Fred's Poem--The Peaceful Prodder

The Peaceful Prodder by Letty Watt

 

Fred was a peaceful prodder,

  Thank you, Danny Rosen, for this observation.

We may miss Fred terribly, but he will only be

  A thought away.

 

A café or diner shows an empty seat

  Where Fred will no longer order the special of the day with friends.

 

We may feel Fred’s presence in the gentle purr of a cat.

   Kee Kee…Pouncer…Pepe’

Or in a deep and penetrating conversation about Faith.

 

A bar seat is silent in this world,

  Where Fred will no longer be listening to the story of someone’s life.

 

We might hear Fred’s voice ring out at the first Homerun

  Of the season for the Yankees,

Or listen to his thoughtful observations of skills on the court,

  On the golf course, or the baseball field.

 

A stadium seat sits vacant, waiting for a dedicated fan to arrive.

We might imagine Fred playing a round of golf

  With Mickey Mantle at Augusta National,

Or sharing the knowledge of Harvey Penick’s lessons on golf

  With friends and perfect strangers.  

 

A tee time at Harpeth Hills golf course stands open waiting for,

  A single man to join them and peacefully plot his way down the fairway. 

 

We might pretend while drinking that first cup of coffee with Fred

  That the clock of time will ring in a short period,

When hours later we find ourselves in a

  Provocative conversation about religion and faith.

 

A chocolate bar sits waiting in New York City,

 Waiting to be delivered to a friend of Fred’s.

 

The world may well be a better place thanks to Fred’s love

   shared with kindergarten children in Kansas and Texas,

Or from Fred’s passion to share God’s word through Young Life

  From continent to continent.

 An orphanage in Nepal saves a place for friend named Fred.

 A place in heaven is now filled, where Fred is surrounded by Love,

  As we all will be One Day.

Someone once said, “Fred Ripley was an acquired taste whether it was plotting every shot on the golf course or pondering his next thought, he stayed present in the moment for a very long time.”

 

 <https://housewithheart.org/donate>

Fred Ripley, Dhaulagiri Mountain Range in Nepal in background. 

 

 

 

You Never Know What's Around the Corner

I keep this note posted on my computer to remind me how blessed I am to be living this day.

Four months ago, I sat down to write about a phone call I received from my sister, Jonya. In my search for words to express my heart ache, my eyes glanced around. Seeing this quote struck me like whiplash, jarring me inside and out. I began to cry, even more. 

Four months later, now August, I can still hear my sister's tearful pitch crying out, "Fred has died. Our cousin Fred died. Letty, he died several days ago...home....alone. No one knew...."

Before Jonya and I finished that first conversation in April, we already knew that Fred was in heaven, seated with God in love and spirit. Fred filled his life with Faith and Love, sharing and expressing his belief in God with friends, co-workers, Young Life students, the waitress at The Diner, neighbors, sports buddies, and family.  Now we needed the strength of his faith to guide and sustain us. 

 What we learned over the next two weeks before arriving in Nashville, Fred's home, that friends from his Bible study group had missed him at church and at Monday night Bible study. Arriving at his home, late that Monday to locked doors, they saw him through the windows...still...rolled over on his side...unmoving. No amount of window tapping or shouting could awaken him. The police were called. No foul play was found. His heart had simply given out, or so we thought. 

 Fred never married and our parents had died a few decades ago. We were the closest living relatives to locate his "Will" and plan the funeral. Even though we had no keys, we were naively planning to stay the first two weeks in Fred's home, to organize and prepare for Memorial and burial. Until we could be given the keys to Fred's home we would spend two nights with a relative of a relative, who lives in Nashville.  Sarah M. became a 'Godsend' for us.

 On day one we made calls to Fred's estate planning team, whose names had been given to us by one of Fred's close friends. After one hour of shaking our heads "no no no" the team sadly assured us that Fred had not returned their signed 'Will' written in 2023. Didn’t that leave room for the possibility of a Will written by another law firm?

Thanks to an earlier meeting in Norman with a retired law professor from OU, we began to understand the term “intestate” that we had no rights and may not be able to stay at Fred's. Mark G. instructed us over a two-hour period on terminology we would need to know and the pitfalls of dealing with unknown attorneys and scammers.  

 Our next step was to call Fred’s business and ask for the keys to his house so we could locate the signed Will, possibly. This time we experienced more than a negative head shake, it was an earthquake of whiplash. We came face to face with the reality of intestate, even though we were his closest relatives we had no right to his house, until a Judge could appoint us as "co-administrators of his estate." Still, we held out hope that we would prevail and find that signed Will.

 At last Fred's friend and owner of the business where Fred worked agreed to meet us at Fred's home in a couple of days. In phone calls made on our behalf by friends, angels I call them, we managed an appointment that week with a trusted law firm to help us manage the estate. 

 After our two nights at Sarah's house, we explained our situation and asked her if she could suggest an affordable hotel nearby. I'm sure she realized from the forlorn look on our faces that we needed help. Standing up from her desk, where she worked from home on 8–12-hour shifts, she smiled and replied. "Why don't you stay here? I am leaving for Europe on Wednesday." We looked around at our open suitcases in her living room, the mess we had made since we’d only planned to stay two nights and did not take our suitcases up the steep narrow stairway to our rooms. Still in silence we stood. She continued, “I won’t need the car, and I’ll take Uber to the airport.  Keep the keys and use the car while I’m gone.”

Philippians 4:19 God will meet your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.  

Our smiles and tears arrived simultaneously. God knew we needed help and he sent it.  From that moment on we began to realize and count our "God Moments." Writing now in August, I can tell you that we lost count of the Goodness of people who cared for Fred and for his family. 

 Carrying our family genealogy chart in my arms, proof that we were family, we arrived at Fred's home on the afternoon of the third day.  We were given two hours to search his home for important papers and a Will.  We were accompanied by two friends of Fred's as we toured the house. In one room we realized that Fred had been sorting family photos, letters, memorabilia on his own. There were boxes and pictures strewn across the bed, the dresser and in boxes along both sides of the wall.  At age 77 we thought that normal, as this age in life, is a time of reflection and gathering our thoughts and memories. Like reading a good mystery, we missed this clue.

 The clock was ticking; our hands were empty. Bill suggested that we visit Fred's office the next day and go through those boxes. We readily agreed. Before leaving Doug and I searched Fred's bedroom. In the bedside dresser we found stacks and stacks of papers.  Piling them on the bed we began to sort. Suddenly, I saw the estate planning papers and screamed to my sister to come back to the bedroom.  There the four of us sorted and read through the paperwork, only to realize that Fred had not signed the Will.

 More than that we discovered a stack of papers giving us health updates on Fred's cancer, that we did not know about.  Doug confessed that Fred had known about the cancer and had been in treatment since 2023, but Fred was not one to share his miseries. We have over the last four months how truly Fred compartmentalized his life. Only Doug and another friend knew that Fred's cancer existed.  Instead of whiplash, our heads dropped in sorrow, silence, and disbelief. 

 We could not believe that Fred, who seemed so well organized and such a deep thinker, would not sign a will. We asked ourselves and asked God, how!

 All Fred ever wanted was to have his estate go to Young Life of Nashville, and a charity for orphaned children in Nepal "House with Heart." House with Heart

 At this point we had no control, no choices that we felt good about. We prayed and we asked God to guide us, to help us make decisions when the time came. 

 Over the next week we filled our lives with house calls, business calls, emails, and phone calls. Eventually, people began returning calls offering even more help than we could imagine. One by one we began meeting the people who formed Fred’s circles of life. 

It wasn’t all work on this trip. Jonya and I found our way to Parnassus Bookstore and walked out richer in books and knowledge. We spent an early evening with a member of the NEO golf team when I played on the men’s team in 1965-67. How fun to meet up with George Billows and his wife Dori after sixty years.

After attending Fred’s church CPC we drove to Franklin, Tennessee for a stroll through history and a late Sunday lunch of Southern cooking accompanied by a few good hearty laughs, as you can see from the photo.

Before flying home, we had hired a law firm to represent us, paperwork would be filed requesting that the two of us become "co-administrators.”  We met with the pastor from Christ Presbyterian Church.  We met with a planning team from the cemetery. We met and hired an agent from a trusted bank to help us follow the Tennessee law.

Tennessee law requires the estate to be divided equally: half to his mother's side of the family (us) and one-half to his father's side of the family.  We are a small family and have all stayed close over the years, but we did not know one single soul of Fred's father's side of the family. We only knew that his father had grown up in an orphanage and was wounded in World War II. The search began for Fred’s cousins.  

We flew home and waited for the Judge to appoint us co-administrators. Our attorney and I frantically searched and shared genealogy and obituary updates regularly. We waited on friends to return calls. We waited on updates and steps involved in the selling of the home and furnishings. We waited on bills to arrive and income to cover them.

Waiting taught us faith and patience. 

Lucy Barton says in one of the novels by Elizabeth Strout,

"It is a gift in this life that we don't know what awaits us."

How Letty Found Magic by Murphy Doodle

 Letty knows how much i love to play, every>>night, , , , , , before we sleep,

but lately she says NO..........that is a word i no and i do not like it,

Some>>times she would walk around the yard with me and then sit down and take a nap

She said her head felt cluttered and needed naps so it could work better

all winter she sat in her play room making words, like J E F F E R S O N out of letters on her computer,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,She could not help me write my stories

I stayed with her and watched for squirrels + cats at the window or slept on my bed,,,,,,still we played inside games at night before sleep

One day she told me to stop whining and go play with>>out her then she showed me her frown face

I whined for her to play and she growled at me 

I laid down in the corner behind her 

It began to rain 1 day then 2 days 

I took naps 2 because the house was quiet

At last the sun came out and there were flowers blooming

Letty went outside with me and played frisbee,,,,I ran as fast as I could

I heard her tell Jack that the wind might blow the clutter out of her head

The wind blew day after day but the clutter did not fly away and she kept her frown

I licked Letty's face and ears

She smiled :)   :)    :) 

If Letty would chase me around the house her brain might work better ??????

I wagged my tail and gave her my paw

She smiled (:   (:    (: 

Finally, , , , ,she whispered in my ear and it tickled--I liked it--then she whispered again with a smile

"Murphy," she said my name while she rubbed by chin and ears "Where is your toy ? ? ? ?"

I jumped for joy and fun and found my toy then I dug out another toy and she threw my toys all over the house

She laughed and laughed and I jumped over the furniture and raced around the house

The next night we played toys and she laughed again........It felt like magic in the air

After she laughed her frown went away!

I wish people were more like dogs

Dogs do not frown

But people make magic when they laugh

{}[]\\||?/?/?/{   } letty let me hit funny keys on the black writer 

 

Bushwacking in the Muntz Jet--There Is A God

Growing up in small towns after World War II gave millions of us, the Baby Boomers by labels, opportunities to run free in our neighborhoods, streets, and alleys. We were warned what kind of people we must look out for. In Miami, Oklahoma, we called him the “man on the bicycle.”  Parents and rumors spread that he might ask girls especially to ride on the bike with him. We were told to run away and tell the nearest adult. That was the Biggest Fear we carried with us as we explored creeks, rivers, the other side of town, and friendly neighborhoods where we knew to be home by dark or else. 

After all of these years, I finally found a picture of our Metallic Mustard colored Muntz Jet, parked in our driveway in Miami, Oklahoma in 1957. 

One Saturday night my parents gave me the keys to the Muntz. My plan was to take Judy Scruggs and go “BUSHWACKING” at Riverview Park. My father, Johnie Stapp, had a Highway Patrol headlight on both sides of the Muntz, so the driver or the passenger could reach out and maneuver the bright light. He also had a loud horn that sounded like a “moo cow” in pain, that frightened people.

The Muntz Jet was originally a metallic Mustard color until dad painted it white, then black, then baby blue. 

Our plan that night was to drive through the park looking for lovers parked in the dark.  We would then flash the bright light on them and hit the horn in hopes of scaring the life out of them. I knew we could outrun any car in town. But some plans don’t produce the outcome expected.

Turning off the highway and down into the dark of Riverview Park on the west side where lovers could often be found necking, we drove slowly with the dimmers on. I noticed the closer we drove to the water’s edge of the Neosho River, the muddier it became until I felt a sinking sensation.

The Muntz, already low to the ground with two steel beams on either side for support, stopped in the mud and refused to move. …. How could I have forgotten that the park often flooded with spring rains?

Instead of looking for lovers we used the search lights to look for help. Then out of nowhere a tow truck from B&M Motors appeared. The men, the Meyers brothers,  knew exactly who I was and also knew that Dad would ground me for life if he ever learned of this episode.

Being small town trustworthy and caring men, they hooked up the Muntz, pulled it out of the mud, and towed us to their business on South Main, Route 66, where they washed down the car and sent me on my way. Never a word was spoken to dad about that night.

I’m not sure of the exact lesson I learned other than people are there for you, to assist and help in many ways; or perhaps it was God and a band of angels who laughed out loud at our misery and sent the Good Samaritans that night.

I believe this experience must have been the spring of 1964 or 1965. 

Last year, Tom Pat Wilson sent me a link to the story behind the story of the making of the Muntz and why it never made money for Mad Man Muntz.  I thought it was a rather sad story because the Muntz held nothing but good memories for me.  Click on this link for the story of Mad Man Muntz and his failed endeavor to build the best race car ever—

https://www.google.com/search?q=the+failure+of+the+muntz+jet&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS1150US1179&oq=the+failure+of+the+muntz+jet&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBggAEEUYOTIHCAEQIRigATIHCAIQIRigATIHCAMQIRigATIHCAQQIRirAjIHCAUQIRifBTIHCAYQIRifBTIHCAcQIRifBTIHCAgQIRifBTIHCAkQIRiPAtIBCTczMDdqMGoxNagCCLACAfEFVQI1AWMbdiw&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:353d3b84,vid:su7hp1or2rM,st:0 If this link doesn’t work please google The Failure of the Muntz.

For another true story of the Muntz click on this link:  Turnpike Race of 1957

The Muntz and the Turnpike Race of 1957

George Coleman, Jr. carried a great deal of influence in the small boom town of Miami, Oklahoma. His interests in life extended from the golf course to the race track, from lead and zinc mining to business interest in Penzoil Company, Chris Craft Industries, Ben Hogan Company, and more. George and my father, Johnie F. Stapp, met in 1954 when my father was hired as the golf professional for the Miami, Ok, Golf and Country Club, Miami, Ok. 

In 1957 my father bought The Muntz from Lou Newell, who at that time owned Sky Ranch and a famous stud horse named Johnny Dial  Lou had bought the car in Indianapolis. (Contrary to rumors this car was not a pace car for the Indianapolis 500, as reported in my childhood.)

The car was built in 1951 by Mad Man Muntz. In the late 1940's a nationally known race car wizard, Frank Kurtis, who eventually developed a number of Indianapolis 500 winners, designed and built about 20 aluminum-bodied two-seater sports cars. Kurtis, however, lacked production resources, so Muntz stepped in and bought the manufacturing right. Muntz redesigned the car that was soon dubbed the Muntz Jet. He stretched the wheelbase, put in a back seat, replaced the Ford engines with Cadillac V-8's, added padded dashboards and seat belts, painted the cars in bright Easter egg colors, and even installed liquor and ice cabinets. (Our center console held beer, but I don't recall that it was a liquor cabinet, merely space between the bucket seats, where mom and dad could hide their beers on the way to Minnie and Milts Dinner Restaurant in Joplin.)

 Bob Hill retold this story recently. Your dad must have bought the car in 1956, and it was well known to be one of the fastest cars on the road with a Cadillac V-8 engine. Bob and his buddies heard a rumor that George Coleman, Jr., challenged Johnie to a race. The Will Rogers Turnpike was not open to traffic in the spring of 1957, but the road was open and cleared for traffic. The holdup being the finishing touches on the Glass House over the turnpike near Vinita. 

George Coleman, Jr. bought a new 1955 Chrysler 300 with push button transmission and decided to drive it back to Miami and challenge his golfing friend and race car buddy, Johnie Stapp, to a race between his new Chrysler 300 and the Muntz Jet. 

The two men and their fast cars arrived at the turnpike intending to race full speed from Miami to Vinita. Without proof, I am sure there was a gallery of people present to see the pro and George race.  

Bob and his buddies decided to ride their bikes to the first overpass between Miami and Vinita, so they could watch the race. By the time they arrived the race was over.

In the end, the pair never even made it Afton. The Chrysler outperformed the Muntz because of the newer faster engine and the push button transmission. It was made to travel. The Muntz was a dragster and drove well on the straight-out fast track. 

Shortly after the race, during my fourth-grade year in school, we moved to 209 H. N.E. where dad had a two-car garage. I'm sure it was during that year 57-58 that dad bought a Chrysler 300 engine and the guys at B & B garage worked many hours to install the new engine. Dad could always be found tinkering with his car in that old garage. My sister and I spent evenings watching dad or doing our best to help and yet, stay out of the way.

MORE TRUE MEMORIES OF THE MUNTZ:  

Muntz Interior

Jim Taylor, son of Gob Taylor, personal memory of riding in the Muntz on Highway 66.

This event occurred with Pat Temple when Johnie took the two of us on a little ride going to Commerce and back on Highway 66. I believe this was a 1951 Muntz and was well capable of speeds in excess of 120 mph. Johnie also was an experienced race car driver and that Muntz looked hot to Pat and me. We were always asking Johnie to drive us around. Hence, he finally succumbed to giving us a ride and off we went. 

 When we got to Highway 66, we were really riding him to show us something. He did, he drove that Muntz right between two cars at 65 mph or so and he floored that Muntz and we flew through them. Scared me thoroughly as it did Pat, and we did not ask again. However, it was evident that Johnie knew well how to drive a race car. That Muntz was a state-of-the-art car in the early 1950's.

Jim Burford, son of John and Lucille Burford, shared this personal story: 

Jim told me that my dad was always his hero, not for the golf but for his racing passion. Jim became fascinated with how dad modified engines, like the Muntz, to go flat out 160 down the turnpike or late night roads like the one that connected Ben Stanley's corner on Route 66 to the east and back to the Fairgrounds. It was a lonely dark road until the boys and men challenged each other to drag races. Once, again it was the mechanics at B&B Garage on South Main, who kept dad's car rolling along. 

Our Muntz Jet was originally a mustard color that I now see on some of the new smaller cars. The interior was also rolled and pleated mustard color leather. Later, dad painted it shinny black. Next, it became baby blue and the interior was changed to match it. No matter which color the Highway Patrol found him on Route 66 or the Will Rogers Turnpike. They knew his car and his name personally. 

To me the car was always that vivid mustard color. My personal story of the Muntz can be read at Muntz at Literally Letty. 

This video may vividly show you what my words cannot: 

The Failure of the Muntz Jet

Letter Series:

Chrysler first introduced the 300 back in 1955, and with the debut of that high-performance 4-seater some would say the idea of the muscle car was born. Over the next 10 years, Chrysler would bring to market a range of 300s now referred to as the “letter series,” starting with that first 300 and continuing on with the 300B, 300C, 300D — a new letter every year with the final 300L in 1965. These special Chrysler's were among the fastest production cars on the road, equipped with the latest in luxury features. Other 300 models followed the letter series, but none would ever be as special as those first versions.  Chrysler 300: a Brief History  

L.K. Newell went on to establish his now well-known Newell Coach .

L.K. Newell also was a noted Miami business man, who kept many Miami people employed over the decades:  L.K. Lou Newell, Business man

 

 

 

Tying Up Loose Ends

Life’s not perfect. Some loose ends may never get trimmed and tidied. 

~Hoda Kotb

On February sixth of this year, I sat down in near exhaustion and began writing to explore my dilemma of "What to do?" My house was messy, my living room bookcase was crowded, the dining room table once again became a landing place for organizing historical notes and unfinished scrapbooks from forty-years ago.

I came up with plans: 

1. Stop thinking and start shelving.

2. Drink a glass of wine and worry about it tomorrow.

3. Quit thinking. Start acting. 

4. Fix dinner and relax for the evening and wake up refreshed.

I chose #4 and after dinner sat down to watch PBS. Seeing the haphazard bookshelves in the background of the man being interviewed gave me an idea of what not to do.  

I woke up refreshed. After breakfast, with the help of my husband we

took everything down from the bookcase including the shelving and started to construct scenic book shelving for our living room.

I nearly finished the shelving but couldn’t reach closure. Something didn’t feel right, something wasn’t balanced, but at least it was not helter-skelter.

I am a great believer in getting one thing done before taking on another task. Staying on task to finish the living room books was my only goal that week. However, Sir Isaac Newton had a theory about that. He said, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” 

"I wonder what his lab looks like?" I muttered to myself. 

In my quest for balance, I reluctantly walked down the hallway to my teaching, storytelling, and professional hidden cupboard of books. I sighed when I opened the door. So much. So much.

Ironically, upon opening the doors fully I noticed several pictures taped to the inside cupboard—pictures of how to decorate shelving. “Yes,” my lungs cried, one of the magazine photos opened my mind. For a couple of days, I played with framed pictures between books and art.

My mood shifted from worried to playful and relaxed. Giving me the energy and focus to clean off the dining room table. I stood back and took a photo of the bookcase. Perfect, I smiled.

 Fixing a glass of iced tea, I sat down to relax and congratulate myself on finishing a project. The more I looked the more something in me felt unfinished. That is when my heart and head came together and asked, “What if I die tomorrow?"

Having been to four funerals in the last six weeks, my emotions apparently were pounding my heart and head where thoughts hidden in crinkled crevices of my mind were buried. I do not want to leave a mess of paper memories for my daughter and her stepbrothers.

With fresh glass of tea in hand, I meandered through the house and out front to the garden where my daffodils and pansies stood in full color in the winter sun. My heart knew there was more to be done and how to do it. As Alan Turing described, “We can only see a short distance ahead, but we can see plenty to be done.”

I could no longer hide in my studio even with the sunshine brightening the pale green walls, nor ignore my hallway hidings. Instead of enjoying the view of the birds eating at the feeder out my writing window, all I could sense was clutter: stacks of books, piles of papers and pictures
strewn on the chair and tabletops. In the open-air art closet, I could only see plastic tubs filled with my parents history stacked four feet high, next to that another bookcase with very few books and five shelves of so many-rows of files, art papers, scrapbooks, decorative tubs.

The next day, I pulled up a stool and began pulling books from deep inside the hallway cupboard. One by one I sorted my remaining collection of autographed children’s books. I made only two decisions: keep for Katy or give away to teachers. In less than five days the cupboard and studio showed off their empty spaces to me. In the end my teacher
friends acquired books and comfort puppets for their classrooms, and our adult children will be pleased that some loose ends were trimmed and tidied.

Readers in the Rough Book Recommendations for 2026

L

January 2026, Kathy H., Rowena S., Tammy C., Letty,
 Linda E.,  Kathy T. We are missing our traveling friends. 
Photo by Letty's sister, Jonya. 

We LOVE TO READ. 

In 2025 we read the following 12 books and rated them according to our 'golf guide.' The rating system is based on the language of golf and quality of literature. 

A Par rating meets the expectation of the elements of fiction: a solid plot, strong and dynamic characters, setting that is defined, a theme we can discuss along with a point of view that lends itself to telling the story, and strength of genre. *It is important to note that individual perceptions matter. Although the reader may not find the main character likeable, if the main character develops and changes over the lifetime of the novel then s/he is  considered a dynamic character because of this change. 

A Par rating for memoir asks for a compelling story using truth, theme, voice, point of view being I, and an ongoing attempt to arrive at answers. 

At the end of each monthly discussion we talk through the rating briefly giving the novel/memoir a rating. To better explain our voting think of a scale of 1-5 with 5 being the best and you would recommend it to any type of reader, and a 1 being a bogey or would not recommend to others to read.  We then take the total and divide it by the number of readers to get the average. 

• A Hole-in-One vote equals 5 points. 
• Eagle vote equals 4 points. 
• Birdie vote equals 3 points. 
• Par vote equals 2 points.
• Bogey is worth 1 point.
• Double bogey is not recommended.

THREE books received the Hole-in-One rating (5 points). 

West with Giraffes  is an emotional, rousing novel inspired by the incredible true story of two giraffes who made headlines and won the hearts of Depression-era America.

“Few true friends have I known and two were giraffes…”

Woodrow Wilson Nickel, age 105, feels his life ebbing away. But when he learns giraffes are going extinct, he finds himself recalling the unforgettable experience that he cannot take to his grave.

It’s 1938. The Great Depression lingers. Hitler is threatening Europe, and world-weary Americans long for wonder. They find it in two giraffes who miraculously survive a hurricane while crossing the Atlantic. What follows is a twelve-day road trip in a custom truck to deliver Southern California’s first giraffes to the San Diego Zoo. Behind the wheel is the young Dust Bowl rowdy Woodrow. Inspired by true events, the tale weaves real-life figures with fictional ones, including the world’s first female zoo director, a crusty old man with a past, a young female photographer with a secret, and assorted reprobates as spotty as the giraffes.

Part adventure, part historical saga, and part coming-of-age love story, West with Giraffes explores what it means to be changed by the grace of animals, the kindness of strangers, the passing of time, and a story told before it’s too late.

Two excellent books from completely different times and places. The Instrumentalist is placed in 1704 Venice with an eight-year-old orphan girl strives to become Venice's greatest violinist and composer. Her "sound-color synesthesia" abilities set her apart from the other girls and create a destiny for her. 

 

Becoming Madam Secretary introduces us to Frances Perkins at the turn of the last century who begins her destiny by working with children in the crowded tenements of Hell's Kitchen. Through her social scene in Greenwich Village she meets the people who will guide her to her future in the White House where she becomes FDR's Secretary of Labor (1933-1945) and what an amazing path she charted, as the primary architect behind the creation of Social Security. 

2025 became a banner year for those of us sharing opinions and personal reflections on the majority of the books we read.  Six of the books earned a 4 rating which is equal to shooting an "Eagle" in the game of golf.   

   

My personal favorite of the six books is LIFE IMPOSSIBLE by Matt Haig.  I knew all along it was realistic type fantasy, now called magical realism,  but in my heart I wanted it to be a true story. The author led me through an emotional attachment to the protagonist, 72 year-old Grace Winters. Grace takes a chance on life when she buys a one-way ticket to the Isle of Ibiza to live in a home given to her by a long lost acquaintance. Grace's experiences open the doors on both or past and future. I thought this quote best exemplified the story: “A wry and tender love-letter to the best of being human.” —Benedict Cumberbatch 

The next five books take us on journeys in time and setting.  HORSE by Geraldine Brooks is an historical novel of the legendary race horse, Lexington. 

JAMES is a novel that retells Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the perspective of the enslaved character, Jim, who is called James. This story swept me away from housework and meals. 

The Gown: A Novel of the Royal Wedding is another historical fiction that tells the story of the embroiderers who created Princess Elizabeth's wedding gown in 1947. This story is interwoven with a modern-day story about a women discovering her grandmother's connection to the dress.                                                                                              

 TELL ME EVERYTHING reconnects us with Olive Kitteridge and Lucy Barton. As only Strout can do, she brings each character to life through individual stories  that show how all of our lives are connected in one way or another. 

ISOLA is based on the true life of Marguerite de la Rocque, a wealthy noble woman who inherited a great wealth as a child, only to have it gambled and lost by her trusted uncle. To image this noble woman who could do nothing for herself abandoned on an island in Canada. It is a fight for survival with surprising twists. It reminded me of the old black and white movies I watched as child when I wanted to scream at the heroine and tell her who to look out for. 

This year all of our books broke PAR. That is quite an accomplishment whether in literature or golf. The three books receiving the rating of "Birdie" one stroke better than par come from different genres. 

Hanks take us through the process of making a motion picture, a difficult task it is to produce and direct but also to write about clearly. I had to reread passages several times before I understand what that character's job really was in relationship to the making of a movie. Once I understood the direction it became an easier read, and most insightful.

ALL THE BROKEN PIECES  by John Boyne is a griping novel set in the
present day but takes us back to a dark past when now 91 year-old Gretel comes face to face with her past and that of her father's--a Nazi commandant for Hitler. 

THE BERRY PICKERS by Amanda Peters spans decades of time after 

four-year-old, Ruthie, vanishes while her Mi'kmaq family in Maine is picking blueberries. It is not a mystery but instead focuses on the family and the emotional fallout as the years pass by.  I found myself so caught up in the drama that I have forgotten much of the story except for the ending.  This might be an easier book to read the second time around. 

Because it is Valentine's I am leaping ahead to a book we read last month THE CORRESPONDENT by Virginia Evans received an Eagle vote. I applauded the story because the writing of letters was a way of life when I was growing up.  What Evans has done with character building through letters written back and forth is exceptional.  To read a review of this epistolary novel click on this link: The Correspondent Review