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.
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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.

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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

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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.
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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?

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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."
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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.