Julius Caesar - 1953 movie

I had my to-do list all ready about 10:00, got up to start a load of laundry, and noticed on TV guide channel that Julius Caesar was on the Turner channel. I flipped it on, and for the next hour and a half I stood transfixed in front of the TV. I thought I had seen this movie before, but I must have been mistaken.

Since then I've spent nearly an hour fighting the pop-ups on my computer, which are determined to sell me a spyware system. Also sold another book, which makes three I've got to go pack and mail.

Julius Caesar is Brutus's play, although in this movie, Brando's brief appearances as Mark Antony may seem to be the highlights. James Mason excels as Brutus, John Gielgud is Cassius and Louis Calhern a rather moth-eaten Caesar.

Brutus's excuse or self-justification for killing Caesar was fear that Caesar would become emperor, thus ending the Roman republic. It was sort of like, "If you had known in the 1930s what Hitler would do, and if you had the chance, would you kill him?" But by killing Caesar, the conspirators ensured what they most feared: Octavian and Antony took over, and when Octavian had got rid of Antony, he made himself emperor (Augustus Caesar), and goodbye Republic.

Added at 5:45 p.m.: They ended the movie with Antony's speech, "This was the noblest Roman of them all" and left off his final comment: "let's away, /And part the glories [divide the spoils] of this happy day." Otherwise, as far as I could tell without the book, it was true to Shakespeare's play. So, the best writer of all wrote the original screenplay for one of the best movies of all.

For supper...

I made three large blueberry pancakes. They were so good, I ate them all without syrup or jam or anything but butter. I used a cup of flour, about 1/4 cup of corn meal, a pinch of salt, a large egg and enough milk to make a not-too-thin batter. I think the meal helps to keep some air in them so they're not doughy in the middle. But whatever it does, it makes them better. I threw in the frozen blueberries and stirred it lightly, just before pouring the first pancake.

P.S. I also have a special pancake-size skillet, I think it's 7 inch diam. This keeps them from being too thin at the edges.

Sigh. This recipe may be a cure for insomnia. I'm so sleepy I could sleep standing up.

The rain it raineth a whole lot

Water has also come up through the concrete in spots in the basement. I know that's what's going on, because there's just a spot or two at the front edges, these puddles in the floor here and there, and the rest of the concrete is dry. Oh well, it'll stop and "dreen" off sooner or later.

Poem for Sunday

Flower of the Prickly Pear

At our unceasing plea,
beauty consents
to tarry for a day
within these battlements
of thorns, thus to withstand
the wilting touch
of hot breath and hungry hands
that love too much.

(By JRC, July 2, 1998)

***

Books read in August 1998:

A Man Called Peter, by Catherine Marshall (Biog. of Rev. Peter Marshall)

Don't Look Now, by Daphne DuMaurier (Spooky stories)

Acceptable Losses, by Irwin Shaw (Poor, compared to The Young Lions)

Whatever is...

...is probably best left alone and not thought about too much. While I was so happy to see the rain this morning, how was it affecting someone else? When I drove to the P.O. and the pharmacy, I had to be extra-extra careful, because all the I-20 traffic was evidently being routed through Leeds. The big-truck drivers were being polite, as usual, and letting the town traffic go, turn, etc., ahead of them, or I would still be stuck in it somewhere. So I figured there must have been a bad wreck on the interstate, maybe caused or assisted by the rain.

My first project in the art room was dragging an old cabinet out of my bedroom (which about a year ago had been dragged up from the basement), cleaning and repairing it, and starting to paint it. I painted the top, and it's sort of a mess, but at least I got that far.

And I heard that Joe Biden will be the Demo VP nominee, so I feel just a fraction better about that situation. Just a fraction. I had half-assumed that they would pick another "cute" unknown.

Added at 4:20 p.m.:
A Prize, sort of!

Amazon.com has an illustrated list of "The Top 1000 Customer Provided Images in Books." I didn't know it existed until someone mentioned it on the Amazon Soapbox forum. I had never paid much attention to voting for best images, except to check to see if my photo of Henry James On Italy got any votes--which it hadn't, last time I checked.


Anyway, one of my photos is #100 on AZ's list! It's a picture of a cookbook whose cover almost makes you want to eat it. That is, if you like lasagna. I sold this book several months ago.

Just another ordinary Friday

Been working on the painting room. Yesterday I made the mistake of stopping by the antique store (behind the Regions bank) to look at tables, and sadly found the table of every (shabby-chic) antique-lover's dreams. $1,700.00. So I came home and transferred the kitchen table to the art room and patted myself on the back for saving seventeen hundred dollars. Now I've got to move the office table to the kitchen, which involves taking the legs off and rolling the top the length of the house. The old window standing on the table will eventually go on the wall. I'm waiting for that to happen, meanwhile hunting another 50-lb. picture hanger.

Yesterday I started reading Sarum by Edw. Rutherfurd. It must be 20 years since I first read it. Maybe I'll finish it by Christmas.

Atrophy or dry rot?

I don't know what's wrong with my brain. I've been trying for a week to watch a DVD starring my son the Engineer, and all I get is "No Disc." I've only got 3 remotes, and I think they're all programmed to fight each other. Think I'll go drink a glass of wine. Or take a nap. Or walk around under the trees. Or tear something up.

Reading in July 1998:

Lorna Doone, by R.D. Blackmore (Very good. ... Best in July.)
The Children Sing, by McKinlay Kantor (...very reminiscent of our Globus tour in England. ...the ending was delightful... I almost want to read it again.)
Word for Word (Column) by Andrew W. Rooney (Supposed to be humorous)
A White House Diary, by Lady Bird Johnson (Good biography, or memoir)
Dances With Wolves, by Michael Blake (Very good)

Then, Now, and Always, The King

I talked with our cousin, Betty Taylor Thompson, yesterday. She had been back only a few days from a trip with her daughter Cindy to see her grandson, Cindy's son, "graduate" from boot camp. Betty said she was the only person there, as far as she could see, who dressed in red, white and blue and carried an American flag. She said that most of the boys in Travis's group were awaiting deployment and didn't yet know where they were going. But Travis has received his orders to ship out to Afghanistan in November.

She is extremely fearful for him, and said she has a feeling that he won't come back. I didn't tell her about Jed's friend's son who was killed in Afghanistan recently.

Tonight I watched a few minutes of Fox News's interview with John McCain. He had a lot of moving stories to tell. I agreed with most of his stated positions on issues that were posed, so I turned it off before I lost that "loving" feeling.

Books read in June, 1998:

So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish, by ?? (Funny, at least the first few pages.)
The Sword in the Stone, by T.H. White (Best in June)

Urge To Paint

In the grip of the foul mood, I asked myself, "Self," I said, "what would you really LIKE to do, as differentiated from all the things you need to do?"

Myself said, "Heck, what's to like?" Then, "Wait a minute. I wanna paint something. All them clippings I have of things I want to paint someday when I get some new paint, and a place to keep all my art stuff together. Yeah, that's it: I wanna paint something."

So I sighed and said, "OK, just gimme a few days--I mean, give me a day or two, and I'll set up the place for you. I'll even go buy you some new paint. You've already got more brushes than the Fuller salesman."

"And medium!" said myself. "Don't forget medium. Can't go stinkin' up the place with turpentine, though I love the stuff myself."

So I moved the dining table and chairs and the rug into the living room, and removed 3 dozen objects (really) from the two country French bookcases. (I observed that the bookcases need to be painted, in hopes that the paint will hold together all the pieces that are falling off.) Went to the basement and brought up my easel and a floor lamp and cleaned them. Raised the chandelier with a 50-pound picture hanger. Need something flat and solid to set the easel on so won't ruin the carpet. Mentally located all my brushes before starting to look for them.

Next time Jed is here, remind me to ask him to help me move the big white bookcase from the back basement room, clean it up and put it next to the workbench. That's where I'll put all the china, glass, metal and ceramic objects that have become obstacles.

I want the painting room to look nice, but as bare as possible. It does need some kind of table, though, for drawing and such.

That picture of Walt Whitman in the hat, painted in gray tones and then glazed with some very thin sienna.

*

Added 3:15 p.m. - Books read in May, 1998:

Birthday Letters, by Ted Hughes (poems/attempted catharsis regarding his wife Sylvia Plath's suicide. Terrible to read.)
The Dancing Floor, by Barbara Michaels (Good)
The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton, by Jane Smiley. (Good pre-civil war novel--Kansas Troubles, Missouri Compromise - Best in May)
Linda Goodman's Relationship Signs
The Ragman's Son: An Autobiography, by Kirk Douglas (Just like Koik)
The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath (Better than Ted's. But then she didn't have to carry the horror and guilt of her spouse's suicide.)
The Wizard in the Tree, by Lloyd Alexander (A Dr. Who-type wizard. Good)
The First Two Lives of Lukas-Kasha, by Lloyd Alexander (Good)
Collected Short Stories of Stephen Vincent Benet (All the good old stories of which one had forgotten the author)
The High King, by Lloyd Alexander (Last of the Taran Wanderer books; not the best)

More 1998 reading and comments

April 1998:
Winter Kills, by Richard Condon (Not as good as his other books.)
The Captain's Verses, by Pablo Neruda (They sound better in Spanish.)
Writings from the New Yorker 1927-1976, (Column) by E.B. White (Best in April)
Mrs. DeWinter, by Susan Hill ("Sequel" to Rebecca. Deflating.)
London, by Ken Rutherford (fiction; long and tedious)

*

I'm in a more or less foul mood. It's almost like being in love.

I sold three books yesterday, after more than a week of no sales at all. Amazon dances to its own piper.

Books read in March 1998:

The Abandoned Woman, by Richard Condon. Historical fiction, about England's George IV and Queen Caroline. (Best in March)

Gulf Coast Stories, short stories by Erskine Caldwell (OK)

Lost Laysen. Newly discovered stuff about Margaret Mitchell's youth, and a novella she wrote at age 14; an incident and 2 characters in it foreshadow Ashley Wilkes (or Rhett Butler) and Tony Fontaine. (Amazing)

The Devil in Music, by Kate Ross. (Good)

*

With the temperatures 'way down in the 80s, I think it's about time for another yard sale. Of course, there are a few treasures (among these treasures) that I wouldn't sell, and some that I don't have any more.

Sunday movie

A week or so ago, I received "The Dollmaker" video I had ordered, and I watched it today. I guess I had never seen it before, because I thought the ending was different. The video was true to the book, except the ending was a little more upbeat. That is, it promised to be better, because Gertie's dad had died and left her the home place, but it wasn't certain that her old mama wouldn't sell it before what was left of the family could get home.

Jane Fonda is, or was, an excellent actress.

Books I read in February 1998, with comments:

The House Between the Worlds, by Marion Zimmer Bradley (somewhat feeble)
Gad's Hall, by Norah Lofts (Blah)
The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton (OK--Dullish)
Witch, by Barbara Michaels (Haunted house--Good)
The Old Priory, by Norah Lofts (Tedious) {What did I expect, reading such stuff?}
Master-Class, by Morris West (Very Good)
Stitches in Time, by Barbara Michaels (About a haunted quilt. About as silly as it sounds.)
Eminent Victorians, by Lytton Strachey (Worth Reading Again - Best of Feb.)
The Ebony Swan, by Phyllis A. Whitney (Pretty good ghost/murder mystery)
Airframe, by Michael Crichton (Very Good)
The Fountain Overflows, by Rebecca West (Good)

Ten Years Ago, A.D.

Books I read in January 1998, and comments:

Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett (Good)
The Fallen Man, by Tony Hillerman (OK)
Sphere, by Michael Crichton (Feeble)
All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy (Best of the Month)
Piece of Cake, by Derek Robinson (Good)
Les fleurs du mal, by Charles Baudelaire (OK)
Enigma, by Robert Harris (Very Good)
Out of Sight, by Elmore Leonard (Very Good)
Undaunted Courage, by Stephen E. Ambrose (Painful)
In the Loyal Mountains, (short stories) by Rick Bass (Good)
The Deep End of the Ocean, by Jacquelyn Mitchard (A Good Tear-jerker)

I'm surprised I didn't rate Pillars of the Earth higher when I first read it. I've read it probably twice since then. Undaunted Courage is the story of Lewis and Clark's journey; it tells graphically about Merriwether Lewis's shooting himself then wandering around trying to get help, and that part was almost unbearable. Those Lewises had a crazy streak.

*

I really enjoyed the book club meeting yesterday. Hope everyone else did. Seven members attended, which is a good-sized meeting, no one had to leave early, and Betty won the modest door prize. We had a good time.

Busy, busy!

I'm taking a break, trying to cool off before I shower and dress. Everything is more or less ready for the book club meeting, except we don't have anything to snack on. Funny, the things one forgets. Oh, well, I guess we'll just have to drink all the wine--we do have wine--and then we'll forget that we didn't have anything to eat. Sitting down, I can think of 101 things I need to do in the next 2 hours, but what the heck.

Jed had a meeting in Hoover Wednesday morning, then he came by here and spent the night. We ate dinner and went to Lowe's to shop, and spent the evening untangling international affairs. I think we've given up on the political situation regarding the election, or at least have given up talking about it; what's to say?

Pat and I went to the thrift store one afternoon this week, and I got a pair of beautiful picture frames, and I think that's all.

"Wait a minute--It's stopped hailing!"

Susan tagged me and Andy to post five songs we're embarrassed to admit that we like. I've put mine in a list (in the left column). Susan's own list is great; my favorite is "Goodbye, Earl." My first song in the list, "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," isn't embarrassing except that it's a kid's song, but I couldn't leave it out, as I like it so well.

The embarrassing part about "Hello, Darlin'" is that I get tears behind my nose when he says, "Goodbye, darlin'." The others--well, just listen to them. If someone asked you, "Do you really like that song?" would you say, "Uh, HUH!" Or would you just slink away?

Nose, get back to the grindstone (shoveling out the house for the meeting on Friday).

"Use it up, Wear it out, Make it do, Or..."

...take it to the thrift store. Which is what I'm going to do with a large proportion of my clothing, which I've been saving, over the past decade or so, until I regain my girlish figure. This action will leave me with four pairs of jeans, maybe a dozen T shirts, and several dresses and winter garments that I bought when I thought I was rich, but have never worn. So there.

The Spy, by James Fenimore Cooper, is a book that you really ought to read, whoever you are. It's the first book in a long time that has made me cry out loud. But don't worry; the part that makes you weep comes very late, like the last page or so.

Last Thursday, Mrs. Barbara asked me to substitute for her as hostess for the August 8th book club meeting, which I agreed to do. I'm really looking forward to it. Yesterday, I finished reading the book she had chosen, very good short stories by an Alabamian.

Sometimes I wish I could get back all the books I have sold, and all those that I have lost or read to pieces over my lifetime, and just make a big pile of them and sit down in the middle of it. Emily Dickinson said, "There is no frigate like a book/ to take us lands away." I could tell her, there is no community or congregation like a great multitude of books to enable us to endure and deal with life on this indescribable planet, and hope to leave it with a few human faculties intact.

[Shakespeare reference on Jed's Comment]