Author - Animal FarmGeorge Orwell – Author, Animal Farm

” Men can only be happy when they do not assume that the object of life is happiness. “

George Orwell

Animal Farm - George OrwellSSparknotes Literature and Study Guide:


Sparknotes for Animal Farm by George Orwell


George Orwell Biography


From the youtube description:

Animal Farm is a British animated film by Halas and Batchelor, based on the book of the same name by George Orwell. It was the first British animated feature released worldwide, which, despite the title and Disney-esque animal animation, is in fact a no-holds-barred adaptation of George Orwell’s classic satire on Stalinism, with the animals taking over their farm by means of a revolutionary coup, but then discovering that although all animals are supposed to be equal, some are more equal than others.

The Book

Animal Farm - The Book



Read online or download to Kindle:


George Orwell

Animal Farm - George Orwell - DVD


This is Audio Book One. The others can be found on youtube.

SceneAnimal Farm – George Orwell
Posted in CINEMA SUNDAY | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Which End is Up?

Well, I’ve made life even more complicated for myself. I’ve made a place at Blogger. Is that even the name of that place?

This is where you’ll find me:

We’ll see how this goes. I’m not a good multitasker!

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments

Pick Yourself Up

It’s a brand new year…a new beginning…

Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again…

Posted in Holiday | 7 Comments

Hello world!

Welcome to This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Moving Day

I’m jumping in with both feet today.
I’ll move my space.
Christmas is over, and a new year is coming.
I’ll give it a try.
Posted in Word Rambles - Just Talking | Leave a comment

Morning Moon on

Morning Moon

It began it’s journey here on Spaces when Little Gal was just a toddler.
It’s now a book listed on for release December 21.
We hope you’ll give it a look see.

Posted in Word Rambles - Just Talking | 11 Comments

Deep Into August

I am deep into you –
Into the heat,
Into the humidity.
Into the weeds that are not the same weeds
that grow in May or June or July.

You have weeds of your own –
weeds that grow tall with plumes.

Plumes that want plucked
and dried for a fall arrangement
that might be made in September.
Weeds that take over the yard and garden
when weeding is late,
when mowing is late,
when the gardener is late to gardening.

You came too soon,
will leave too soon,

taking summer with you
and the days for doing outdoors

what needs to be done outdoors.
You are a thief,
taking what’s needed

from the person who needs it.

There are many days between now and the next one.
Many days in September and October
when a gardener can play catch up,
tidying things that needed tidying
in April and May and June and July.

Rooting plants that need rooted.
Potting plants that need potted.
Planting plants that need planted.
Doing outdoor things
while time allows outdoor things to be done.

There are still a few days of you left.
Those days will grow shorter,
but, maybe not cooler.
Right now,
just past the middle of you,
 I am deep into the depth you.

And it’s hot, and it’s humid,
and there is still much to do –
Much to do for a gardener
who came late to the garden.

"August rushes by like
desert rainfall,

A flood of frenzied upheaval,


But still catching me unprepared.

Like a match flame

Bursting on the scene,

Heat and haze of crimson sunsets.

Like a dream

Of moon and dark barely recalled,

A moment,

Shadows caught in a blink.

Like a quick kiss;

One wishes for more

But it suddenly turns to leave,

Dragging summer away."

Elizabeth Maua Taylor

Posted in Word Rambles - Just Talking | 10 Comments

Something of Value


It came in the mail from the VFW, just a small square of paper, not even a full page. On one side was printed a painting of a field of red poppies in France. On the other side was printed the poem In Flanders Fields.  

On many other days many other pieces of mail, junk mail, had been received and tossed away. There was no value in them to the receiver. But not this piece of mail from the VFW. Its value to the receiver was great.

With a pin it was stuck to the wall above his desk. In this prominent place it could be seen when walking by or sitting down to take care of business.

One day it disappeared from its place on the wall.

Did he notice?

It reappeared as a special gift on Memorial day. The red poppy field painting was now mounted in a wooden frame. Artistically printed below it was his favorite poem In Flanders Fields.

Now the red poppy field, with its accompanying poem, found a new place of prominence. For years the frame of remembrance hung proudly on his living room wall providing a conversation piece for visitors and moments of reflection for him.

In 2007, ownership of this prized possession changed hands. It became mine. In time it will change hands again and be passed to Middle Son

Middle Son was a partner in framing something of value for a special man who was proud of his country and served it with pride in World War II




In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.


Posted in Patriotism | 5 Comments

Geranium Years


How many years has it been since we trekked downtown on Mothers Day, with a few dollars in our hands, to buy the red geraniums? How much did we pay? Were they a dollar for each? Fifty cents?

How long has it been since the old, old man who lived in our town, who had a little greenhouse and raised red geraniums, came to mind? Was he really that old or just seemed so at the time? 

How long ago was it that he handed us the clay pots that held the red geraniums in exchange for the dollars that paid for them? How many did we buy? More than one. Two or three? Maybe four?

How many years, days, hours has it been since we carried the red geraniums in their rough clay pots back across the highway that leads up the valley in one direction and to the Big Town in the other? How long since we followed the sidewalk that ran past the grade school proudly carrying home the potted red geraniums.

When years add upon years, remembrance becomes fuzzy, many details a blur. But vivid in memory from those long ago days are rough clay pots on Mothers Day and the scent of red geraniums.

Posted in Holiday | 12 Comments



Another spring bounds into the valley – 

leaping treetops, splashing through streams,

then screeching to a breathless halt in every yard and garden.

The perennial pixie always has surprises to toss about. 

 Like a bit of rain flung like a frisbee to pitter patter on window and roof

and to create cold, muddy puddles. 

Like another snow to sprinkle the ground with flakes that are there, then quickly gone.

But a significant snow could be just around the corner.

A persistent Winter sometimes hangs on, dumping snow over a resistant April. 

Finally, though, a youthful Spring prevails over winter,

pushing the Old Man over the treetops and through the streams

far forward into next December.

 I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. 

Ruth Stout

Music Playlist at

Awake, thou wintry earth –
Fling off thy sadness!
Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth
Your ancient gladness!
Thomas Blackburn, "An Easter Hymn"

Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world. 

Virgil A. Kraft

That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ.
And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it.
Winifred Mary Letts

In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. 

Margaret Atwood

And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, "The Sensitive Plant"

If you’ve never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in spring bloom,

maybe your soul has never been in bloom. 

Terri Guillemets

The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring. 

Bern Williams

Yesterday the twig was brown and bare;
To-day the glint of green is there;
Tomorrow will be leaflets spare;
I know no thing so wondrous fair,
No miracle so strangely rare.
I wonder what will next be there!
L.H. Bailey

First a howling blizzard woke us,
Then the rain came down to soak us,
And now before the eye can focus –

Lilja Rogers

Posted in Word Rambles - Just Talking | 11 Comments