Remember, from 2-4 pm on Saturday, Nov. 29, I’ll be at Mitchell’s Coffee House with my books. Not only The Girl Who Talked Too Much, but also American Governess, the story of my year living with a Count and Countess in Bavaria. I’ll also have my poetry chapbooks available; Awakening, Poems of a Marionette Who Cut the Strings, and The Only Sweet I Crave.
The Farmers’ Market should still be going on, and Mitchell’s has lots of yummies and great coffee, so there’s lots going on. See you there, I hope!
Things have been hectic, and I have a lot to be thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day! Yesterday morning, a misstep on my morning walk sent me into a faceplant on the sidewalk 15 minutes from home. There wasn’t a soul in sight, and I was grateful to be able to pick myself up and stand, finding that I was bloody (split lip, cuts to left cheekbone and brow) but unbroken. At my age, it’s wonderful to be able to say that after a full-length fall onto concrete. I walked home at my normal pace, keeping the bleeding under control with a tissue i had in my pocket.
Once there, my dear husband took over, making me lie down with ice packs, checking that the pupils of my eyes were reactive. By the time I got to my son’s for an early holiday dinner that evening, some of the guests didn’t realize what had happened. Today I’ve got bruises blooming and random aches, but I’m happy at the outcome. One more feast tomorrow with relatives (for which I spent the afternoon baking) will round out the holiday.
This Saturday, the 29th, I’ll be signing books at Mitchell’s Coffee House from 2 to 4 pm, and I hope some of you will drop in and see me. I hope I don’t scare people if the bruises get worse. I think they make me look rakish.
This photo is of Mother with Kippy in 1970, at the wheel of the Stella Solaris, a cruise ship which took them to Central America. Read about them in The Girl Who Talked Too Much!
My sister Kippy, title character in my book, The Girl Who Talked Too Much, loved going to the beach, and she loved my friend Karen. Here they are enjoying a moment after my son Dirk’s informal wedding on a Florida Gulf beach.
Come to Mitchell’s Coffee House this coming Saturday from 2-4 for my book-signing. Besides The Girl Who Talked Too Much, I’ll have my other work, American Governess and two poetry chapbooks.
Even during the winter, when the water was a bit too cool, Kippy, The Girl Who Talked Too Much, loved to walk on the Florida Gulf coast beach. Here, she’s somewhere south of Sarasota
When my grandfather was an Intern at Brooklyn Hospital in 1902, he served as Ambulance Surgeon for the first six months. He was called to the 49th Precinct to bandage the arm of this woman who looks extremely irritated about being there. He recorded that he stitched and bandaged a laceration, but did not explain more, so we’re left to speculate why she was arrested.
It was during this time that he met my grandmother, who was training as a nurse, and became Head Operating Room nurse the following year, a story you can follow in my new book, The Girl Who Talked Too Much.
Mark your calendars for November 29, when I’ll be having a book signing at Mitchell’s Coffee House downtown. Come in for delicious coffee and yummies, and take a look at my books.
She’s the second nurse in from the right, a petite young woman who, by the next year became Head Operating Room Nurse at Brooklyn Hospital. Notice that the nurses wore a square of gauze cloth, folded and tied on their heads instead of caps. She hated that, and designed a nurses’ cap that was adopted by the hospital a year or two later.
In this photo, three surgeons are reconstructing the patient’s right hand. The anesthesiologist is seen at the head of the patient, manipulating the ether cone. I was amused to see that the doctors are using the patient as a table for their instruments, as I know has been done with me a time or two.
My grandmother was 25, and had come from Bermuda alone to train as a nurse. She later married a doctor she met at the hospital. She was a British subject, but acquired American citizenship as well as a result of her marriage. Read her story in my new book, The Girl Who Talked Too Much.
Quite a capable woman, and yet neither she nor any other woman in this country had the right to vote in elections until 1920, when the 19th amendment was passed.
In this photo, Linda is picking Kippy up at the Winter Haven house where we spent our childhood. It’s still there, but not in the family anymore. Our grandmother Towa had it built in 1925 after she was widowed, and we came to live there when our father was overseas during World War II, and later when our parents divorced.
I’ve been reading through The Girl Who Talked Too Much, looking for errors that need to be corrected. Since it was done as Print On Demand, I didn’t have to have a print run of thousands made, and revisions can be made through Kindle Direct Publishing. I’d like to invite those of you who are reading it to help me with this, and to inform me if you find anything that you think is a typo or other error. And don’t forget to plan to come to Mitchell’s Coffee House on November 29 for some delicious coffee and yummies, and to visit my book-signing. It’s during the Downtown Lakeland Farmer’s Market on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend.
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I’ll be signing books at Mitchell’s on November 29, the last Saturday in the month, during the Lakeland Farmer’s Market downtown (NOT on November 22, as originally announced).
That’s Thanksgiving weekend, so while you’re replenishing all your veggies after the big feast, come to the market, and poke your head into Mitchell’s for some delicious coffee and yummies, and look over my books.
I think it’s actually a wonderful thing to be so busy at my age, and spending all of the last few days either out of town visiting old friends who asked me to bring some copies of my new book up so we could visit while I signed them…
… or staying at home after a few morning appointments, and spending hours doing chores that are time-consuming to accomplish but that. must be done. The one I did Monday is a monthly chore, and the one today only has to be done every four months. I’ll only say that they’re medical-related, one for him, one for me, and that it is greatly rewarding to have them done and their results available.
My morning appointments have been to a physical therapist, who is putting me through the wringer at my request, helping me to get more flexible and stronger. We’re working on talking the muscles into holding the bones where they are. Twice a week for the rest of the month. He is enjoying giving me homework, which is only fair, since I gave so much out during my career.
This morning I was remembering Kippy and her medals at Special Olympics. This picture is in the book, The Girl Who Talked Too Much, but it’s not in color.
I’ll be signing books at Mitchell’s Coffee House on Saturday, November 29, which is Thanksgiving weekend. You know you’re going to have to replenish your stores with luscious veggies after the big feast, so plan to come up for the Farmers’ Market that morning. I hope lots of you will be able to come. As well as The Girl Who Talked Too Much, which recently came out on Amazon, I’ll have American Governess and both of my poetry chapbooks with me . To buy the books, you can click on the titles, or just come and see me there
Shanghaied
A British 'press gang' bopped my great-forefather's head in fifteen-something. Saving that, he'd have been dead with the members of his family in the plagues of sixteen-three.
The Royal Navy's methods of recruitment may have changed, but each time God's been a little rough with me,
I remember Great-Ancestor was shanghaied against his will and so survived; and otherwise there'd be no me.
I emailed my cousin in Bermuda this morning because I wondered what effects the island had suffered from the passing of the colossal Hurricane Melissa last night, and I haven’t heard back from him. Perhaps the power is out.
I wrote the poem above about ancestor of mine who, as a young man in London, was ‘impressed’ into the Royal Navy. At the end of a career as a sailor, he chose to retire to Bermuda in the mid-1600’s, since his family at home had been wiped out by the Black Plague. My grandmother, a direct descendant, was born there in 1877, and came to New York City to train as a nurse. Her story is in my new book.
Ann Dickinson Sargent 