The D.T.s in September

A long time ago, I wrote a vignette (fiction) every day for a month, limit 1,000 words each. I called them the Daily Themes, D.T.s for short. To get myself back into the writing mode, I'm going to do this starting Sept. 1, only this time they're supposedly going to be short-short stories, limit 2,000 words each. They're supposed to have a beginning, a middle, and a surprise or at least unexpected end. I have lots of scraps of stories tucked away in drawers and on the computer, and I may use some of them.

Tomorrow (August 30) will be my one-year anniversary of selling books on Amazon. I've sold more than 200; haven't tallied up yet what profit I've made, if any.

This is probably my best quilt, although it isn't my favorite. I made it in 1983, every stitch by hand, and it has more than 6,000 pieces. The pattern is Broken Sash. It has other names, too, but I don't remember what they are.

The Things People Say...

I've noticed that people use/mangle cliches or old sayings lots of times without having the least idea what they mean. That becomes especially noticeable online, where they have to write what they're saying. Here are some Malaprops I've noted on the Amazon soapbox:

"...the sorted details."
"...waiting on pens and needles."
"...dividing the wheat from the shaft."
"...beyond the pail."
"Taxation is running rapid..."
"...not too gun ho on either side."
"wreck havoc"

I know it sounds a bit snide, but at least I posted it here instead of on the Soapbox.

Here's another unquilted quilt top:

Man, what a dream that was!

On the Amazon soapbox yesterday, someone was telling about rescuing a mastiff that was near death from starvation, and that gained 20 pounds in 2 weeks. That reminded me of the lady on "The Dog Whisperer" who rescued and trained mastiffs. Then last night I started re-reading The House of the Spirits, and got a little past the part where Clara raised Uncle Marcos's puppy Barrabas, who grew to the size of a colt.

Then I dreamed I had this huge dog who I was afraid would keep on growing. Really, he was just a German shepherd, but he was mostly black and looked fierce. Laziest dog that ever was born, and never made a sound, and I wondered if he was really a GS, and if he could really bark. Then one evening I looked out the screen door and a big half-grown pig was standing on the porch. I threw the door open and hollered, "Get away from here, pig!" And mixed with the pig, a whole bundle of cats and kittens exploded in a corner of the porch and tumbled down the steps, from where they had been sleeping on top of the (sleeping) dog. The dog jumped to his feet and shook himself awake, looked around as if to say, "Did somebody call me?"

I said, "And you said you were going to be my watchdog, if I would let you stay!"

In the last few days I haven't been doing anything creative except thinking. x2 + 7x + 23 = 11/3, and such. Oh--about The Road, by Cormac McCarthy, I really did like that book, especially the ending. And another one that I read lately was Mr. Timothy; I loved Colin, the Dickensian kid who was sort of a nasty little Baker Street Irregular.

Bel canto

As a music genre, opera really doesn't appeal to me all that much. I love La Boheme, L'Elisir d'amore, Madame Butterfly, Rigoletto, and Die Fledermaus, in their entirety; but most operas would put me to sleep within the first five minutes. However, there are songs from operas that have haunted, or at least accompanied, my adult life. There's a quintet, I think, from Lucia di Lammermoor with music so wonderful it ought to be in the Hymnal with a poem of praise set to it.

The opening three bars of Musetta's waltz in La Boheme is one of the loneliest, most desolate musical phrases I have ever heard. Gilda's last aria in Rigoletto is too beautiful to describe (knowing the story but not understanding the words helps a lot to appreciate the music). La Gioconda has one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard, but I don't remember the title. And of course everyone listens when Pavarotti sings "Nessun dorma."

One reason I love La Boheme so much is that we performed it and filmed it (remember Kinescope?) in English, at the Univ. of Ala. my freshman year, and broadcast it live on PBS. We were the first PBS station to broadcast television. Of course, I didn't sing, but I was learning to use the TV cameras, and during rehearsals I was technical director (on the control board!), and while filming I was floor manager part of the time (the one who lowered [and raised] the boom), and my name was on the crawl in the TV credits. The guy who sang Marcello had the best male voice in the production (Rodolfo was kind of whiney), and his face was so completely p0ck-marked it looked like a map of the moon, but on film he was very handsome. Good makeup covers a multitude of flaws. Pat Huddleston (who was 1955 Miss Alabama) sang Mimi.

I must say, as far as recommendation goes, if you've never heard Daughter of the Regiment or seen L'Elisir d'amore, there's a part of your life that's like a big empty balloon.

Favorite Songs From Movies

Chu-chi Face (from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang)

~

You're my little chu-chi face

My coo-chi, coo-chi, woo-chi little chu-chi face

Every time I look at you I sigh

And you're my little teddy bear

My lovey lovey dovey little teddy bear

You're the apfel strudel of mine eye

Your chu-chi woo-chi nose

Your chu-chi woo-chi eyes

They set my heart a-flutter

Your coo-chi coo-chi ways

Your coo-chi coo-chi gaze

Wilt me down like melting butter

You're my little chu-chi face

And you're my teddy bear

Together we're a chu-chi woo-chi, oo-chi coo-chi pair

~

Whatever you may ask becomes my happy task

I only live to serve you

I never will divine what magic made you mine

I only know I don't deserve you

You're my little chu-chi face

And you're my teddy bear

Together we're a chu-chi woo-chi, oo-chi coo-chi

Chu-chi, woo-chi, oo-chi, coo-chi

Chu-chi

Woo-chi

Oo-chi

Coo-chi pair

A Severe Mercy

I've been trying for an hour to write something about this book, but it's too difficult. And now I'm hungry.

But the book includes excerpts from 18 of C.S. Lewis's letters to the author during and after the time when both their wives were dying. Joy lasted longer than Vanauken's wife Davy. That's all I want to write about it, except it's a good book.

It Aint Gonna Rain No Mo'?

Yesterday it rained 57 drops on the deck. Or was that Thursday?

This is the next quilt top I intend to make into a finished quilt, when I finish the one I'm working on now. I need to work faster, not smarter.

Just finished reading My Sister's Keeper, by Jodi Picoult, which is our book club selection for September. The book has a section in the back addressing different points in the story, which was helpful in deciding what to think about it, if you don't readily know what to think about it. I think the author could have spent a lot more time rewriting and cutting, instead of going over the same points so many times. Overall, it was a good story. My favorite characters were Anna and her pyromaniac brother Jesse. I thought the ending, although something of a cop-out, was appropriate, as it chopped the Gordian knot the characters had managed to tie themselves into.

Praise...

Morning has broken, like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for the springing fresh from the Word.


Cat Stevens, Freddie Fender, Otis Redding...
where have all the voices gone, I wonder.
Listen: the wind sounds like the voices softly
singing; hear the music in the thunder...

Y

Added Sat., Aug. 18: Re: Voices - Elvis and Maria Callas are the only two singers I've heard of who could allegedly sing 3 octaves. I read this a long time ago about Elvis. And I've seen different stories about Callas: some say she was one note short of 3 octaves, and others say she hit a high E in an unrecorded performance. Wouldn't E.P. have made a great operatic baritone or tenor?

Nice Matters

My sister Susan at Blackberry Creek Winter nominated me and Sourwood Mountain to receive this "Nice Matters" award. The originator of the award, Penny at Lavender Hill Studios (her blog), wrote: "This award will be given to those that are just nice people, good blog friends and those that inspire good feelings and inspiration! Those that care about others that are there to lend support or those that are just a positive influence in our blogging world!"

What an honor! I thank Penny for creating the award, and send my heartfelt thanks to Susan for nominating me.

Slaving over a hot computer...

I've really worked hard in the past few days, listing nearly a hundred more books for sale. I'm finally getting a grip on this book thing: separated out the books to keep, books for sale, and books for the huge big grand yard sale I'm going to throw as soon as the weather cools down enough that I can stay outside most of the day. I've got most of them back on the shelves, freeing up the big plastic bins for storing stuff in the basement. I also sold three books this weekend, and have to go mail them this afternoon.

Another doll from the collection. On the right is Holly, a Gene (Mel Odom) doll; I made the dress and cape, Jenny made the purse.

Oh, I nearly forgot--Thursday and Friday last week, I wrote the Bookmark newsletter as guest editor, and mailed it. Arf, arf!

Those were the days...

One Turner movie channel is showing Peter O'Toole films tonight. I just turned on the TV for the first time in 3 days, and Becket is on channel 37. They can't make movies like they used to, for the simple reason that there are no eyes like Richard Burton or voices like Peter O'Toole (or vice-versa) any more. If Thomas Becket and Henry II were not like Burton and O'Toole, it was their misfortune.

To hear that magic voice from that angelic face snapping at some underling, "Shut-tup!" is worth the price of a ticket or a VHS or a DVD.

Edit: Oh, today's his birthday! That's why they're showing his old films. He's 75, as far as anyone can tell. He looks 175. Dried up old mummy! Or mangey old lion. He's in something called "Stardust" that's supposed to be released this month. Hmph. Even though it seems there's more fuss being made over him now than when he was young (nominated 8 times for Oscars and never got one), it must be sad to have been what he was, and then turn into a relic. Sometimes I think the lucky ones were those who never grew old and repulsive.

Well, in the movie Becket, of course, Richard Burton died exquisitely. He received 7 Oscar nominations and never won one. He was actually born in November of 1925 and died in 1983 of a brain hemorrhage.