Lit Wick Gazette: April 2013

Welcome
IF you are a lad swallowing your sense of something-or-
’nother (I know not what to call it), and are reading this “girls’
gazette” upon recommendation of your sister or mother, allow
me to apologize, because it was I who brought it up. So: I’m
sorry. Kind of.
But, stay a moment. This month’s gazette is for everyone.
Our theme of the month is relevant to you, as it is to our
young lady readers, because while ladies must learn to
surrender some pride in submitting to the noble deeds of their
male friends, the male friends can benefit from a simple
reminder regarding their part in the bargain.
As a young woman, allow me to assure you that chivalry does
not, and never must, mean perfection. Such a definition must
inhibit it’s ever being so. Read these quotes and take a glance
at the story found on the last page. Find here a notice that
ladies do not want to marry Superman, nor are they waiting
for any immortalized notion of a Prince Charming or a Victor
in Shining Armor, merely a “Gallant warrior or gentleman.”
Chivalry is the acts of kindness, the true respect and honor, the
humility—the becoming, rather than being, like King of the
Universe.
So stick around for a few minutes and hear the views of
women on the ideal you ride towards so nobly. You may just
find it more worth striving for.

~Agatha Forsyth~

ps - regardless of what other guys might tell you, a touch of romance is 
really quite manly. 
Signed, 
Every Girl You’ll Ever Meet

~


Chivalry
the sum of the ideal qualifications of a knight,
including courtesy, generosity, and valor.
{Traits of} gallant warriors or gentlemen.

-Dictionary.com

~



Be courteous to the old maids, no matter how
poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry
worth having is that which is the readiest to pay
deference to the old, protect the feeble, and
serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or
color.

-Louisa May Alcott

~


Some say that the age of chivalry is past, that
the spirit of romance is dead. The age of
chivalry is never past, so long as there is a
wrong left unredressed on earth.

-Charles Kingsley

~


Chivalry: It's the little boy that kisses my hand,
the young man who holds the door open for
me, and the old man who tips his hat to me.
None of it is a reflection of me, but a reflection
of them.

-Donna Lynn Hope

~


The Benefactor 
A serial by Aelsa Butler 

A young widow sees the hand of God providing for her through a mysterious friend. To read earlier entries, please visit our website.

One 

Just over a year had passed since Bryn's loss. Josie grew rapidly, becoming a pretty little girl, and it was with a sweet smile that she took a plate of sliced bananas from her mama's hands one chilly autumn morning. Bryn mustered a smile back, but turned away with a sigh. She'd never felt so alone for so long, and even little things like her own daughter gave her an achy sensation. Pain and uncertainty haunted Bryn every day, and the grieving that needed to be happening was not really there. Instead, as Bryn subconsciously knew, she wallowed in her fear and anger, not allowing others to speak into her personal healing, which had caused her sadness to stagnate, and Andrew's death still felt like yesterday's awful nightmare.

Returning to her seat at the computer center, Bryn sorted through the mail. Bill, bill, bill. Oh, here's a check or the freelance tax filing she did for an elderly woman at church earlier in the year. She'd forgotten to give Bryn the check, and when she recently found it, she made sure Bryn knew that her payment, though slow in coming, was on its way. But this uplifting piece of mail was followed by two more bills, one of which was a substantial emergency room charge incurred when Josie fainted for no apparent reason a few weeks ago. Bryn buried her face in her  hands , reminded that she had an appointment discussing some blood work to find out the reason behind the episode tomorrow. Shoving the stack of mail to one side, she determined to ignore it for now, and focus on something more uplifting. Josie still munched happily on her snack, so she
went to the living room and picked up a piece of handwork she started recently. Before Andrew died, she used to do cross stitch constantly, keeping her fingers and mind busy while at home alone. For many months after the incident, she didn't pick the craft back up, but because of a firm intention to make a piece for Josie to hang on her wall every year for her birthday, she decided to begin a new project. It was a very plain hanging, a sampler with numbers from one to ten, and a simple puppy chasing a bouncing ball, but Bryn  selected it because she wanted to teach Josie to count to ten over the next year, and thought the sweet, old-fashioned style of the piece would be a pretty way of hanging an education tool where the little girl would see it all the time. She reached over to the radio and switched it on, eased back into her seat, and began stitching. From the dining room, Josie chattered to herself, but craned her neck over the highchair tray to peer into the living room, watching as Bryn worked.

Bryn Meadows had many slightly old fashioned ways, but always been a very popular young woman. She had been homeschooled, but she never had any trouble for it. Growing up in Minnesota, she would drive from her home to the school in their rural community to pick up her best friend, and they would do
homework together, and Bryn would even participate in some of the school's events. Her long wavy dark hair and soft grey eyes stood out among many of her friends, stereotypical Minnesotans of Swedish and
Norwegian heritage with straight, thin blond hair and steely blue eyes. One such friend had a brother who enlisted in the marines right out of high school, and when Bryn accidentally connected with him
while at college, they fell head over heels in love. She married Marine Sgt. Andrew Meadows shortly thereafter, following him all over the country until his first overseas deployment, when he settled her into a
comfortable home nearby his extended family in Illinois.

The phone rang. Picking it up with a sigh, she said hello.
"Mrs. Meadows, this is the community hospital, reminding you of your appointment tomorrow morning with Dr. Eric Kinglet."

"What? Please explain why I can't see Dr. Gregg as usual." Bryn's customary physician was not a Dr. Kinglet.

"Dr. Gregg will meet you at your scheduled time, about ten, and glance over the results of your test, then he will hand you over to Dr. Kinglet."

Feeling her blood rising, Bryn sighed resignedly, but made it clear that this didn't sound familiar to her. "And I would think Dr. Gregg would tell me himself who he wants me to see."

"One would think a lot of things about Dr. Gregg, but this is what he gave me in the notes this morning."

Bryn hung up. " What ever," she mumbled, and returned to her work. Patience was not one of Bryn's strong
points since Andrew's death, and she knew it, which only irritated her further.Nothing went the way she wanted. If she had control over what happened, Andrew wouldn't be dead, but just wounded. Really, the bullet wouldn't have even hit him if Bryn could have had her way. Josie was having health issues, including
potential type two diabetes as well as whatever the new issue would turn out being. Now, her family physician had decided to shove her off on some other doctor, and there were stacks of bills that needed paying with a small amount of money available to pay them. This was breaking her will, and with a discouraged shake of her head, Bryn dropped it into her hands and sighed.

Editor/Author Note: This serial is a trial run on 
my part. I’d love to get fellow amateur writers’ 
opinions on it as I experiment with the idea of 
completing this novel. Thank you! ~A 

Lit Wick Gazette: March 2013

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (August 29, 1809 – October 7, 1894) 

was an American physician, poet, professor, lecturer, and author. 

Regarded by his peers as one of the best writers of the 19th century, 

he is considered a member of the Fireside Poets. His most famous 

prose works are the "Breakfast-Table" series, which began with The 

Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table (1858). He is also recognized as an 

important medical reformer. Born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, 

Holmes was educated at Phillips Academy and Harvard College. 

After graduating from Harvard in 1829, he briefly studied law 

before turning to the medical profession. He began writing poetry at 

an early age; one of his most famous works, "Old Ironsides", was 

published in 1830 and was influential in the eventual preservation of 

the USS Constitution. Following training at the prestigious medical 

schools of Paris, Holmes was granted his M.D. from Harvard 

Medical School in 1836. He taught at Dartmouth Medical School 

before returning to teach at Harvard and, for a time, served as dean 

there. During his long professorship, he became an advocate for 

various medical reforms and notably posited the controversial idea 

that doctors were capable of carrying puerperal fever from patient to 

patient. Holmes retired from Harvard in 1882 and continued writing 

poetry, novels and essays until his death in 1894. Surrounded by 

Boston's literary elite—which included friends such as Ralph Waldo 

Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and James Russell 

Lowell—Holmes made an indelible imprint on the literary world of 

the 19th century. 

~Georgianna Hawley~ 

~

Irish 

I am German, Irish 

Lithuanian, Swedish and Polish. 

But whenever St. Patrick’s Day 

comes, “I’m Irish” is what I say. 

The Irish live in Ireland, 

(not green land) 

The Irish have their leprechauns, 

I don’t believe in leprechauns. 

When it is March I like 

the color green which I usually dislike. 

On St. Patrick’s Day 

I wear green, not grey, 

I use green things, 

and eat green things. 

I use green pencils, 

and I eat green apples. 

~Charity Clothespin~

~

An Old Irish Blessing 

May the road rise to meet you, 

May the wind be always at your back. 

May the sun shine warm upon your face, 

The rains fall soft upon your fields. 

And until we meet again, 

May God hold you in the palm of his hand. 

May God be with you and bless you: 

May you see your children's children. 

May you be poor in misfortune, 

Rich in blessings. 

May you know nothing but happiness 

From this day forward. 

May the road rise up to meet you 

May the wind be always at your back 

May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home 

And may the hand of a friend always be near. 

May green be the grass you walk on, 

May blue be the skies above you, 

May pure be the joys that surround you, 

May true be the hearts that love you. 

~Isabel Delacruz~

~

The Benefactor 

A serial by Aelsa Butler 

A young widow sees the hand of God providing for her through a mysterious 

friend.

Prologue

When a soldier comes home from an assignment, he lands at his local 

airport anxious to rejoin his family. Once in the baggage claim, he might 

break into a jog, meeting his happy wife with a kiss, clasping his kids to his 

heart, or hugging a parent, and when he steps into his familiar house, he sees 

“Welcome Home” banners, and a clean, comforting smell fills his nose as 

he steps his combat boots back into the hub of his civilian life. 

Marine Sergeant Andrew Meadows’ home-going was of a very different 

kind. One hot afternoon, an enemy bullet penetrated their camp, hitting 

Meadows directly behind his right ear, killing him instantly. 

A month later, his young widow, Bryn, and his infant daughter, Josie, stood 

at his flag-draped casket on a wet autumn morning. Looking down with 

tears frozen just behind her eyelids, Bryn could only imagine how it felt to 

greet a returning soldier, and she reached out for her daughter, instinctively 

squeezing her as she felt her arms aching for that which she could never 

hold again. 

That soldier’s house had no banners that night, rather stacks of cards 

expressing sorrow. The place was not clean, and Bryn noticed with dismay 

the hundreds of wadded tissues strewn all over the floor. A bizarre 

potpourri of floral arrangements, cosmetic products, and dirty diapers 

scented the home, and Bryn shook her head as she cast a sidelong glance at 

the little girl whose head lay peacefully in sleep on her shoulder. 

With a sigh, Bryn trudged up a flight of stairs to her daughter’s room, and 

set the dozing burden down in the crib. As she looked down lovingly at the 

girl with tears filling her eyes, she murmured, “I don’t know how I’m going 

to get us through the next seventeen years, Josie. But if there’s one person 

I’ve got to be strong for, it’s you, Josie Meadows, and strong I’m going to 

be.” Then with a sudden wave of emotion, she sank to the carpeted floor, 

sobbing quietly as possible. 

Editor/Author Note: This serial is a trial run on my part. If you find 

something in my writing style that could use improvement or other mistakes, 

please feel free to send me an email through the Lit Wick Gazette email 

(litwickgazette @ gmail.com). I would love to hear your opinions as I 

perfect this story. You all are guinea pigs! ~A

Lit Wick Gazette: February 2013

Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or 

conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each 

esteem others better than himself.  

-Phillipians 2:3 

Find favor and high esteem in the sight of God 

and man. 

-Proverbs 3:4 

~Agatha Forsyth~

~

Etiquette

excerpts from Emily Post’s 1922 Edition of Etiquette 

On Introductions 

Even in New York’s most introductionless circles, people always 

introduce:  

        A small group of people who are to sit together anywhere.  

        Partners at dinner.  

        The guests at a house party.  

        Everyone at a small dinner or luncheon.  

        The four who are at the same bridge table. 

        Partners or fellow-players in any game. 

At a dance, when an invitation has been asked for a stranger, the 

friend who vouched for him should personally present him to the 

hostess. “Mrs. Worldly, this is Mr. Robinson, whom you said I 

might bring.” The hostess shakes hands and smiles and says: “I am 

very glad to see you, Mr. Robinson.” 

  A guest in a box at the opera always introduces any gentleman who 

comes to speak to her, to her hostess, unless the latter is engrossed in 

conversation with a visitor of her own, or unless other people block 

the distance between so that an introduction would be forced and 

awkward. 

  A newly arriving visitor in a lady’s drawing-room is not introduced 

to another who is taking leave. Nor is an animated conversation 

between two persons interrupted to introduce a third. Nor is any one 

ever led around a room and introduced right and left. 

  If two ladies or young girls are walking together and they meet a 

third who stops to speak to one of them, the other walks slowly on 

and does not stand awkwardly by and wait for an introduction. If the 

third is asked by the one she knows, to join them, the sauntering 

friend is overtaken and an introduction always made. The third, 

however, must not join them unless invited to do so. 

~The Editor~

~

That which we obtain too easily, 

we esteem too lightly.  

-Thomas Paine

~

Together

A short story by Allie Hawbaker

The camp fire shone brightly though it was beginning to wane. Karson Garrett gazed into it dejectedly, he sighed and looked at Mandy, his wife of a few days, sitting across from him. He thought back to their wedding day, everything about the ceremony and the reception was perfect, not a single problem, until they left the reception... 

Karson looked at the gauges and in the mirror as the car began to vibrate oddly and wobble.  He slowly pulled over and got out to check. 

"What's the matter?" Mandy asked rolling down the window. 

"The back right tire is flat. I'll need to change it."

"Do you need any help?" she stepped out of the car and the wind began blowing her blonde ringlets.

"I don't think so."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

He didn't respond as he dug the jack out of the trunk. "No, I've never changed a tire before, how hard can it be?" He thought as he situated the jack under the car. He gave it one turn and felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Mandy, she was shaking her head.

"I wouldn't put the jack there. You'll crack the plastic under there. Here, I'll show you where it should go."

"You know how to change a tire?" he stepped back and watched her carefully reposition the jack.

"My dad can fix anything, he taught me a few things." she smiled up at him. "I'll let you do the rest."

"Thanks," he laughed. He finished changing the tire while Mandy told him what to do.

The fire began to smoke again so Karson poked at it with a long stick before adding more wood. He sat back down and his thoughts moved on to their arrival at the Islands.

"Have you ever been kayaking before?" Mandy teased.

"Just because I never changed a tire doesn't mean that I can't do anything!" he laughed back. "I'll have you know that my dad and I went kayaking several times."

They stepped into the kayak without incident and began to paddle. They paddled and laughed and splashed each other until they decided to have lunch. They stopped on a pleasant looking, shady island and began to unload a few things.

"Those finches are coming very close," Mandy noticed. "They must not be afraid of us." Karson looked up and noticed that there were a lot of them. The birds suddenly began chirping angrily and swarming around them. 

"Mandy! Get back in the kayak!" he ordered trying to shelter her from the onslaught. They made it back but not without a few injuries. A bird had bit Karson's right hand and it was bleeding. Mandy cleaned and bandaged it carefully with the first aid kit, when she was done he moved to take the other paddle again. He winced as he pushed it through the water and switched hands, Mandy noticed this and was able to pick up where he left off and they went smoothly.

"Karson, is something wrong?" Mandy asked seeing him brooding.

"I'm sorry that our honeymoon has been such a disaster Mandy. I was really hoping that it would turn out better." He answered lifting his head.

"You think that it has been a disaster?"

"Don't you?"

"No, the wait at the airport was a little tiring but I've had a great time," she smiled broadly and sat next to him. 

He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. "What about the finches?"

"I thought that it was very romantic how you tried to shield me from them. You even have a badge to commemorate it by," she took his hand gently in hers.

"I caused us to tip the kayak about three times today."

"When my dad would take my sisters and I canoeing we would tip it on purpose for practice. I also love swimming."

"But..."

"Karson Garrett," she interrupted, "When I agreed to marry you I knew that it would be tough. No one is perfect and I've just been looking at our struggles today as lessons. We will have problems, but we have to pray and work through them together, just like we do to get back into a capsized kayak."

He held her close, "Thank you for reminding me."

"I love you Karson." She whispered.

"I love you too Mandy."

Copyright 2012 

Published by permission of the author. 

To read some samples, visit her writing 

blog at alliesliteraryattempts.wordpress.com 

and more at her portfolio 

http://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/

view/kaylianna 

To request contact with her regarding 

her works, email us at 

litwickgazette @ gmail (dot) com 

Lit Wick Gazette: January 2013

Composer of the Month 

Michael Head,  born on January 28, 1900,

was raised by a barrister/journalist father,

and a vocalist mother, beginning his own

musical training at the age of ten.  Despite

this relatively late start, he was accepted

into prodigious English music academies,

including the Royal Academy of Music.

He served in World War I in an

ammunition plant, and while working there

wrote what would be his first published

piece.  When the war was over, he returned

to the Academy, studying piano and organ,

plus winning several awards for his

compositions.  He gave his first solo recital

in 1929, and also traveled across the United

Kingdom, performing live and on the radio.

He had returned to the Academy two years

previous as a professor, and continued

teaching through World War II.  He died

very suddenly overseas from a serious and

unexpected disease in 1976 while abroad

for business.

~

May we now rest in Your peace, safe from all

that could harm us, and rise refreshed and

joyful, to praise You throughout another day.

-Anonymous Benediction  

~Agatha Forsyth~ 

~

Etiquette

excerpts from Emily Post’s 1922 Edition of Etiquette 

On Introductions 

This is never done on formal occasions when a great many persons

are present. At a small luncheon, for instance, a hostess always

introduces her guests to one another.

Let us suppose you are the hostess: your position is not necessarily

near, but it is toward the door. Mrs. King is sitting quite close to

you, Mrs. Lawrence also near. Miss Robinson and Miss Brown are

much farther away.

Mrs. Jones enters. You go a few steps forward and shake hands with

her, then stand aside as it were, for a second only, to see if Mrs.

Jones goes to speak to any one. If she apparently knows no one, you

say, “Mrs. King, do you know Mrs. Jones?” Mrs. King being close

at hand (usually but not necessarily) rises, shakes hands with Mrs.

Jones and sits down again. If Mrs. King is an elderly lady, and Mrs.

Jones a young one, Mrs. King merely extends her hand and does not

rise. Having said “Mrs. Jones” once, you do not repeat it

immediately, but turning to the other lady sitting near you, you say,

“Mrs. Lawrence,” then you look across the room and continue,

“Miss Robinson, Miss Brown—Mrs. Jones!” Mrs. Lawrence, if she

is young, rises and shakes hands with Mrs. Jones, and the other two

bow but do not rise.

 At a very big luncheon you would introduce Mrs. Jones to Mrs.

King and possibly to Mrs. Lawrence, so that Mrs. Jones might have

some one to talk to. But if other guests come in at this moment, Mrs.

Jones finds a place for herself and after a pause, falls naturally into

conversation with those she is next to, without giving her name or

asking theirs.

A friend’s roof is supposed to be an introduction to those it shelters.

In Best Society this is always recognized if the gathering is intimate,

such as at a luncheon, dinner or house party; but it is not accepted at

a ball or reception, or any “general” entertainment. People always

talk to their neighbors at table whether introduced or not. It would

be a breach of etiquette not to! But if Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Norman

merely spoke to each other for a few moments, in the drawing-room,

it is not necessary that they recognize each other afterwards.  

~The Editor~ 

~

Like cold water to a weary soul, So is good 

news from a distant land.  

Proverbs 25:25 

Bright eyes gladden the heart; Good news 

puts fat on the bones.  

Proverbs 15:30 

~Carliss Safety-Pin~

Lit Wick Gazette: December 2012

Composer of the Month 

Manuel Ponce,  was born December 1882 in 

Fresnillo, Zatatecas, Mexico, but moved when 

only a few weeks old to Aguascalientes where 

he lived until he was fifteen.  He began playing 

the piano at age four after listening to his older 

sister’s lesson and played the song by ear at 

home.  From 1901 to 1917, he traveled across 

Mexico and the whole world to study, then to 

teach music, spending a few years in Germany 

and Cuba.  In 1912, he wrote his most popular 

work, a slow love song recorded by many 

artists including the Philadelphia Orchestra and 

the Percy Faith Orchestra.  His style was to 

write classical pieces with Mexican  folk stories 

and legends, and add pop song influences.  This 

scandalized some European musicians, but he 

proved very popular, and won the Mexican 

National Science and Arts Prize in 1947.  He 

died the following year, and Mexico recognized 

his contribution to their musical culture by 

dedicating a fountain in his home town to him, 

and burying him in the Roundhouse of 

Illustrious Men.  

~

We must have a spirit of power towards the 

enemy, a spirit of love towards men, and a spirit 

of self-control towards ourselves. 

-Watchman Nee 

~Charity Clothespin~

~

Introduction Etiquette

excerpts from Emily Post’s 1922 Edition of Etiquette

After an introduction, when you have talked for some time to a 

stranger whom you have found agreeable, and you then take leave, 

you say, “Good-by, I am very glad to have met you,” or “Good-by, I 

hope I shall see you again soon”—or “some time.” The other person 

answers, “Thank you,” or perhaps adds, “I hope so, too.” Usually 

“Thank you” is all that is necessary.  

    In taking leave of a group of strangers—it makes no difference 

whether you have been introduced to them or merely included in 

their conversation—you bow “good-by” to any who happen to be 

looking at you, but you do not attempt to attract the attention of 

those who are unaware that you are turning away.  

~The Editor~

~

A man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without 

walls. 

-Proverbs 25:28 (ESV)

~Isabel Delacruz~

~

The Adventures of Tintin: Secret of the Unicorn is an animated movie based off of two of the comic books by Herge: The Secret of the Unicorn, The Crab with the Golden Claws, and a little bit from 'Red Rackham’s Treasure'.

The story is about a young journalist named Tintin and his dog Snowy. One day, in an outdoor market, he buys a model ship (called the Unicorn) that catches his eye. Upon being pressed by two men who wish to by the model, he refuses to sell which launches him into unexpected adventures.

The story has the theme of a multi-generational vision when Tintin becomes friends with Captain Haddock, a descendent of Sir Francis Haddock who sailed the original Unicorn and built three models for his three sons. There are also the themes of not giving up and doing what’s right.

The movie is rate PG. There are several fist fights and some intense chase scenes. Captain Haddock has a problem with drink throughout the movie but it is portrayed as a bad thing and he overcomes by the end.

Starring in it is Jamie Bell (Nicholas Nickleby) as the voice of Tintin with Andy Serkis as the voice of Captain Haddock (Little Dorrit). The supporting cast includes Daniel Craig, Nick Frost, Simon Pegg (Voyage of the Dawn Treader) and others.

~Eliza Bennet

~

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, 

goodness, faithfulness,   gentleness, self-control; against such things 

there is no law.  

-Galatians 5:22-23 

~Dawn Paperclip~

Lit Wick Paper. November 2012

Introduction Etiquette

excerpts from Emily Post’s 1922 Edition of Etiquette

   Best Society has only one phrase in acknowledgment of an

introduction: “How do you do?” It literally accepts no other. When

Mr. Bachelor says, “Mrs. Worldly, may I present Mr. Struthers?”

Mrs. Worldly says, “How do you do?” Struthers bows, and says

nothing. To sweetly echo “Mr. Struthers?” with a rising inflection on

“—thers?” is not good form. Saccharine chirpings should be classed

with crooked little fingers, high hand-shaking and other affectations.

All affectations are bad form.

  Persons of position do not say: “Charmed,” or “Pleased to meet

you,” etc., but often the first remark is the beginning of a

conversation. For instance:

  Young Struthers is presented to Mrs. Worldly. She smiles and

perhaps says, “I hear that you are going to be in New York all

winter?” Struthers answers, “Yes, I am at the Columbia Law

School,” etc., or since he is much younger than she, he might

answer, “Yes, Mrs. Worldly,” especially if his answer would

otherwise be a curt yes or no. Otherwise he does not continue

repeating her name.

~The Editor~

~

When I walk through the forest glade

And listen to the leaves,

That gently rustle to and fro

Against the autumn breeze.

They speak of beauty far above

And of a loving Hand,

Sustaining all the world around

With one word of command.

I sing a song of gratefulness

To God who made the world,

And think that if we silent are

The trees proclaim His word.

~Kaylianna Selwyn~

~

Pumpkin Apple Streusel Muffins

Ingredients

•2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

•2 cups white sugar

•1 tablespoon pumpkin pie spice

•1 teaspoon baking soda

•1/2 teaspoon salt

•2 eggs, lightly beaten

•1 cup canned pumpkin puree

•1/2 cup vegetable oil

•2 cups peeled, cored and chopped apple

•2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

•1/4 cup white sugar

•1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

•4 teaspoons butter

1.      Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Lightly grease 18 muffin cups or use paper liners.

2.      In a large bowl, sift together 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, 2 cups sugar, pumpkin pie spice, baking soda and salt. In a separate bowl, mix together eggs, pumpkin and oil. Add pumpkin mixture to flour mixture; stirring just to moisten. Fold in apples. Spoon batter into prepared muffin cups.

3.      In a small bowl, mix together 2 tablespoons flour, 1/4 cup sugar and 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon. Cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Sprinkle topping evenly over muffin batter.

4.      Bake in preheated oven for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into a muffin comes out clean.

~Isabel Delacruz~

~

Composer of the Month 

Frank Martin,  born in 1890, was born in

Switzerland to a Huguenot family, the son of a

Calvinist preacher, and the youngest of ten

children.  He began writing music at  a young

age, but did not receive any musical training

until he went to Geneva College to study

mathematics and physics, where he took

lessons from prominent Swiss composer Joseph

Lauber.  Before his death in November 1974,

he had written 29 works, including one ballet

and an opera.

~

Movie Review:

Nicholas Nickelby (2002)

Nicholas Nickelby is based off a book of the same name by Charles Dickens.  The

theme of the movie is found in one of its first sentences:

 “When a parent dies, that person on whom you rely on for only—everything, you

wonder who will catch you now.”

The film shows a young man in about 1850, Nicholas Nickelby, whose father dies,

and a year of his life in which he must find who will take care of his sister, mother,

and himself.  Will his uncle help them?  Will the Schoolmaster of Dotheboys Hall

prove generous in his employment?  Is the theater the answer?

By the end, he finds that the people who can best make his family happy are kinhearted, good people who help him stand on his own feet, and that sometimes the

sweetest times come when you have ‘caught’ someone else who needs help even

more than yourself.

The movie is rated PG for childbirth scenes, and there are some whippings shown

on screen, so while the older Dickens reader themself will not be too bothered,

their younger siblings may not want to watch this movie.

Charles Hunnam is Nicholas Nickelby, Romola Garai (Emma, 2009) plays Kate

Nickelby, alongside Cristopher Plummer (Sound of Music), Anne Hathaway

(Becoming Jane) , and  Jamie Bell (Tintin)

~Agatha Forsyth~

Lit Wick Paper: October 2012

Introduction Etiquette

excerpts from Emily Post’s 1922 Edition of Etiquette

  When gentlemen are introduced to each other they  always shake 

hands. 

  When a gentleman is introduced to a lady, she sometimes puts out 

her hand—especially if he is some one she has long heard about 

from friends in common, but to an entire stranger she generally 

merely bows her head slightly and says: “How do you do!” Strictly 

speaking, it is always her place to offer her hand  or not as she 

chooses, but if he puts out his hand, it is rude on her part to ignore it. 

Nothing could be more ill-bred than to treat curtly any overture 

made in spontaneous friendliness. No thoroughbred lady would ever 

refuse to shake any hand that is honorable, not even the hand of a 

coal heaver at the risk of her fresh white glove. 

  Those who have been drawn into a conversation do  not usually 

shake hands on parting. But there is no fixed rule.

  A lady sometimes shakes hands after talking with a casual stranger; 

at other times she does not offer her hand on parting from one who 

has been punctiliously presented to her. She may find the former 

sympathetic and the latter very much the contrary. 

  Very few rules of etiquette are inelastic and none more so than the 

acceptance or rejection of the strangers you meet. 

  There is a wide distance between rudeness and reserve. You can be 

courteously polite and at the same time extremely aloof to a stranger 

who does not appeal to you, or you can be welcomingly friendly to 

another whom you like on sight. Individual temperament has also to 

be taken into consideration: one person is naturally austere, another 

genial. The latter shakes hands far more often than the former. As 

already said, it is unforgivably rude to refuse a proffered hand, but it 

is rarely necessary to offer your hand if you prefer not to. 

~The Editor~ 

~

Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an 

example of the believers, in word, in 

conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in 

purity. 

-1 Timothy 4:12 

~Charity Clothespin~

~

Cute Upcyled T-Shirt Scarf 

The only thing you need is a T-shirt. Youth 14-16 or larger sizes will work 

fine. 

Lay your T-shirt out and find a paper plate and some sewing scissors. Lay 

the paper plate on the shirt {close to the edges to conserve fabric} and draw 

around the paper plate with a pencil. 

Before you cut it out, make sure you have enough fabric for at least eight 

paper plate circles on the shirt. {any where from eight to twelve circles 

works best} Trace and cut out eight circles on the shirt. 

After you are finished, take one of the circles and cut into it about two 

inches, {making spirals about two inches wide} and keep cutting around the 

circle until you reach the center and have no more to cut. Then take the strip 

you just cut and stretch it all out. It should curl for you. 

Repeat the spiral cutting and stretching for all of the circles. After you are 

finished with that, lay them all out together and take a small piece of fabric 

and tie them together in the middle. 

Optional: you can make a flower of your choice according to your tastes. 

~Dawn Paperclip~

~

Youth is wasted on the young. 

-George Bernard Shaw 

~The Editor~

~

Mozerella Chicken Recipe 

4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts 

1/4 cup butter 

salt and pepper to taste 

4 slices mozzarella cheese 

1 egg, beaten 

2 cups all-purpose flour for coating 

1 cup seasoned dry bread crumbs 

1/4 cup butter 

2 teaspoons minced garlic 

1 cup dry white wine 

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) 

2. Place chicken breasts between 2 sheets of wax paper. Pound each to 1/4 inch thickness. Spread butter over the 

inside, then add salt and pepper to taste. 

3. Place slice of cheese on breast, roll and close with toothpicks. Repeat with each breast. Dip rolled breasts in 

flour, then egg, then breadcrumbs. Place coated breasts in a lightly greased 9X13 inch baking dish. 

4. To make sauce: In a saucepan, melt 1/4 cup butter and add garlic. Add wine and simmer all together. Pour 

sauce over chicken and bake in the preheated oven for 30 to 45 minutes. 

5. Serve and enjoy! 

Note: When I made this I just used butter and garlic for the sauce. 

~Eliza Bennet~

~

Composer of the Month 

Rebecca Clarke,  born in 1886, was born in 

England to an American father and a German 

mother.  At the age of nine, she took up the 

violin, and later began attending the Royal 

Academy of Music.  However, her father 

withdrew her when she fell in love with her 

teacher in 1907, who bequeathed her his 

Stradivarius when he died in 1922.  She then 

transferred to the Royal College of music where 

she studied under some of the best musicians of 

the time, including hymnist Ralph Vaughn 

Williams, but was forced to quit in 1910, when 

she was sent away from home and disinherited 

her over Rebecca’s criticism of some 

unrepentant adultery in her father’s life.  

Therefore, she performed viola concerts for her 

living, becoming one of the first women to  in  

Queen’s Hall Orchestra.  Due to social 

convention of the times, female composers did 

not always appeal to everybody, and her early 

favorites were published under male synonyms.  

In 1927, she founded the English Ensemble, a 

piano quartet, and when around ten years later 

she got stuck in America, she lived with her 

brothers for a while, then took a situation as a 

governess for a family in Connecticut in 1942.  

After a chance meeting with an old friend, 

James Friskin, she married at the age of 50.  

Despite her husband’s encouragement, Clarke 

stopped composing after her marriage—a health 

condition resulting in depression made it 

difficult for her to work happily at it, so spent 

her later days writing a memoir about her 

childhood in a dysfunctional family, called  I 

Had a Father, Too, and died at the age of 93 in 

October, 1979.