Packed Away Till Christmas '11

It took 4 bins--2 flat under-the-bed jobs and 2 of the big blue ones--one of which was full of old books that I had read and handled all to pieces, including my first copy of  Gone With the Wind. It's doubtful anyone would ever want them, so I trashed 'em.

If the Lord lets me see another Christmas, I plan to have about a 12-foot tree with every garland, light and ornament I own, some of which are, I'm sure, hiding in nooks and corners of the house and basement.
*
7:55 p.m.: A while ago, I watched Hal Lindsay's program for a few minutes. I get too emotional about Israel and Palestine, so I don't watch such shows very often. But I'm going to say this once: Think what you will about him, Lindsay knows and tells the history and situations in the Middle East the way they really are and have been. I read Chaim Potok's history many years ago, besides a lot of other stuff, and I know about the history. I've read what the Bible says about it, and what the Arabs say about it. And pretty soon, Jesus is going to come and straighten the whole thing out, probably to the surprise of a lot of Jew-haters.

It's Only Pain

My sinuses are making themselves felt today, with pain in the upper right quadrant of my nose, my right eye and across my forehead. I may take an Advil and go back to bed. Had it made up to go to Bham today, but I'll probably put it off until tomorrow or Monday. I want to finish reading Colonel Roosevelt, but that too can wait.

Otherwise I feel OK, so maybe I'll undecorate the house this afternoon. I think it'll take about 3 bins to hold all this stuff.

Technology and Other Blessings

One day maybe we'll be able to project our mental images onto a wall or a screen, and record them photographically. This morning, one of the times I woke up, I was mentally walking the road from the top of the Mountain down to the Old Farm, seeing every detail on an early fall day. The iron-red sand-and-clay stretch from the Top to the rocks below the quarry, and the gently sloping rocky place with the huge slanting flat rock in the middle, and the rubble of rocks below. Then you came to a level light brown sandy part, the sand scattered with hickory nut shells, that ran to the top of the first big curve. The road and bank at the top of the curve was studded with gravel, and below it the sand was lighter beige and likely to be muddy, because a run-off stream ran down from the hill below the quarry and across the road, and down the steep banks on the left-hand side. There was a persimmon tree in this curve, and on the lower bank I remember picking a paw-paw and tasting it.

Up from the muddy place and at the top of the next curve, there was a huge hickory tree on the left-hand side, growing almost in the road. Below the tree, the road overlooked a field and then the plum orchard and the log barn. To the right, up the mountain, was Mr. Lowery's log cabin and a trail leading up to it. From here to Maw Maw's house, the sand in the road was powdery and almost white. At the end of Maw Maw's place, the road dropped down to red clay all the way across in front of the storm pit, the road to the spring, and our house.

What will Heaven be like? I'm almost sure that part of it, for me, will be a walk down from the top of the Mountain.
*
Christmas and Birthday (or the Feast of Stephen) and my actual birthday Monday were so full of gatherings, feasting and adventure, that I can't even remember all of it. I gained two pounds and lots of lovely presents from my folks. I drove the Tracker to Trussville and back, shaking in my boots (literally) because I hadn't driven on the interstates for nearly a year. If I hadn't had Jed co-piloting and then leading the way back in his silver rental Ford, I might not be here today. He left the Tracker here for me, and we're going to donate the Lincoln or pay somebody to take it away. It's only 18 years old and has only been driven 48,000 miles. I may decide to buy a new set of tires and a major "tune-up," and keep it myself. Funny I didn't think of that during our discussions.

I've got to go this week and renew my driver's license, register the Tracker, and see if Birmingham is still there.

Christmas Eve and All's Well

Yesterday Jed came over, we went "out"--ate too much for lunch, then went to see "True Grit," which was a true riot. Old Jeff Bridges outdid himself as a super-drunk Rooster Cogburn, and the other actors also accentuated the comical. "Mr. LaBeef" looked reverently westward when announcing that he was a Texas Ranger. The movie was accented throughout by someone behind us who had a markedly melodious laugh.

For a long time, the original "True Grit" was one of my favorite movies. The thing is, I don't remember its being something to laugh at. There were moments poignantly gratifying in a humorous way, but you didn't necessarily laugh out loud: As when Tom Cheney said, "Now I've been shot by a child." And when Rooster said, "By God, she reminds me of me." And when he took the reins in his teeth and a gun in each hand, and rode towards the 4 gunmen, muttering, "Fill your hands, you--" John Wayne's Rooster was someone a girl could trust, with a lot fewer drunken antics. Anyway, TGII was a very good movie in its way.

Yesterday evening, Jed took my list of last-minute items and went to the store, and brought back Chic-Fil-A sandwiches and stuff.

I'm going to start cooking at noon and probably won't stop until sometime tomorrow afternoon. I'm looking for everyone to start arriving about one o'clock, and we'll probably devour the turkey, thawed or not, around two.

Fate? Or Karma?

Some too-perspicacious poet said, "We cannot choose what we are free to love." I can put my foot down and make an immovable resolution never to have another pet after Mo, but it looks like there'll always be creatures waiting (or clawing) for food, warmth and love. Gretchen Dog purely begs to stay, every time someone from Hawk Hill comes to get her. And usually, when it's raining, sleeting or snowing, I can look out and see that tuxedo cat shivering and mewing on the back porch. He looks like Lamont Cranston walking into a night club, in the best "Shadow" movie ever made.

(I'll bet A.B.'s ugly brothers hated him when he was young and gorgeous. Wonder if they ever thought about "a pit in Dothan.")

Yesterday when I was out gathering greenery at the back of the lot, the enormous black Rottweiler or pit bull or whatever he is inside my back neighbor's fence barked at me fiercely. In my sweetest voice I said, "Yes, you're a beautiful big black monster, aren't you, you sorry SOB?" and kept up such endearments until he was beside himself with fury.

Almost Prepared

The old turk is in the refrigerator, thawing, I hope, and the CB sauce is cooling. I only have to go shopping once more and then cook all this stuff. Actually, a lot of it is in cans so won't require much oven time. I believe in time-savers.

Deck the Halls, etc.

I put some vintage cards in the old window.

This is my ancient Father Christmas. He's rickety, but he'll still stand up.

And the little tree with a star on top.

*

Today I'm working on the dining room, and of course the living room and kitchen are so full of stuff that you can't walk through them without a map. Next I've got to wash the windows. I don't do windows, but I gotta.

This is such a beautiful day. I go outside on every excuse. Don't even mind taking out the trash. The voluminous trash. Lots of stuff I didn't think was trash, but am trashing it anyway. I need to rent one of Veolia's dumpsters.

The Ice Man Cameth

Freezing rain and ice all over the place. I dasn't go out the back door. All my trips outside are made through the basement/garage.

I haven't yet made a lot of progress in getting the house spiffed up for Christmas, but I've got it all planned, including dinner. I'm good at planning, and that's the main part, isn't it?

The Sunday Flurries

"It's snowing! It's snowing! The old man is--"

I can only think of one rhyme, and it's inappropriate.

In a little while, I have to go out in it to get cat food and stuff. Something told me to go yesterday, but I said, "Something, don't bother me, I'm busy."

The black cat is on the deck, his fur all bushed out, looking like a black and white teddy bear with little specks of snow on him. When I gave him some Meow Mix, I told him he could go into the basement if he had sense enough to find the little door, but I expect he'll just go back to where he hangs out most of the time. I think he must have found a home, because he looks all healthy, clean and fat, and he doesn't get enough here to effect such a change. I just see him 2-3 times a week. Yesterday his visit coincided with Gretchen's, and he ran away. Gretchen would have run away, but the cat left first.
*
At Friday's book club meeting, Ramey read aloud to us, the "Cajun Night Before Christmas." I passed around a grab-bag full of the angel ornaments and only had one left over, besides the one on top of my little tree.

Just so I'll remember:
Blue at top left: Leftover
I gave the Yellow one to Betty Jo.
The Ivory one is on top of my tree.
Hope C. drew the auburn-haired Green one.
Susan drew the Pink one.
Betty W. drew the Red one.
Ramey drew the Rose one.
Nell drew the little Pink one.
I gave Ramey the blonde-haired Green one.
Mary U. drew the Bisque one.
I gave Susan the Lavender one.
Mable drew the Blue one.

I guess Mary and Mable got the ones I thought were prettiest. Susan, appropriately, got the pink one, she's so fond of pink. Several days ago, I had let Ramey pick out the one she wanted, the green one with the fancy hairdo.

Crouches on Couches

In that photo (below) of Jed's quilt, you can see the front of his new leather couch.

Pretty soon, I'm going to be able to replace the one above which that scoundrel Mo has clawed all to pieces.

Right now I've got to get ready to go to book club meeting.

Rainbows on the Floor

The front door has lots of prisms. Because of the direction it faces, the streaks of rainbow colors only hit the floor and lower walls.

When Jed and Jack were boys, their great-aunt Carrie Blevins (Grandmother Cage's sister) made each of them a quilt. The one shown below is Jed's; he sent me the photo a day or so ago. I had forgot how pretty it is.

It took Jonathan two and a half days of hard work--not to mention his dad's mower--to get the leaves off this huge lot. So I paid him double what I usually paid Joe for a day's work, and still felt like it wasn't enough. But he was quite pleased. He and his fiancee have both joined the Air Force and are being sent to the same training camp in February.

I've put my tiny Christmas tree on the hearth in front of a mirror screen, to make it seem bigger, and a wreath in the hall. I've invited all my family members for Christmas dinner, and I'm thinking about cleaning and decorating, so I may change things around before the big day.

Niecy's Creed

"The hand that's open to give, is also open to receive."

A great big TV set has been sitting on a night stand in my guest room closet for I-don't-know-how-many years. This morning when the E.C. truck came by, I got the guys to come in there and tote both items out to the truck. And guess what--not only do I have an extra closet now, I found two more Mary Ramey quilts that had fallen down behind the TV.

I'm sorry about the quality of the pictures. My Adobe (if it's still Adobe) system has changed, and at present I can't do all the stuff I could do with pictures before. Maybe I'll get better at it.

I haven't forgot about the quilt picking that I promised to the family some time ago. But it'll take me a long time to wash and do up all these quilts, and decide which ones I can't part with. So y'all keep reminding me.

Maybe I Amount To Something At Last!

At least I got my picture on the front page of the Leeds News, with a slightly garbled account of my prizes in the ASPS fall poetry awards. For example, I didn't claim to be a graduate of the University of Alabama, but I guess it's OK if people think so.

I've worked on the book today until I'm blue-eyed. And red-eyed. And now I've got to get my donation bag ready for the Exchange Club home's truck that will come by tomorrow. Maybe I can clear out some of stuff piled in the corners of my bedroom so I can get that room straightened up. Dave has been calling me wanting to clean the carpets, which hasn't been done since early last spring.

I think my files and research for the book may turn out to be more interesting than the story itself. I've found a lot of information online about the history of Oak Ridge, Tennessee from 1939 to after the war. And of course the book will only have scant mentions of the place because Betty Lou worked there. One story I found online said that, when it was announced nationally that the A-bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima, one employee at Oak Ridge Laboratory ran up and down the halls yelling, "Uranium! Uranium!" because now they were allowed to say the word.

Excuses

No, I didn't finish the book in November. But I enjoyed or coped with a class reunion, a missed book club meeting, a smashed garage door, another holiday, a new computer and scanner, and a fire in my yard. Thank you, Lord. And thank you, J.D. Cage.

Flames and Old Codgers

Excitement On the Street

Yesterday, Travis across the street came over. He said Joe C. called him and told him to rake Mrs. Cage's leaves, so he was going to let his boy attack them with the big mower. I thought, "That little boy?" I'd forgot that those two little kids across the street are now big old teenagers.

Anyway, Jonathan chugged over on the mower and cleaned a couple of strips across the front yard. Then the mower caught on fire, and neighbors converged from all directions. They couldn't put the fire out, but they got the mower out into the street, and nobody got burned or hurt. They kept saying, "When the fire gets to the gas tank, it's going to explode," and the flames and black smoke really looked fierce. But here came two fire trucks and twice that many firemen. They put out the fire and shoved the black metal skeleton over to Travis's curbside.

So when the excitement died down, Jonathan started raking leaves and stuffing them into bags, but in a little while it started raining so he had to desist.
*
Hollingsworth Manor Is Empty

Leslie Nielsen, the very funny actor who played "Golden Girl" Dorothy's bridegroom, died Sunday at a very ripe old age. Of course Dorothy (Bea Arthur) herself had already passed on.

*

The Elephant To Hollywood
Jed brought me Michael Caine's second autobiography, The Elephant to Hollywood, which was published this year. Yesterday afternoon I thought I'd glance at it, and turned out I couldn't put it down. Caine knew everybody in the world who had any connection to the entertainment industry. He didn't tell all their secrets, but his sketches of their personalities are very sharp. Besides, the book is a good travel diary; he went everywhere. He's a very good writer, and if he ever writes a novel, I'd like to read it. His mama had Alzheimer's, and I hope it doesn't trickle down to him. He's 77 and has escaped so far.

I've never cared a whole heap for English comedians, and I believe the only Caine movies I ever saw were The Last Valley, which I walked out of about 30 years ago because it was so violent, and the very late Miss Congeniality, which was cute and lots of fun. Of course, all his movies weren't comedies, and now I'd like to see "The Ipcress File" and a couple of the others.

Nothing Much Going On

I've been reading Edmund Morris's new book Colonel Roosevelt. Theodore has shot so many animals in Africa, I think he's getting a little sick of the bloodbath, himself. Well, he's doing it for science, for the Smithsonian Institution, so maybe he'll get over it. But I'm not sure I can read any more of it.

Here it is two days from the end of November, when I meant to have this blessed book finished.

The best laid plans of mice and men
gang aft agley,
and lea'e us naught but grief and pain
for promised j'y.

We had a fine Thanksgiving feast, thanks to the good cooking and hospitality of Sister Susan. On Friday I ate leftovers and watched Auburn come from behind to beat the Crimson Tide 28-27.

Can't think of any more cheerful news for the moment.

Cooking Today

I've got to make about 10 gallons of potato salad for Suzie's Thanksgiving feast tomorrow. Jed is on his way from Hotlanta, so it looks to be a good day.

Done!

The opener and light buttons are mounted on the stairway wall.

The installer said, "You'll have to wait till we're gone to test these, to see if they work." Funny guy. I got two remotes for each door. But each remote will open either door, depending on which button you push.

The overhead motors inside have two lights each, with covers. I'm very well satisfied, and I hope Mr. Hogan is, too.

I have been calling around to get someone to rake or blow the leaves, but haven't succeeded yet.

I still have a question or two. Initially, Charles said something about a way to open the doors if the electricity goes off, but yesterday I didn't think about it, and he didn't mention it. So I'll have to call them again tomorrow. I forget what my other question was.

I slept off and on from 7:30 yesterday evening until 9:30 this morning, so I ought to feel better than I do. But I don't.

Double Dose

The installer just phoned and said he's on his way. So I went and took another pill. Besides that, I woke up this morning with the misery in my chest, so when I ever get Old Abe back on some wheels and out of the garage, one of the first trips will probably be to the The Kirklin Clinic.

I have a lot to look forward to: Sometime soon, old Pluto is bound to get out of my constellation and things will get better. I'll finish the book and maybe sell the house and move to Bangkok, Thailand.

***

The City of Valor is makin' me crazy. Especially its grammar.

The Betty Lou Notebook

This is where I scribble when I'm thinking about the book while I eat, read or watch TV.

I jumped up this morning (yeah, right), showered and dressed after only one cup of coffee. Then the installer called and said they haven't got the garage doors ready yet. I immediately started craving grits and butter and a cigarette.

"Charles" sounded like he was half asleep, I bet he was still in bed. He said it takes 4 hours to install them and they won't arrive until this afternoon. I said could he install them this afternoon? No, he has family activities planned for this afternoon, don't we all? I said how about Saturday morning? Nope. Frednesday? Monday? Yes, he thought they could get to it Monday, he would call me Monday morning and let me know.

Grrrrr!

Sometimes the illusion of reality is enough to make you holler calf rope.

So I'm Not the Only Klutz!

Yesterday I talked to Betty Jo on the phone, and told her about my destruction of the garage door. She laughed and said she did the same thing some time ago, only hers wasn't as totally destroyed as mine. Then she went on to tell about two different people she knew who had done as good a job, if not better than mine. That really made me feel so much better. I had been thinking I was the probably the only person in the world who had done something that dumb, but these three other cases were all in Leeds, in recent years.

Betty also came by later in the afternoon and we went to the grocery store, for which I was mighty grateful, as I was getting desperate. But then I forgot to get butter after all.

One of the flat tires has a great huge nail sticking in it, I noticed yesterday. The other one is the tire that has trouble holding air; I've had to blow it up about every time I got near the gas station. I guess tomorrow, if and when the door replacement gets done, I'll call Murray's to come and put my spare on in place of the one with the nail. Maybe they can bring some aid for the other one. I don't know.

I think I've worn out this little black keyboard. Sometimes when I hit a key, nothing happens. I need to be using the new computer and keyboard all the time, but I can do a few things with this old system that I haven't yet figured out on the new one. And sometimes I just forget.

It'll be fixed Friday.

Then the real fun will begin. I've got two flat tires. Flat. That's why I made this bow-shaped mess in the first place.
*
I'm always learning. This time I learned that, when one "mishap" haps, you better look around before you move. The next one may be sneaking up on you.

Just before falling asleep...

...last night, it came to me--the essence of this novel, and the new enormous task before me. So I plan not to talk about it any more until it's done, sometime in 2012 or '14.

The delay about the doors is because Sally, the Sears' lady in Atlanta, was sick the past three days and didn't return my calls until this morning. Right now if I don't take a bath and put on some clean clothes, I can't even talk to anybody on the phone.

Nowhere to go but out, nowhere to fall but off, nothing to do but keep on or quit

I was never any good at telling a story or even a joke out loud. Thought I was better with writing, but this manuscript is a mess. I've spent two weeks rethinking, adding to and taking away, and still have half of the thing staring me in the face. And always at the back of my mind gallops the rest of the story to be added on before the end. Then I'll have to rewrite that! Mother of Pearl!

Bayou Farewell

I finished reading this month's book club selection this morning, then dooded myself up to go to the meeting. Then I checked my email and found that the hostess, Betty, has postponed the meeting until next Friday because her son is having an arteriogram. Surely do hope he'll be okay.

This was a very fine book, published in 2003 and sharply predictive of Hurricane Katrina which came in 2005. Besides the pitiful predicament of the disappearing Louisiana wetlands, the characters in the book, mostly Cajuns, were all interesting to read about. While reading Bayou Farewell, I was also inspired to finish a short story I began many years ago, a sort of Somerset Maugham-ish detective tale in which the protagonist gets tied up in "Coon Ass" country. I didn't finish writing it, but at least I got inspired.

A few people have remarked on how much I look like my mother, which has puzzled me because she had dark hair, swarthy skin, and a low hairline. But that picture of me and Sandra (see below) looks like a picture of Shonsey Hurst and Mary Ramey.

I still have to make a run to the P.O. and the bank (to deposit my poetry prizes). But then I'll have the rest of the day to work on--you know what--The Book.
*
2:00 p.m. - Well, here's a story that I wish could be hushed up for a decade or so. My horoscope probably says that today is not a good day to travel. I went downstairs to the garage and saw that two tires on my car were almost totally flat and I went into a panic. Hoping that they would hold out until I could get to the service station, I jumped into the car and backed it through the closed garage door. Not all the way through, just enough to smash it and cave it in. So now I can't get what's left of the garage door open, so I'm going nowhere soon.
*
I've called two places for estimates on replacing the door. One of them is supposed to come tomorrow, and the other is supposed to call me back when they get time.

Very distressing. I'm always so careful not to let it appear that old age is getting to me. Pray and everything. Oh well, I have to remember what Jed says: "It's a hassle, but nothing else."
*
The manager of the Sears garage door section phoned, and just talking to her made me feel better. She's going to send someone tomorrow to measure and give me a firm estimate on the door. Apparently it won't cost quite an arm and a leg.

Back to the Grindstone

I really am making progress on the book, except for typing, which will start pretty soon.

Dale emailed some of his reunion photos.

Sandra and me.

Betty Jo

Joyce Earle (I think that's her husband Jack's hand on the right.)

Dale and his wife Ruby

Kathryn and John Earl

Evelyn Jo

Wing Day

The angels now have their wings.

Reunion

We had a pretty good crowd, more than a dozen folks. Only about half were actual classmates, the others were spouses and friends. But there were me and Betty, Sandra H.B., Joyce, Evelyn Jo, Dale, and John Earl. We missed and figuratively drank to Helon and Spank, Claiborne, Sandra B.H., Georgia, Frank, Bobbie Ann, and others who are still topside.

John Earl's wife Kathryn is still one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, but she's probably ten years or so younger than most of us. I dimly remember baby-sitting her and some other kids in Dunnavant, and thinking she was one of the prettiest little girls I'd ever seen. Matter of fact, we were all a pretty good-looking bunch. Evelyn Jo and Joyce were beauty contest winners, as were Helon and Georgia. Of course I forgot to take my camera, but Dale took a lot of photos and maybe he'll email me some.

The Fish Market is right at Highway 280, and is very nice.

I've slept most of the day so far, while the sun shone and the rain rained, alternately and then together. And I did chicken out last night and enable the furnace.

"Rain and turn cold"

How many times I heard that forecast when I was growing up: "It'll rain and turn cold." Well, that's what it's doing now. The hall thermostat says 70, and if it gets 'way down in the 60s, I guess I'll turn on the furnace, though I hate to do that.

Our little class reunion is tomorrow, and Betty C. just phoned and said she would pick me up to go to the Fish Market on 280 tomorrow morning. I hope my innards will be in better humor if I have to smell the Fish Market. This morning the Lowe's men came to measure the windows again, and I was feeling rather unstable. After they left, I lay down for a while and now I feel OK.

The Fish Market doesn't smell bad, and actually I've never been to the one on 280. But at different times, strong smells of cooking affect me in different ways.

I'm glad it's time to start wearing winter clothing.

Eureka!

I'm SO pleased with the progress on the book yesterday and this morning! Changes and additions that I hope will take away the need to add another 50,000 words, but will stir up the action and passion and make it a nice size after all. Of course, most of it is still in my head, but I'm pretty good and fast at putting words on paper. Or on screen, as the case may be.

First, I need to spend a cartridge or two printing out the ms. as it is now. No, I'll wait till I've got this new stuff down, and do the print-out for the final proofing. I can print it back-and-front, and it'll only take about half a package of paper, which I need to buy some more of.

 I've read a little in The Thirteen-Gun Salute, Patrick O'Brian's 13th, I think, in the Aubrey series. If I could write prose like that, I wouldn't never do nothing else.

I was worried the last few days, thought I had an ear infection. But I think I had just been sleeping on my right side too much, with a hard pillow stuffed under my right jaw. Last night I slept facing larboard instead of starboard, and now there's hardly a twinge.

Halloween and All

I had so many trick-or-treaters, I had to search the cabinets for remnants of packages of taffy, peppermints, and some old miniature Hershey bars--not that old but not brand new.

Yesterday evening I cooked a beef roast, and today made gravy on the pan drippings. And I learned not to eat a heavy meal and then try to write. Didn't get anything done on the book this afternoon; I just caught up my poetry files on the prize-winners and those that didn't win. I do write better at night, anyway, and I hope to make some progress this evening.

I'm going to take a long walk every morning from now on. This weather is heavenly--though I'm half afraid to say so. Seems like every time I wax poetic about the weather, a short time later we get a tornado or floods.

Titanic

I know what I'm going to be doing at seven o'clock this evening, Lord willing--watching "Titanic" for the umpteenth time. This one is the James Cameron film. I think I've seen just about every movie that has been made about that disaster; one starred Peter Gallagher and Catherine Zeta Jones. But this one with DiCaprio and Kate Winslett is my favorite.
*
Well, this was the big day, for me and Ramey both, as well as other Alabama poets. Jed came over and went to the State Poetry Society fall meeting with us. The luncheon was held at the beautiul Newton-Davis House in Odenville. The food and service were superb, and we had a large crowd, compared to attendance at some of the meetings in recent years.

Ramey won first prize in the "Parody" contest with a great take-off on a poem by Emily Dickinson.

I won two honorable mentions for little poems that I didn't expect would win anything. My "Mother Teresa" poem (on my blog August 30, 2010) won one of 4 prizes that were not designated as 1st, 2nd, etc. (Note: I find later that the winners were assigned places; mine won second place. The contest was named "When the Saints Go Marching In" and Wayne D. of Huntsville won first place with a really fine poem.)

The poem about the Madonna painting by Andrea del Sarto (see blog, September 27) won first prize in that contest. Then I nearly fainted, and did shed a tear or two reading it, when my poem "Ode: On Grief" won the "grand prize," first place in the Alabama State Poetry Society Fall 2010 Award.

Poet Jerri H. (a girl) of Huntsville won the "Performance Poem" award. Hers was a description of what it's like to be a poet--deep, humorous but also dramatic, and very true.

It was a delightful day--or would have been, if one's nerves hadn't been keyed up like banjo strings. Ramey had a book signing (of Sweet Music on Moonlight Ridge) after the meeting, at the new shopping mall; and shortly after we got home, Jed had to make tracks back to Atlanta--he's flying to Houston, Texas tomorrow.

I'm still going around in circles, but now I'm going to settle down and watch "Titanic."

Onomatopoeia, Don't Fail Me Now!

I wish I could write the sound of trying to start a car when the battery's dead. I worked so hard and long yesterday, I can't get my motor running today. Maybe a milkshake will help. Or maybe I'll just go back to bed.

*

Old Tales - Jane Mason muttering: "I'm tired of this old law office. I'm going to get me a job as a cocktail waitress. I'll wear a frosted wig so nobody will recognize me. If anybody says they saw me waiting tables at the Domino Club, I'll say, 'You didn't see me waiting tables--I never wore a frosted wig in my life!'"

Big Weekend Coming Up

The installer didn't come yesterday, and he's not coming today. "It was raining" yesterday, so he couldn't finish his other job. I told them to call me Monday, or as soon next week as he has time for my house. I have to spend today and tomorrow getting ready for the ASPS (Alabama State Poetry Society) luncheon on Saturday. It has been hinted that I'll have to stand up and read poems at the meeting, so I've got my clothes picked out and ready. Gonna give myself a mani-pedi, and I may go tomorrow and get me a short kinky perm and some hair color. They'll just have to put up with the face, or look out the window.

Autumn Fireplace

*

*

2:30 p.m.:  Well, the installer came by after all. It only took him about 10 minutes to measure the windows and talk for a while. So I guess in the next week or two I'll have a new front window assembly, which will be a big improvement to the house. I'll also get me a squeegee with about a 10-foot handle and try to do a better cleaning job in the future, myself, without paying someone to half-do it.

The Rains Came

Has been raining off and on all day, but I do have to go to the post office anyway. I sold a book yesterday (surprise) and promised to mail it today.

If it rains cats and dogs, I hope the dogs are Airdales and the cats are all black and white domestic long-hairs--cat hair and claws notwithstanding.

The window installer is supposed to come today or tomorrow to measure the living room windows. What you bet he comes while I'm gone to the P.O.?

November Goal

I plan to spend the month of November rewriting the BL novel, finishing Draft No. 2. There's a class reunion on Nov. 4, and book club on the 12th, plus the holiday doings. But all in all, it'll give me at least three solid weeks of writing time. And how ever the book comes out at the end of November, I'll start trying to market it. I think the hardest part will be finding a title.

My eBay "store" is empty at present, and my Amazon listings are pretty well inactive, so I'm going to leave them as they are until the end of November.

As for the rewrite, I've got the equivalent of what Francoise Sagan said a writer has to have: a sheet of paper, a pen, and not the foggiest idea of what I'm going to do with 'em.

No, I Haven't Forgot About Shakespeare.

Edward De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford

Hamlet Himself

"Shake-Speare"

Some Parallels, Oxford and the Shakespeare canon:

Hamlet: Hamlet's mother remarried almost immediately after her husband died. Oxford's mother remarried almost immediately after her husband died. Polonius is a perfect portrayal of Oxford's guardian, Lord Burleigh; he even copies some of Burleigh's sayings. Hamlet's ship was captured by pirates, and they let Hamlet go; this happened to Oxford twice. Hamlet was a prince who never got to be king; Oxford was possibly a prince (son of Queen Elizabeth) who never got to be king. After Hamlet's death, a prince from the north (Fortinbras) ruled Denmark; after Q.E.'s death, a prince from the north (James VI of Scotland) ruled England. Oxford also died that same year, but after James became king.

King Lear: Lear had three daughters who caused him trouble. Oxford had three daughters who caused problems, though not intentionally.

All's Well That Ends Well: Bertram's wife substitutes herself for Bertram's paramour and gets him to accept her as his wife. (Putting it delicately.) When Oxford's wife had a baby when he had been out of the country for 10 months, Oxford's father-in-law (Lord Burleigh) said that he had arranged for the wife to replace some other woman in Oxford's bed, just before Oxford left England but had been away from home for a month. It didn't quite fit the time frame, but Oxford eventually accepted the story and the child.

The Winter's Tale involves a royal child who is rejected by the king. "... the king shall live without an heir if that which is lost be not found." This reflects the view of us who think that Oxford was Queen Elizabeth's illegitimate son. She did indeed die without an heir.

Pericles, Prince of Tyre: The parallel here is all in the first act of the play, reflecting a rumor that Oxford heard about his first wife and her father.

The Sonnets: (1) In several of the sonnets, the author refers to himself as being lame. Oxford as a young man was injured in a duel and was lame the rest of his life.

                     (2) Some of the sonnets are addressed to a young nobleman, who some think was Shakespeare's lover. However, there is more evidence, in the wording of the sonnets, that he was addressing the young man as his son, and subsequent events tended to confirm this. Oxford was very partial to the Earl of Southampton, who was many years his junior, and whose mother had been rumored as one of Oxford's lovers. Southampton, rumored to be Oxford's son, was involved in the conspiracy by the Earl of Essex to take over the throne; Queen Elizabeth had Essex and other conspirators executed but pardoned Southampton.

"Even Angels Get the Blues"

Yesterday I accidentally dropped one of the angel ornaments in a full mug of steaming hot coffee. I took her out and rinsed her off, but all the glue came loose and the brown color stayed, so I threw the whole mess away and made a fresh mug of coffee.

Got an email from the state poetry contest chairman, encouraging me to attend the fall luncheon meeting Saturday-week to read my winning poemS. So I must have won a prize in more than one of the contests. He also emailed Ramey that she had won, and told her that I "hit the jackpot." Hmm. Those prizes range from money, down to penniless Honorable Mentions, and we're supposed to read the "money" poems before the group. There's one I submitted that I hope didn't win money, because I'm ashamed of it and will not read it before one person, let alone a group. Don't know why I entered it; just to bring my entries up to 10 instead of 9, I guess.

I looked in the mirror this morning. Big mistake. I really, really could use a facelift. I would importune my rich relatives for the price of one, but it's probably too late to worry about it. If hats would come back in fashion, I could wear hats with veils any time I had to leave the house. Would look really sharp with my usual outfit of threadbare jeans and motheaten tee shirts.

Yesterday at the store I met and talked with one of my Isbell cousins, four or five years younger than I am, who looked like a miniature Granny Ella. She also had a bigger bald spot than mine.

In my opinion, when a person gets too old to look presentable, he or she ought to stay in the house. Which would work if he or she had someone to shop, fetch and carry. At any rate, I don't need to buy a Halloween mask.

Cobblestones for the Road to H---

They say that that road is paved with good intentions, and I had a lot of those for today. Yesterday I made another quilt block for Ramey (that makes 4 I've done), and wrote a poem about the swans at Portsmouth getting left in the mud as the tide went out. I organized my winter wardrobe, on paper at least, and found that I have plenty of clothes that are less than 10 years old, only need some dress shoes and a white shirt. Then I made a detailed list of things to do today, and went to bed.

So this morning I woke up and looked at my list with real determination. I took my meds and my shower, and meant to eat breakfast and give the kitchen a good scouring. On the way to the kitchen, I thought of something important for The Novel, and sat down to make a quick note. But instead I worked on the book for hours, until Mo got insistent, and I found there was not a can of cat food nor a cigarette in the house. So I just got back from the P.O. and the store, and consumed a burger and an orange slush. Now I'm feeling very much coffee-deprived.
*
Actually, what I was feeling was nausea. So I went and--excuse me--threw up the burger and the slush, and now I feel much better. I wonder if there was something wrong with them. Surely there's nothing wrong with me!

Memories of Travel

But I never had to travel to store up memories. It's almost as if I actually went to Burma and stood near the old Moulmein pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea...

"Elephints a-pilin' teak

In the sludgy squdgy creek,

An' the silence 'ung that 'eavy, you was 'arf afraid to speak!

"On the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin' fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!"

One of my best memories from grammar school is seeing Judson H. on stage in the auditorium singing "Mandalay." He had a good bass voice, or deep baritone, which was unusual for such a big guy. Most bassos have big vocal cords but small stature. (Exceptions: Milne and Samuel Ramey. I forget Milne's first name.) Maybe Judson wasn't as big as he looked to me when I was in grammar school or junior high. But I did see him at a prom later on, dancing ramrod straight, with Elizabeth B.'s face mashed right above his belt buckle.

I also wonder how many (if any) other kids were so impressed by that poem/song, that they looked up Mandalay and began a love for Rudyard Kipling that lasted the rest of their lives.

"'Er petticoat was yaller, an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-Yawlat, just the same as Theebaw's queen..."

(It's a love poem.)

Finn McCool's stepping-stones

Or, Continued On Next Rock...

I have tentatively decided that I want to go to Ireland, just to see the Giant's Causeway.

The causeway is in northern Ireland. It's made up of basalt columns in mostly hexagonal shapes. I wonder if Caitlin saw it.

I'm sure there are other reasons for visiting Ireland, but this is the only sight I would really like to see and touch. If I had it to do over, I would be a geologist. How can such things be?

One legend has it that the giant Finn McCool (corrupted name to replace the unpronounceable real one) built it so he could walk to Scotland without getting his feet wet.

Anyway, if I could arrange to fly to Ireland, see the Causeway, and return to Alabama, all within 24-48 hours, I would most definitely make the trip.

Bodies in motion tend to remain in motion.

I had to force myself to quit sewing about half an hour ago. I've completed three of the quilt blocks and started another. In the past three days I've probably gained 10 pounds; it took a pizza, two or three homemade steak burgers, a pineapple sandwich, and any number of lettuce and tomato salads--plus a couple of milkshakes every day--to keep me sewing for three days. And it was hard to get out of the routine.

Tomorrow I want to make an effort to clean up the additional mess the house has suffered this week. I think Jed is coming over this weekend. I really hope so, and that he brings me another book or two. I haven't read a book in a long time, several days. Also, I think we'll make a decision about replacing the living room windows, and get Lowe's started on the job, now that the weather is not August-hot. I think it has rained a couple of time this week, but I was too busy or too deeply asleep to notice very much.

I have let my medications and supplements slide. That's another thing I've got to get back into tomorrow.

One Down

Yesterday, due to many interruptions, I only got one Drunkard's Path block made. Hope today is more productive.

This is what the finished quilt is supposed to look like.

Ramey has made several blocks, and I'm working on another one. Each block has 32 pieces.

Quilt Retreat This Week

Tomorrow, and Wednesday, and Thursday, I'm going to work on quilts and nothing else. So today I'm getting other stuff done in preparation.

About "the dog": It was Gretchen. The time before yesterday that Ramey came to take her home, she jumped up on her blanket and looked like she was saying, "See! I'm not bothering anybody, I'm just lying on my blanket. Why can't you leave me alone?" I felt so sorry for her, I decided next time, I won't call them to come get her. So she turned up on the porch early Saturday morning, and I didn't give up and call Ramey until sometime Sunday. I'm just too old to start over with a dog. She ate up most of the canned cat food, and Mo wouldn't eat at all while she was here. She barked most of Saturday night, mostly outside, and I only slept about 3 hours. Gretchen is a sweet, smart dog, and I love her and feel sorry for her. She's getting old and only wants space, peace and quiet--except for the noise she makes herself. But there are millions of poor old dogs in the world, and you can't make them all happy.

Ramey can't help it because her house is crowded. She loves Gretchen, and I'm sure they'll work it out.

Today I'm finishing the angel ornaments. I intended to make a dozen, and only have two more to go. Plus wings for all of them. I'm also cutting out the white pieces for the Drunkard's Path quilt; all the red pieces are already cut out.

Half a day off

I woke up early this morning and juned around some, half-way decided to keep the dog, then went to the store to load up on cat-and-dog food. So I think I'll take the rest of the day off and do nothing intentionally.

Book club yesterday was pleasant and the discussion was interesting. Betty brought a visitor who I initially thought was Reita returned from the sick list, but who turned out to be a lawyer's widow from Highland Avenue. I thought Reita looked unusually big and healthy. Anyway, the meeting broke up early because Jean stood up and said she had an appointment, so everybody left except Susan and Ramey and me, so we ate up most of the goodies. We can't have wine at the meetings any more, because Mondretta (I presume) changed the library schedule to stay open on Friday afternoons from now on. Somehow, I feel the demise of the book club fast approaching. What's a meeting without wine to loosen up everybody's tongue? Mable has just about quit attending, Barbara hasn't been there in a 'coon's age (her husband is sick), and Mary only hits about one meeting in three. What we need are some new members who were born a little later in the 20th century.

Joe W.'s wife died last Sunday, I saw in the Leeds News. I tried all yesterday afternoon to send an email to Joe, but kept getting error messages. Gail always accompanied him to writers' meetings, and I've missed seeing her for a long time. She'd had cancer for years, but I guess she finally gave it up.

Cool!

This morning the  thermostat in the hall said "70," although the AC was off. Who could ask for more?

*

3:25 p.m. I've been working on the Book since noon, and my back is giving me fits. If I thought I could find or make a box big enough to ship it in, I would sell my office chair on eBay for a dollar and a half and sit in a straight kitchen chair. But as long as I've got it, I keep on trying to sit up straight in it. The back leans back, and the seat tilts forward and wants to dump me out in the floor. After a while I find myself crouched forward on the edge of the seat.

Think I'll eat a hot dog and then wash some clothes. I may take a nap first.

Hyperbole

I've read several books in my lifetime that made me think, "This is the best book I've ever read in my life!" Here's another one.

This is our (Susan's) selection for book club this-coming Friday. I thought I had read it before, but I hadn't. All I knew about To Kill a Mockingbird was that movie, which was good, at least the parts of it that I've seen. I'll watch it again someday in toto, to see if it moves me anything like the book.

I saw newspaper photos of Lee meeting Gregory Peck, when the movie was being made. She wore jeans and flapping shirttails, which were not terribly fashionable in the 1960s. I remember thinking she could have at least put on a dress to meet that great man who, in the photos, wore a suit, and was perfectly groomed and gorgeous.

Harper Lee was one of Alabama author Hudson Strode's creative writing students at the University of Alabama. Dr. Strode had left the U. a year or two before I started there. Harper Lee was a fellow alumna of Helen Norris, who was a member of our state poetry society and also, at one period, an Alabama Poet Laureate.

Another of Lee's fellow alumnae was Mary Lee Stapp, one of my late ex-husband's lawyer friends. I guess she must have been in law school with JTC. When the children and I lived in Montgomery in the 1970s, Mary Lee was one of our old friends there; she was then attorney for the state welfare department. I remember our friend Jamie Pettigrew scolding her for some minor disagreement: "Mary Alexandra Siddons Lee Stapp!"

I loved that house in Montgomery. The floors tilted off in all directions, the furnace had been condemned, and the Spanish roaches were as big as newborn kittens. But the house is still standing, on Ponce de Leon Avenue. Someone must have fixed it up. I'll bet the roaches' grandkids are still there, though. The "exterminators" in Montgomery used to say, "If you have a clean house, you'll have clean roaches."
*
I was worried because my Betty Lou novel has so many characters, I was afraid the names would be confusing. So I particularly noticed, in TKaM, the names of characters, which far outnumber mine. And my novel will turn out about the same length, so I guess it's OK.

My sole and only criticism of To Kill a Mockingbird is the same opinion that made me sort of neglect it for the past 50 years: It struck me as just a teeny bit too cute and sweet for the time in which it was set. Small town life in the South, in my experience, was never an idyll, even among professional people, even among rich people, and especially not among the poor. But maybe it was different in Monroeville. And it makes me reexamine my own novel, whose setting I'm probably viewing through the wrong end of the telescope.

October?!!! 2010?!!!

How did it get so late so soon?

Anyway, last night about 8:30, I quit watching "Jesse James" and worked on The Book until 11:30. It made me proud.

I have to admit, I'm bogged down in Moby Dick. It's not because of the story, but because the volume that I have is one of those cheapie reprints from the 1980s, loaded with typos and misprints. The print is so small and dim it's hard to read. Maybe I'll finish it before the year becomes 2011.

Maybe I'll switch to the newer paperback I've listed on Amazon.com, if I haven't sold it.

Rethinking Everything

I quit making the angel ornaments because I decided they're not cute. But now that I look at them all together, I think maybe they're cute after all.

That's not saying I'll keep on making them, because the Betty Lou novel is being reborn, and that's what I want to concentrate on, and work on when the ability to do something constructive seizes me. It was in the autumn season when I wrote the whole 50,000+ word first draft in 30 days, so I know I can finish it this fall. I know I can, I know I can.
Signed: The Little Engine That Could.

Except the Little Engine didn't have a bored cat clawing and meowing at him all day.

"Audie Murphy!" (A W.C. Fields exclamation of wonder!)

Somebody nominated Ramey's Sweet Music on Moonlight Ridge for the Pulitzer Prize! Wow, wow, wow! She spent yesterday getting her picture and other stuff sent in, and I helped a little, I'm proud to say, by printing her new photo.

*

Every time I cook, I learn something. Yesterday I made a beef stew or pot roast in the crock pot, and I learned that before cooking you ought to decide whether you're making a stew or a roast. Eating stew with a knife and fork is challenging. Anyway, I ate most of it yesterday and today. I also learned that I like fire-roasted tomatoes, in spite of the black flakes that stick to your teeth.

*

O wild west wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

Thou from whose unseen censer the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing--

This morning I watched the wind blowing leaves eastward across the back of the lot. For several days it was just small stuff blowing off the trees; but now the bigger leaves are beginning to turn loose and fly around. And settle, of course. But I don't care. If they get knee-deep on the lawn or the back yard, Mo and I will just get out there and roll around in them. The poem is by P.B. Shelley.

Unfinished Quilt Projects

In my never-ending basement browsing, I rescued this Lady of the Lake mini-top, and another mini that I don't know the name of (top). I need to finish quilting the leaf quilt in my blog title. And can you believe I haven't even finished binding my Una quilt?

I need to check with Ramey and help her finish the Drunkard's Path quilt. Also, I've been "working" on this little brown basket quilt for two or three years. At least all the pieces are cut out. The blocks are 5" square.

In my quilt scrapbook, there's a list of about a dozen that I want to make "someday." And I have a box full of star blocks that my mother made, that I intend to strip together with black to make an Amish-style top. So many projects, so little time!

***

On the way to Nantucket: "...swimming like a dog...[Queequeg] rose again, one arm still striking out, and with the other dragging a lifeless form. The boat soon picked them up. The poor bumpkin was restored. All hands voted Queequeg a noble trump; the Captain begged his pardon. From that hour I clove to Queequeg like a barnacle, yea, till poor Queequeg took his last long dive." [Page 64 of Moby Dick.]

"Queequeg was a native of Kokovoko, an island far away to the West and South. It is not down on any map; true places never are."

Poetry Reading Canceled

This was the night for our poetry reading at the Arts Council, but Cookie called this morning and said it was canceled due to illness and other member business. I'm right disappointed. I had planned to read my Mother Teresa poem, and the one I wrote a long time ago about Andrea del Sarto's Madonna of the Harpies (above).

Somehow my blog has got messed up. It will no longer let me position pictures to left or right; they all come out centered, and I can't control the size. Jed and Ramey say they can't post to it sometimes. I hope everyone will keep posting--hit the Refresh button under View, if you get a "Service Unavailable" message.

I really appreciate Ruth's looking in and posting occasionally. New readers welcome!

I'm glad the picture enlarges when you click on it. I love this painting. The base is decorated with sphinxes, which have been misidentified as harpies, accounting for the popular name of the work. They look more like harpies than sphinxes, I guess.

Andrea was called "The Perfect Painter." Robert Browning wrote a wonderful poem about him and his unfaithful wife--Andrea's wife, not Browning's.

Here are two of the angel ornaments. They don't have their wings yet, because I can't find any white lace. Mo is driving me to distraction; he meows and complains constantly, and if I sit down and try to work on anything, he claws my leg and meows louder.