No Mo' Wri' Mo'

If I had done the November novel thing, today I would have a new one. I'm going to do it in January, though.

Atonement is a good novel. When Briony was holding the dead French boy and the head nurse spoke gently to her, I was moved to tears. Finding at the end that this was the book that Briony wrote when she was old, I guess, explained why the first half dwelt in such detail on the English country garden scene. After that, the sudden plunge into the horror of the retreat to Dunkirk was riveting. Strange how every character was captured in a few words and made human from his creation, except Cecilia and Robbie, who both remained shadowy. This, too, I expect, is explained by Briony's knowing them only when she herself was a child.

Lord, What a GAME!

36-0!

I would only just peek at the TV now and then until the second half, when it looked like I couldn't jinx them by watching. Totally gratifying, except for Saban walking around frowning and yelling like he was getting beaten over the head. What's wrong with that guy? Even post-game when he said he was happy, his eyes were rolling like something was gaining on him.

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Well, the turkey leftovers are in the freezer, along with about 3 quarts of the best soup I have ever made in my life. I ate the little potful and froze most of the big potful. I had to sample the big pot to make sure it was as good as the little pot.

Then Pat brought Reed by for Trick-or-Treat!?! and we had a good time talking and eating candy.

I went to CVS today to get cigs and cat food, and came home with lots of Christmas stuff--tissue paper, candy, stocking stuffers for a little boy I know. I was tempted to buy a bunch of those 8"-diameter ball ornaments, but couldn't think what I would do with them except put them in a yard sale someday. Actually, I plan on minimalism, as far as decorations are concerned.

Post-holiday musings

What a wonderful holiday we had yesterday! Sister Pat and niece India joined Jed and me for what Jed said was the best Thanksgiving dinner he could remember. Pat brought a delicious corn casserole that, for me, was the hit of the meal, and my sweet potato pie made by her recipe was OOOK. Jed's free-range turkey was a perfect fit for my oven, and cooked up to a gorgeous golden-brown color--and tasty? Mmm-mmm.

Jed also brought a new flat-screen TV and installed it in place of the one in the living room, which was still, to me, the "new one." (He said it was for himself, so that he doesn't have to look at lines and mysterious black boxes on the old screen; but I'm allowed to look at it, too.)

Today I sold a book (I Wonder As I Wander, Langston Hughes's autobiography), and the mailman brought me a new one (Atonement, by Ian McEwan). I've started reading Atonement, but haven't yet reached the nonboring part.

Jed went back to Atlanta this afternoon, after our sumptuous lunch on yesterday's leftovers.

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Last night I dreamed about Robert Frost. I was at one of his lectures, and was talking with him before the program. I told him I had read all of his works and memorized some of the poems. "And what have you learned?" he asked. I had a feeling he meant what great wisdom had I gathered from his works, but I just recited a couple of his poems. He gave me a well-worn little book of them, about 8 inches high by 4 wide.

Turkey Lurkey in the oven

Like a fool, I waited until morning to put the turkey to bake. So, the oven is full. I feel lak a fool. But I'm not.

Thanksgiving menu, if we're lucky...

...and if I don't have a nervous breakdown while cooking.

Thanksgiving Menu

Roast Turkey
Stuffing
Giblet Gravy
Cranberry Sauce
Potato Salad
Little Teeny Field Peas
Broccoli and/or Green Bean and/or Corn Casserole

Maybe Stuffed Eggs, If There Are Any Left After I Taste Them
Rolls
Iced Tea, Coffee, Wine
Sweet Potato Pie
Caramel Cake (or Cupcakes)
Sugared Walnuts
Fruit
Cheese
Toothpicks
Roll-aids

Y'all come.

Long visit with an old friend

Bonnie O'Neal came to visit early this afternoon, and we talked until it was getting dark. Took a long time to catch up on about 30 years of hardly ever seeing each other. We've promised to get together more often, now that we live close together.

Tomorrow is poetry reading night at the Arts Council, and this time I'm going to remember to go! I've missed the meetings ever since early last summer. That is, I'll go if my car will start. This evening after Bonnie left, I noticed I had a nearly flat tire, and I eased up to the Chevron station, stopped by the air pump and figured out how to put air in the tire. Then when I got back in the car, it wouldn't start, so I had to beg a jump start--or got my favorite clerk to beg one for me from a guy he knew. When I got home, I cleaned the crud off the battery and sprayed the contacts with Pam (which is what the jump-starter said to do), then I started the car again and let it run for a while--with the garage door open; I didn't want that woman who lives in a little box up near the ceiling in my hallway to start yelling, "Carbon monoxide! Carbon monoxide!" My nervous state couldn't have stood it.

"If ever any beauty I did see..."

(Kat's cat--not my cat.)

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About Thanksgiving:

Jed's going to go a-hunting somewhere in the wilds of South Georgia and catch us a turkey for Thanksgiving. I told him if he'd catch it and clean it, I'd cook it (told him to make sure it's not too skinny). I also told him to save the tail feathers to make a feather duster; if the Depression comes (or continues), we'll be glad to have any such free household items.

We'll try to scare up some collards and cornbread, and maybe some hominy and a mincemeat pie, to go with the bird. So everyone who reads this blog is invited to drop by on Thanksgiving day and gnaw some turkey bones.

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Just to add a bit more beauty, this is an interior shot of Wells Cathedral in southwest England. We couldn't take pictures inside it when we were there; I found this online. Wells is a rather small cathedral, but a perfect jewel, the prettiest structure (at least inside) that we saw in England.

(But not quite as pretty as Kat's cat.)

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Finally but foremost, these represent some of my prayers for Vann and Susan:

If it's Tuesday, I must be awake

The face in the picture wouldn't be so scary if it had some hair around it.



Funny, when I look in the mirror, it looks like I've got enough hair.



Must be an illusion, as they say the camera doesn't lie.

Think I'll use one of the hairy ones for publicity purposes. This ought to look "glamorous" on the back cover of a book.

Eat your heart out, Angela Lansbury.

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Anyway, last night I watched an old Hamlet movie starring Laurence Olivier and Jean Simmons. It almost put me to sleep. I know Olivier was a great actor, as everybody says so. But I think he is very forgettable.

Catching Up

I caught up on my sleep today. All day. Four hours at a stretch. From 12:00 last night till 3:00 this afternoon. As soon as I catch up a few other things, I'll be all caught up.

The book club had a great meeting at the library yesterday. Ramey and Susan provided wonderful refreshments and fine hospitality. Peggy U. came, after being ill and missing the last meeting. Mary Anne was out, probably due to her shoulder injury. Nell was there, and she will host the December meeting at her fabulous home, on the 19th of the month. Can't wait to see all her decorations.

I wore my annual new dress to book club, because it's so comfortable and washes like a handkerchief. I've got three or four annual new dresses from former years that I've never put on; plan to wear them all next summer, as they're all pastel colors or light fabrics.

On The Ghost, book by Robert Harris: This man is one of the best modern writers you can find. The Ghost was sort of a political novel, a subject I would usually shun unless it was supposed to be on a par with All the King's Men. But I read it anyway, and found it really fascinating. Only the ending seemed a bit contrived or unlikely.

Also to remember: The Castalia auction is next Tuesday at 11:30 a.m., Nov. 18th, at First Methodist.

Armed Forces/Veterans/Armistice Day

The Man With the Mojo

He can even fly! (Or at least levitate.)

Jed spent the weekend here, and we had a good time talking and shopping, and planning transition of the Administration. He diagnosed and treated some of my computer and camera problems, and ate some of the Halloween candy but forgot to take the rest of it to Atlanta with him.

India and Gretchen came by, but Mo tried to spoil the visit by intimidating Gretchen.

We cooked a great Sunday lunch/dinner of beef croquettes with a delicious sauce, baked potatoes and tossed salad.

Is tagging anything like

stroking the top of my head real hard? When Mom said I'd been tagged by a dog, I asked if it was that dog who was here this afternoon, the one they call Gretchen. The one I practiced my wildcat howl at. No, Mom said, it was another sweet doggie, with curly hair, one named Sophie. Humph. She said this Sophie had some questions I could answer if I feel like it.

1. What breed are you? American Domestic Shorthair. What does it matter? They say all cats are created equal, though I might not totally agree with that.

2. How old are you? My birth was not registered.

3. What is your full name? Maurice Cage.

4. Do you have any nicknames? Mom calls me Mo or Mose, or sometimes "kitty-kitty." I would prefer "Sir," or "Your Honor," but who can argue with his mom?

5. Where do you sleep? On the cleanest item of furniture or linen that I can find. This is usually on top of the big table, or on my mom's pillow. Maybe on the sofa, if it has a freshly washed throw or pillow to snuggle on.

6. What is your favorite thing to do? Wait for Mom to come home from the store, to see if she got it right this time--the right kind of Fancy Feast canned food, that is. Why is such a simple thing so difficult for this woman?

7. What is something unusual or interesting about you? My notched ear. When we first moved to this place, I made the mistake of allowing a dog to get close enough to wound me, and he left a permanent mark.

8. Who is your best friend? Darcy was my best friend. Him I not only tolerated but allowed to get close enough to cuddle, when he wanted to. But Darcy has gone to the West Coast or Rainbow Bridge, one of those far-off places. Mom says I'm her best pal, so that's good enough for me.

9. Did you go to obedience school . . . if so, were you "Top Dog" or did you flunk out? Not applicable. Cats don't obey, they command.

10. Can you do any tricks? I can do anything necessary, like opening doors of the kitchen cabinets; bringing birds and small animals into the house without hurting them, to show Mom; waking Mom up in the morning without scratching her face up too bad; and scaring at least one dog so that she lies down and puts her nose on her paws. At least, that's what she did today.

The Year of Jubilo

Of course, at the polls, the pen flew out of my hand and blackened that little Straight Party egg, as it always had, and I'm glad, I tell you.

Sen. McCain's speech sounded like a great sigh of relief; it was elegant, magnanimous and inspiring. Speeches like that throughout the campaign might have got him elected.

I'm even proud of Gov. Palin. As the musicians used to tell each other, "If you don't know the words, fake it!"

And proud of The Man!

*

A sad note: R.I.P. Michael Crichton.

Black Walnut ice cream to celebrate

(Celebrating because I don't have to do this again for a while.)

The Search for Shakespeare

Hide Fox and All After

In the second scene of Act 4 [of Hamlet], we find Hamlet alone in a room in Elsinore, where he's discovered by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They have been sent to bring him to the King who's just been informed of the death of Polonius. After taunting them with their servility, Hamlet agrees to go with them, and, as they exit together, he mutters "Hide fox and all after." Footnotes tell us what we might have guessed, that this is the name of a children's game, the one we know today as Hide and Go Seek.

Why does Hamlet say this? What does he mean? He isn't saying it to his former schoolmates, nor to the audience. They won't know what he means any more than we do. From this point on Hamlet talks in riddles a great deal of the time.

In Hide and Go Seek the child who is "it" plays the role of a hunted animal, a fox if you will, who is sought by the dogs, the other children. To evade the dogs the fox must be silent and crafty. When one of the hunters tracks him down, the hunter becomes the hunted, becomes the fox, becomes "it." This is only a game, of course, so the role of the fox is more glamorous than just being a dog, thus there is competition to be "it." To be the best dog, the one who finds the fox the quickest, then to be the best fox, the one who can evade the dogs for the longest time--is the motivating force that drives the game. Hamlet is a prince, born to rule. Refusing to see himself as a victim, he finds a way to cast himself as a winner--in his own mind at least--one who can "outfox" the dogs.

Hamlet is no longer a child, but until now he has lived a pampered existence. Blissfully unaware of the murderous animal energies that drive the politics of his father's court, he has, like Prospero, spent his life immersed in books and things of the mind. It has taken his father's murder to awaken him to the realities of power politics. Unwilling to believe the ghost without strong evidence of his uncle's guilt, he sets a trap, a play, to determine the truth. This works, yet it also puts him in serious jeopardy.

Once Claudius knows that he knows, Hamlet, formerly just an irritation, has become a deadly threat. Further, by killing Polonius, Hamlet has given his uncle a legitimate reason to get rid of him. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he needs to get the hell out of his intellectual ivory tower and engage on the level of animal energies with all his wits about him. Knowing how fear can paralyze action, to encourage himself he summons up a game from his childhood, so that he can act freely, with the elan of a child at play. Thus it is to himself that he speaks when he murmurs "Hide fox, and all after."

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark is full of clues about the author, but these have led nowhere since there's nothing to be found in Stratford. There was no prince in Stratford, living in an ivory tower. This author felt safe in childhood, and what does he do as an adult? How does he deal with the cruel realities of life? He plays. He plays the lute, and he writes plays, in which, as in children's games, the victims rise when the curtain falls and the show is over to play again the following day in a world of make believe. This author was a man who felt powerless in the real world, but who found his strength and power in the world of the theater, the world of play.

The fox is safe as long as he remains hidden. There is nowhere Hamlet can hide his physical self from the King and his henchmen. But what he can hide are his intentions. From now on, Hamlet, who is of an open disposition by nature and inclined to reveal his feelings, hides them behind a mask of foolery.

Like Hamlet, his author too hides himself behind a mask--the one we call "Shakespeare."

By Stephanie Hopkins Hughes, The Shakespeare Oxford Newsletter, V. 43:#1, Winter 2007, pp 1,3.

Sailing Alone Around the Room

That's the title of a collection of poems by Stanley Kunitz. I think it's one of the neatest titles, or lines, I've ever seen. It beats "There is no frigate like a book" all hollow.

One day last week, I received my copies of the ASPS Sampler. They printed my poem about the apple tree. I had completely forgot about the fall meeting; it was October 25 (Saturday) in Trussville. I guess it's just as well I didn't go; I had entered only one poem, and have not received a notice or prize, so apparently it didn't win even an honorable mention. I can't understand what's wrong with that poem; it won second prize in a national contest (NFSPS), but Alabama won't give it the time of day. Oh, well.

This morning I've been working on my office, trying to get it cleaned out and reorganized. At least I've got rid of all the papers, magazines, books, coffee mugs, old sandwiches and chicken bones, etc. (just kidding) that were piled on the round table. Now I'm looking at turning it on the side to get it out the door, and finding that I'll have to take the legs off anyway before rolling it into the kitchen. So what will I pile papers on when that's out of here? I'll think of something.

The Tumult and the Shouting Die...

...but the toys and the candy remain. You could count all my trick-or-treaters on one finger. She was a beautiful little fairy princess, about Reed's age.

I kept looking for Reed, but they didn't bring him.