Robin Warren

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The Mother’s Gift

The most precious thing I own was made for me by my mother, Margaret Hodges Warren. I have no memory of how our family became so interested in music, because I was too young. The story has it that my older sister Ursula desperately wanted to play the violin, but the family was already quite involved with horses and 4-H and camping and gardening, and so my parents did not encourage her. She made herself a crude instrument out of a cigar box, and then the local violin teacher, Gesa Fiedler (sister-in-law to Max Fiedler, conductor of the Boston Symphony), took pity and gave her a violin and lessons. Soon

The Case for Chocolate

How is it mothers always know what’s going on behind their backs, especially when it’s something naughty? I loved sugar as a small child. When no one was looking, I’d get into the sugar bowl. There usually wasn’t much activity or supervision in the dining room, and the sugar bowl tempted me. I would use the spoon in the bowl to scoop up the sugar and put it in my mouth, and then wait in bliss while it slowly dissolved on my tongue. Evidently this was very naughty, and my mother always knew. It took me a long time to find out how. The spoon was sterling silver, a souvenir

The Boston Molasses Disaster

Charleston, South Carolina had its own Tea Party incident on December 3, 1773, 13 days before the one in Boston. You learned about the Boston Tea Party in school, did you not? It was no picnic — It was a protest against taxes imposed on the colonies by the British government. No one was hurt, and no property was damaged. Except, that is, for the 342 crates of tea, about 45 tons, that were dumped into the Boston Harbor on December 16, 1773. I wonder whether all that tea turned the water in the harbor brown… We think of food in small portions — a glass of wine, a slice

Letter From The Editor | These Boots Are Made For Walkin’

“These boots are made for walkin’” Lee Hazlewood, as recorded by Nancy Sinatra I try not to offend anyone. Doesn’t make me feel good, and I’m certain it doesn’t make the other person feel good, so I see no value in it. But Ladonna is, for some reason, offended by my little black boots. The feeling is not mutual — they have never offered any opinion of Ladonna whatsoever. But she has had it in for my boots for well over a year. Ladonna: You need some new boots. me: Why? These are fine. Ladonna: Because you should have several pairs of nice boots. me: I only have one pair

St. Patrick | Shamrocks, and Lucky Charms

There are many translations of St. Patrick’s lorica, the Deer’s Cry. My favorite translation begins with these lines: I bind unto myself today The strong Name of the Trinity, By invocation of the same The Three in One and One in Three. In spite of his popularity, especially in brew pubs in mid-March, not much is actually certain about St. Patrick. According to the Catholic Church, he was born in 387 and died in 461, but there are questions about the accuracy of that information. He lived sometime in the 5th century. March 17 is celebrated as the date of his death, but scholars dispute the date as well as

Letter From the Editor

The dialogue took place in church, in late August 2019, just before the service began. Ladonna and I had become closer friends in the month before, and she seemed a bit stressed. me: “Everything OK?” Ladonna: “No, we’re behind on Bella and I’m up against the deadline.” me: “How can I help?” Ladonna: “What can you do?” me: “I’m a trained proof reader.” Ladonna: “Can you be at the studio at 6?” me: “Yup.” And then the music started. So for 18 months I have edited all of the content in Bella. I was fortunate to be raised by parents who were meticulous in their use of the English language.

The Quaker Gun

The Religious Society of Friends, also known as Quakers, arose in England in the mid 17th century. They were early settlers to the Colonies (future United States) and prominent in many regions until the Revolutionary War. Although Quaker worship varies widely, from silent meetings (about 10% of Quakers) to evangelical services, nearly all are pacifists. The religion has a long history of supporting equality for women, abolition of slavery, non-violence, co-education, prison reform, and social justice. Today there are fewer than 400,000 Quakers world-wide, and about 50% of them live in Africa. Really? A Quaker gun? Aren’t Quakers those ardent pacifists who refuse military service and believe all conflict can

In Transit…

I placed the order on December 10, in plenty of time for delivery by Christmas. It shipped, by First Class Mail for $4.75, on December 11. When it had not arrived a week later, I asked for the tracking number, and then I checked the tracking history each day (see below). For several days the tracking history showed a mysterious message that later disappeared: Your package will arrive later than expected, but is still on its way. It is currently in transit to the next facility. My package sat in Florida for 4 days, and then took 10 days to make it to North Atlanta (by mule perhaps?). Once in

Americana in Aiken

I drive down a beautiful Southern lane shaded by live oaks and arrive at a small 5 acre family farm. There are chickens, laying hens, in a pen in the front field, and bunnies in a bunny hutch next to the driveway. The setting is pure Americana. In the woods behind the house are a paddock of goats and another pen of “eating” chickens. I am here to learn the story of this family and how The Sharpener’s Edge came to be. Colleen grew up in Westchester County, New York, and trained as an CPA. Jim, an aircraft mechanic, is from Long Island. Jim’s aunt set them up on a

PHOTO of the MONTH: MARGARET WARREN

And why, you may ask, is this man consigned to drinking his coffee under the breakfast table? He is a college professor, faithful husband, Navy officer, survivor of the sinking of the Block Island during World War II, family man, father of 3, and gentleman farmer. And the latter is how he ended up in the Warren substitute for a doghouse. You see, the Warrens at that time had a barn and a pony but no fenced paddock. Early every morning, my father would lead the pony out of the barn, up the driveway, past the house, and out to the front lawn. There he would tether the pony for