Wednesday, December 21, 2011

The Dolls' House



All decked out for Christmas



All the rooms.

The Front Door

Kitchen - Cook has brought her baby to work.





The Living Room - Where is everybody?
Daddy is calling up the stairs, telling Mama that Grandma has arrived--they're taking her out to dinner!


But Mama Doll is still in the bathtub! (Baby Doll is in his cradle,
minding his own business.)


Lucinda the upstairs maid is admiring the Christmas tree in the study.



Little Dolly has dressed up to go out with the grownups, but
big Camilla knows they won't be allowed. (The girls' room with
their books and dolls.)
***
The house is crowded, with ten people, four cats and two dogs.

***
Merry Christmas from the Family!

Left to Right
Front Row: Peter Alexander, age 6 mo.
Camilla, age 8
The rocking horse Peter got for Christmas (Daddy will buy him a bicycle next year.)
Dolly, age 4
Daddy (Alexis Hugh Doll)
Tiny, the terrier
Back Row: Beauty, the parlor maid
Lucinda, the upstairs maid
Spot, the spaniel
Grandma (Mrs. Dolly Buff-Orpington)
Keenya, the cook, and her little boy Beolius
Mama Doll (Miranda)
(The cats were hiding.)

Saturday, December 17, 2011

A carrot for the donkey

Spent the morning trying to get inspired to stand up and move. Actually, moving is one of the few things I still like to do. While making coffee, I do stretching exercises, make sure I can still touch the floor without bending my knees, etc.

Samuel Johnson said (I paraphrase), "Of all the noises, music is perhaps the least offensive." I still like some music, sometimes.

Food? Ho hum. Unless I get hungry, I don't care much. Yesterday I did make an effort, cooked squash and cornbread, and made a bowlful of corn salad. And a Great Divide milkshake for dessert. Food is pretty good, if you're hungry. Trouble is, after a great meal, you have to go to the store to replace what you cooked and ate.

Shakespeare is still worth moving for. But it's pretty exhausting, after most of a lifetime spent trying to straighten out the matter.

Writing poems? It's not something you can just sit down and do. You have to have some emotion to remember in tranquillity (Wordsworth--Bill or Dorothy).

I think the only thing that would make me holler, and jump up and down, would be for River City to call and say, "Mrs. Cage, we would like to publish your book."

Sunday, December 11, 2011

"Anonymous"

I recently read a comprehensive review of the movie "Anonymous," and now I want to see it. Apparently, it either alleges or hints at many of the things I believe to be true about the real Shakespeare, including the most important "fact."

A few nights ago, I watched "Neverland" on TV, and that Ifans guy played Hook. He looks like a good choice to play Oxford in "Anonymous."

So, my plan is to see the movie, then write a paper and add a string of references from my 50-odd years of studying Shakespeare. And then I want to see if the Leeds Arts Council will schedule me a program time to read my paper to an audience. That probably can't happen until next season, so maybe I should negotiate the time, before I start writing the paper.

This idea is part of an appeal by the Oxford Shakespeare Society, for members to "educate" the public on the identity  question, and to explain some points in the movie. I received their letter yesterday, and it commented favorably on the movie, and put the presentation idea into my head.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Another Recurring Song

This is another one that runs through my head sometimes (I like this one):

I'll Be There

There ain't no chains strong enough to hold me
Ain't no breeze big enough to slow me
I never have seen a river that's too wide
There ain't no jail tight enough to lock me
Ain't no man big enough to stop me
I'll be there if you ever want me by your side
So love me if you ever gonna love me
I never have seen a road too rough to ride
There ain't no chains strong enough to hold me
There ain't no breeze big enough to slow me
I'll be there if you ever want me by your side


Now there ain't no rope tight enough to bind me
Look for me honey you will find me
Any old time you're ready with your charm
I'll be there ready and a waitin'
There won't be any hesitatin'
I'll be right here if you ever want me in your arms
So love me if you ever gonna love me
I never have seen a road too rough to ride
There ain't no chains strong enough to hold me
There ain't no breeze big enough to slow me
I'll be there if you ever want me by your side
I'll be there if you ever want me by your side

The 18

I have a recurring dream of running to catch the No. 18 bus on the Southside. Sometimes it's from my apartment, sometimes at Five Points, occasionally at UAB. Always, when I'm just a few steps from it, the bus pulls away. It's as if the driver watches me and leaves when I'm almost there. That really used to happen sometimes.

I had the dream last night. The scene before and after I run to catch the bus is always different. This time, I was getting dressed to go to work, and Mama was there, and she told me I could wear her blazing hot-pink printed skirt. Then after the bus left me stranded, a convertible car full of six of my college acquaintances stopped at the curb, and I squeezed into the back seat and started talking to them. But close up, they weren't who I thought they were, but a bunch of unshaven, sort of thuggy-looking guys. When I explained and apologized for getting into their car, the one beside me said it was all right, they would drop me off at work.

Explain that one, Dr. Freud.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

The Blahs

Lately I'm not in the mood for holidays. Or much of anything else. There's too much of this-and-that that I need to do hanging over my head, that I can't think of anything else. And I don't get anything done. It's not that I don't give-a-damn. I'd love to see all the repairs done and the house spotless, and the car washed and the oil changed, and the clothes washed, and the teeth cleaned and filled and the hair cut and the nails clipped--all that stuff that life is full of.

What I need is another cup of coffee, and I'll be right back in the game. I hope.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Man With the Moxie







If half of the politicians in the U.S. were half as smart and half as concerned as this guy, I would be much less afraid for the future of our country.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Really Stupid Songs

Often, songs that I heard as a child will play in my head, or snatches of them. Thank technology for the internet, so I can find some of them and try to banish them forever. Here's one:

O dear, what can the matter be?
Dear, dear, what can the matter be?
O dear, what can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair.

. . . He promised to bring me a bunch of blue ribbons
To tie up my bonny brown hair.

I just remembered 2-3 lines of this one, but that was three too many:

He sat down beside her and smoked his cigar
Smoked his cigar, smoked his cigar
He sat down beside her and smoked his cigar
Smoked his cigar-r-r


She sat there beside him and played her guitar,
Played her guitar, played her guitar
She sat there beside him and played her guitar,
Played her guitar-r-r

Each of the following lines is a repetitive stanza like the two above:

He told her he loved her but oh how he lied...
She told him she loved him, but she did not lie...
They went to be married, but she up and died,,,
He went to the funeral, but just for the ride...
She went up to heaven and flip-flop she flied...
He went down below her and sizzled and fried...
The moral of this tale is never to lie...
Or you, too, may perish and sizzle and fry...

I may write a poem called "Sizzle and Fry."

Sunday, November 20, 2011

"When you don't see him, he's somewhere else."

Last night I watched "Michael," the movie. That has to be one of the best, or at least among my top favorites.

Why didn't anybody show the Alabama game yesterday? Since those overblown giants of LSU beat them by a hair, I guess the Tide is not considered worth broadcasting. That LSU win was shown at least a dozen times on TV in the past week. It really was a big accomplishment, to beat Bama.

I've been decorating the dollhouse. I can't help it, tedious though it is.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Coffee! For the love of heaven, coffee!!!

I saw Mo curled up in a spot of sunshine on the carpet. Made me want to do the same. There's a poem in that somewhere. I guess Mo is older than I am, in cat years. Still, it would seem inappropriate for me to curl up on the floor and go to sleep. I may do it, anyway.

Yesterday was a bit stressful, so I went to bed about 7:30 p.m. and slept until ten this morning. I'm still so sleepy I can't sit up straight.

Thing is, I had a dental procedure yesterday, and they said not to drink coffee or anything hot for "several days." How many days  can I survive, awake, without coffee? Makes me think of Ramey's espresso-colored tee shirt that says "Instant Person--Just Add Coffee."

Iced coffee?

*

Iced coffee with lots of creamer and a little bit of sugar is really good, I find. But it doesn't work the same as a big mug full of the hot stuff.
*
Back about 1949, I wrote a poem called "Kitten in the Sunshine." But I've lost it.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

things are bad all over

When a new crisis arises, I have to give myself a day or two of craziness before my usual sense returns. This crisis is a dental one, so the rest of this year will probably be dominated by running back and forth to the dentist, needles, screaming and running mad. On top of the doors, the basement, and the wee little piddling retirement income.

It's enough to make you cry, or laugh. Or start feeling your age. I was ten years older than Joe Frazier, who died Monday. And I'm still running around in my raggedy jeans and tee shirts like a 60-year-old, moaning about my little crises. A hundred years from now, who'll know the difference?

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Crossroads

Yesterday I discovered that I have a lot of purchase "points" on Amazon. So I ordered this video that I've wanted for a long time, free of charge and free shipping. Ralph Macchio and Joe Seneca. And Jamie Gertz. This is one of my 100 favorite films.

I've fallen behind in my clean-up schedule this week. But I haven't given up. Today I aim to FINISH THE DOLLHOUSE and get it out of the way. Or off my mind. All I have to do is install the stairs--they're all put together and painted--and touch up the paint here and there.



*



6:00 p.m. The D.H. is finished, so I can relax and watch the Tide beat LSU (knock on wood).

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Night on Bald Mountain

In the middle of doing laundry, I was thinking that if I ever got thrown into solitary confinement, I could occupy myself by hearing music in my mind. Mozart string quartets, Tchaikovsky's "Pathetique," Beethoven piano sonatas, Chopin preludes and piano concertos. Then for some reason I thought about "Night on Bald Mountain," and I thought Berlioz, but it's not by Berlioz, it's Mussorgsky/Chernov/Rimsky-Korsakov. So I ran to the computer and found this arrangement on YouTube, all piano with the sheet music pictured, and spent ten minutes listening to the ghosties and devils and witches and stuff on the "Bare Mountain." Why didn't I think of it during Halloween? It would be perfect to play and scare the trick-or-treaters. If one had any trick-or-treaters.

Anyway, I posted it in my Music Links in the left column. It's really a pretty piece of music, with a lazy left hand and a real workout to try with the right hand, if one had a piano.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Welcome, November!

Boy'm I glad Halloween (the whole month of October) is over! Everything on TV was haints and horror, and old reruns of Project Runway.

Counting Reed Sunday night, I had six trick-or-treaters, three of them in one visit. So there's the great bowl still full of every kind of Tootsie Roll candy ever made. I kept urging the little ghosties to "take some more--don't you want another Tootsie Roll pop?" But they were all too polite to be greedy.

The weekend was sort of fun and sort of disappointing. On Saturday, Jed and I went to Montevallo U. to the ASPS Fall Awards luncheon. I signed up to sponsor a spring contest, to the tune of eighty bucks. As to awards, I won an honorable mention (aargh!) and a second prize, out of all those good poems I entered. At least I thought they were good; the most disappointing thing was my wondering if they weren't so good, after all. But, compared to the winning poems that were read aloud, I believe they're pretty great.

Like a fool, I left my keys at home and all the doors locked. So Jed had to break the foyer door to the stairs. So now I've got to go to Lowe's and buy a door and get them to install it.

So, this morning I paid bills, and finished all the painting for the doll house, and started washing the heaps of dirty laundry. Yesterday, besides the 2-pound bag of treats, I bought allergy masks, gloves, and other supplies for cleaning the back room of the basement, which I plan to finish up this week.

Shirley S., my first landlord at the Southside apartment, once said that she liked for everything to be fun. I managed to make the nose surgery sound like fun while it was going on, so maybe I can get a laugh or two out of cleaning the basement. Speaking of the nose surgery, today I received a bill for $300 due after Viva and Medicare paid their parts. It's always something.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Poor Robin Crusoe

For a couple of days, I've been working on the dollhouse, and re-reading Robinson Crusoe for the first time in many years. My near vision is almost out, but I can still look a squirrel in the eye from 20 paces or so.

To answer the questions in late "Comments," about Dave W., he was the best friend of my best friend at the University. Karl was my special buddy, not to say my boyfriend, as he was a great handsome hulk who followed or carried me around, better than a dog or a horse but maybe not quite as intelligent. We all worked in Radio and Television, at the first educational radio-TV station to broadcast live on TV. (Karl once announced, in opening a radio program, "This is Karl Pickens Perking," instead of "Perkins speaking.")

Karl's best friend was Dave, who was about as tall as Michael Crichton, with flaming red hair, not handsome in the face but spectacular to look upon, and of course I had a crush on him, but he was engaged to a hateful little brunette that he could have thrown away with one hand, and I often wondered why he didn't. Years later I learned, through my sister-in-law (whose best friend, and a former roommate of mine at the U., was Dave's cousin), that he was a radio DJ and sometimes did comedy acts at local events, but I don't remember where that was, but not in Alabama.

Also a few years later, a friend of mine in college, Helen L., inherited a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and bought Karl a sports car, and they got married. Helen was almost as tall as Dave W., with flaming red hair and skinny as a rail and quite ugly. But that $150K at that time was probably equal to several millions of today's money. So hooray for Karl.
*
Poor Robin

When Robinson Crusoe left England in 1651, not to return for 35 years, the English Civil War was raging, King Charles I had been beheaded in 1649 and his son fled to France or somewhere, and England was run by the Puritans, to be ruled for 7 years by Oliver Cromwell, a right handsome dude.

So while Crusoe was absent from England, the English civil war years had come and gone, Kings Charles I and II had come and gone, James II was the English monarch, and the Church of England restored. But all this time, Crusoe was still a Puritan, though at times, in Brazil and Portugal, letting himself be thought a "Popish" Catholic. He was marooned on his island for 28 years, and, contrary to modern impressions, for 25 of those years totally without human companionship, having rescued the savage Friday toward the end of his isolation. He did early on hear English spoken, by an island parrot that he tamed and taught to speak, such phrases as "Poor Robin Crusoe!"

What amazed me most about the book was the modernity of Defoe's usage and writing of the English language. Even some of his odd expressions and spellings are not strange to today's usage in England. Although since first reading the book, I had read Defoe's Moll Flanders and Journal of the Plague Year, I was impressed all over again with the clarity and modernity of his English.

Considering that before Robinson Crusoe, published in the year 1719, there was no such thing as a fiction novel in the English language, I think it was the first and perhaps greatest of such, though with no plot and no explicit sexual references.

*
I've lost a day somewhere. I thought this was Wednesday. Jed will be here tomorrow, and I haven't washed any clothes or cleaned the Augean stable in the basement.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Tragedy of My (Love) Life

Yesterday at the Clinic I saw a Dr. Sami, a dark little clown of a doctor who yelled, "Well, hello! hello! hello!" when he saw me sitting on the exam table, and I grinned and hollered, "Hi-de-doo!" Anyway, after he and his resident doctor lady rubbed and conjured and consulted over my nose, he decided what I had was a whole bunch of little some-kind-of-pillomas, and prescribed me some cream to rub on them. He said if they changed, or bled, or bothered me, to call him. Yeah. Sounded familiar. But I decided to believe him, and went home and dozed in front of the television until about midnight, and then I went to bed and slept through Mo's hollering, the telephone ringing, and lots of stranger noises, until eight o'clock this morning.

I got up and fed Mo and staggered back to bed, where I dreamed practically my whole life running before me but changed a whole lot. At the end of it, I was 25 years old and an old maid, and I was trying to get Dave W. to marry me, because he looked like my cousin Jim. Jim had got out of the Army and married some little southern belle, and I might as well marry someone else. But, said Dave, "I don't like you." Damn! Why was he always hanging around, if he didn't like me?

But during the dream we were always moving from one place to another. Finally we were moving from the house in Leeds to somewhere else close around. Daddy had two suits, and Mama was about to fling them on top of the truck, but I took them on hangers across my back and walked all the way to the new house with the little girls. In another scene, I was in the empty house with Mama and some lady to whom she was showing all the little multi-colored child-sized pants she had made, and I was thinking I could use some of those colors in the doll house.

I woke up again around 2:00 p.m. and fed Mo again to get him to shut up. Whether I'll go back to bed, after I take my pills and rub my  nose-cream, I haven't yet decided.

They say when you're dying, your whole life runs before you. Well, I ain't dead yet, unless I'm still dreaming. I feel very glad and relieved, because I don't have a growth on my nose that's going to spread its roots all through my body--or my head! And because I didn't marry my cousin Jim or Dave W., the other red-headed man. Back of my hand to all of them.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

I really feel OK.


I've almost decided to keep the little white cat. Except I'm afraid he would live for 25 years or so, like Mo. And I can't let him into the house as long as crazy Mo is around.

I've been sort of down, because there's another anomaly on my nose, opposite side from the first one. (I hate to say that C word.) Yesterday I made a Dermatology appointment for next Wednesday, to get them to look at it. But I'm pretty sure that's what it is.

Shakespeare's "Tired with all these" poem keeps running in my head. Sometimes I think I'll just give up and eat ice cream and hot dogs until I'm as big as old Lucy. Last night I watched "Thinner" on TV; that guy was pretty happy as long as he weighed 300 pounds.

The critique group meets tomorrow at Joe's, and I don't have any poems to read. The awards dinner is scheduled two weeks from today in Montevallo, and I don't know whether to make reservations or not. It would be just like TKC to schedule me for surgery the day before.

"The leaves decay, the leaves decay and fall. . ." I was looking out the window and down the street a while ago, and it looked like it was snowing leaves.

The big white-faced possum came back a night or so ago, to clean up the cat food that the strays left.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Southern Snow Dance

*
Beloved, let us make our Christmas white.
Let us invent a conjure more complex,
a chant, or many-patterned morris-dance,
to coax the icy hexagons to fall:
on every fence-post, see in our mind's eye
a pyramid of snowflakes; on each roof
a blanket blue-white in the morning light;
and every blade of grass in crystal bloom.
And if we, in our air-cooled southern room,
perfect our fervent prayer or pagan hex,
perhaps our childhood dreams of snow, by chance,
may come to pass to bless us after all,
and Santa, sleigh-borne from the winter sky,
spring earthward to the dance of tiny hoofs.

by JRC, 10/08/11

*
"I've got to admit, it's getting better, a little better all the time." I mean, I'm feeling better.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Acting Funny

It's the computer, not me, that's acting funny. I seem to be shifting or grinding my gears out of neutral. I've got things to do and places to go today, and I don't mind so much. The Birmingham Arts Review people are meeting at the Leeds Arts Council tonight, and at some point I volunteered to bring some snacks. So I have to go to the store, and then make chips and dip, and then go down there. And now I only have about four hours to get myself and the makings ready to go.

Somebody said, "You don't have to like it. You just have to do it." A beer would help get me started. I haven't had a beer in years and years, but I think about it often.

This morning I wrote one page of a story. And people, that's progress. Four paragraphs.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Moving On

My doorbell rang at 4:30 this morning. I ignored it for a few minutes, and it rang again, so I got up and cooked oatmeal and ate a few bites. The outside lights were on, so the little people must not be scared of lights.

Anyway, I'm going to do something today, if it's just housework. I've sat around and dozed most of this week, but now I'm going to--to--move, at least.