wads of babyhood" for what has been MAGNIFICENT entertainment for us  all.


YES, I sing their last song. "So Long, It's Been Good to Know You."   -- Rose Nuernberger





Sunday, May 8, 2016


For someone like me, unable to travel to all the places I read about, I  mirror the experience through someone else's eyes. When the author is gifted, I am there with him.

Such is Bill Bryson's "In a Sunburned Country." In his amazing book I marvel at the energy and stamina required to walk and travel throughout Australia's vast land.  The excessive heat and emptiness overwhelm me as it did him.  The rich Australian history mesmerizes me.  The traditional contribution of abundant ore beneath its surface was unending and built wealth and a country.

Bryson describes the origins of man as if reported yesterday. Was a version of  man really there two hundred million years ago?  If so, how did such a man get to the isolated island and from where did he come?  Bryson didn't know, neither do I. 

If I were there, I'd be thrilled to find an insect that has never before been discovered, or a plant or tree that never made it into scientific study. The many species of snakes I would try to forget (but would watch every step I took).  I found myself pondering with trepidation the mystery where a fork in the road leads or the identity of the markers of bones from past forgotten explorers. I visually shudder. If lost, how long til rescue with the next town not a few miles away, but many and its accommodations unknown. (However they all seemed to have a pub and coffeepot. Buying beer stock in Australia's financial markets--not a bad idea.)  

In Bryson's travels throughout Australia, I lost count of how many cups of coffee he consumed, but I was ready with him to have one more cup at the next stop.  He rightly related that the settled population in the barren lands were as pleased to see him enter their pub for a pint as he was to quench his thirst. There seemed to be two definitions of loneliness--those settlers who thrived in their independence and those who suffered the absence of community living.   

When visiting the coasts, the world of Australia changes. Starkly contrasted with the raw, sparsely settled interior, the modern cities of Sydney and Melbourne form cultural countries of their own: Cosmopolitan, undisputed leaders in sports and business, ahead of the game in consuming the latest technology, and welcome combatants on our side in western world conflicts.  It was a good feeling to be able to enjoy two worlds within one setting.

A fine book.  A very fine book.