Getting Things Done

Today I managed to do more than one thing. Had to go to the P.O. to mail poems, and I thought as long as I was out, might as well go here and there. So I had the Tracker's oil changed and took the ASPS info to Ramey at the library. Since I had already missed "Jeopardy," I thought I would go to Lowe's, but I had left the lights to be returned at home, so I just went by the grocery and bought veggies to roast--squash, zucchini, mushrooms and little onions. Feast tomorrow.

Speaking of feasts, we had one last night, courtesy of Susan's hospitality and great cooking. Ramey, Suze and I ate until there wasn't much left. They were going to watch their favorite shows on TV, so I came on home after our dinner.

Hope to have another useful day tomorrow.

Monday Morning Raining Down

Lovely weekend, lovely weather, and now things are back to normal weatherwise. My special guest this weekend was Mr. J.D. Cage of Duluth, GA. We had a great time shopping, eating, replacing light bulbs, looking at doors, and watching a movie he brought with him. The movie was a real dud--"Anonymous"--but that wasn't Jed's fault. They packed too much bad statistics in too short a space, and the sound was deplorable, like trying to carry on a conversation in the bleachers at a football game. But the actors (Ifans and V. Redgrave and J. Richardson) were good to look at.

Today I have to mail checks to Alabama State Poetry Society for the contest I'm sponsoring, and for my 2012 membership dues. Then I have to get some poems together to enter in the ASPS, National Federation of State Poetry Societies, and Alabama Conclave of Poets spring contests. The ASPS spring meeting and luncheon will be held in Fairhope, Alabama in April, so most likely I won't be there. Just mail me the checks, folks.

A Poem By Edsel Ford

My dear, I have the photographs you sent
From Williamsburg and Richmond and the sea,
In which the lady with you, whose intent
No doubt was good, focused incessantly
Around and over you, at some quaint sight,
Edging you out in favor of a wave,
A bridge, a tree. And yet, dear girl, how bright
You had to be,--though edited, how brave!
Didn't she know that when you are in Boston,
You are its first attraction? And likewise
in Cuttyhunk? This ferry that you crossed on
Means nothing now, because your laughing eyes
Were not included in the snapshot, too;
I'd hoped to have three thousand miles of you.
*
I'm not sure I have it letter-perfect in my mind. I read this poem in The New Yorker many years ago, and I thought the poet was Henry Ford's son Edsel. But not so. This Edsel Ford was born in Alabama in 1928, so says Wikipedia, and grew up in Arkansas. He was a poet who published several books, but I couldn't find this particular poem online. I'm glad it stuck in my memory.

And, I'm glad to find out Ford's true identity.

"Man's reach should exceed his grasp..."

Yesterday, trying to quit smoking, I ate/drank:

2 Marie Callender's chicken pot pies
Remains of a can of Pringle's chips
A sandwich of Gorton's fish sticks and Vlasic dill pickle stackers
3 small bunches of grapes
2 Coca-Colas (7-1/2 oz. mini-cans)
8 oz. grapefruit juice
A large package of Nutter Butter wafers
4 or 5 mugs of Folger's instant coffee with heaping spoonfuls of Coffeemate
A grilled cheese sandwich with Vlasic stacker and 1/8 stick of margarine (Parkay)

Finally, at 8:00 p.m., feeling very humble and defeated, burping all the way, I went to the Chevron and bought cigarettes.

*

I'm waiting for the Lowe's man with the metal door for the basement. He said he'd be here today between 9:00-10:00 a.m. No, he said, "Will between 9-10 o'clock be okay?" Maybe he meant p.m.

Old Photos and Attic Treasures

"A society is defined not only by what it creates, but by what it refuses to destroy."
--Edward O. Wilson (Courtesy of Jim Reed)

I think it was about 1907 when Daddy Doll got modern ideas, inspired by a modest inheritance from his step-father. He spent all the money installing electric lights and other prototypical monstrosities. Even a bathroom. The Dresden chamber-pot in the photograph used to reside in the guest room armoire, and Saturday baths took place in the washtub.

 This was Camilla at about that time, at age three or four,

and this was Kenya the cook making breakfast on the wood-burning range.

Up to that time, Cook thought she ruled the house, because she was the only one there who could even safely boil water. But when a gas stove--and later even an electric one--was brought in, she found that nobody listened to her protests. The only way she could make an impression was to resign. Temporarily. The wood stove went to the attic, anyway.

Cook stayed with her sister in another town for a month. Mama didn't know how to cook, and all Daddy could make was fried pies. Sometimes he forgot to poke holes in the dough, the pies would explode, and the kitchen would get decorated with hot boiled apricots or canned hash. He tried to make biscuits, but they turned out so hard, even the dogs turned up their noses.

The pretty bassinet in the attic was used for both Camilla and little Dolores/Dolly. But Peter weighed nearly twelve pounds at birth, and he had to have a bigger cradle. The portrait is thought to be of someone's maiden aunt, but all that is remembered of her is that she was called Dovie.

*

I watched "Amadeus" last night. The Mozart concerto, a link to which is in the left column of this blog, is the most beautiful piece of music ever created, I say. And I haven't even heard them all.

Oh, Fudge!

I don't know how many decades it had been since I last made chocolate fudge, until last Tuesday. Had no idea how to go about it, and all the recipes I could find around the house called for marshmallow, or powdered sugar, or other ingredients that didn't suggest what I craved. I used just one cup of sugar, so that if it was a mess I wouldn't be wasting much. It turned out so good, I wanted to eat the whole little disk that resulted. But I controlled myself, and just finished the last crumbs this afternoon. The secret ingredient, the "wow factor," was two tablespoons of Jiff peanut butter that I stirred into the pot.

A Cabbage As Big As Your Head

Daddy Doll pretends to hate flowers. His real motive is keeping anyone from prowling around in his study, making changes.

Lucinda the maid, jealous of all the flowers downstairs, has begged and begged him to let her put an arrangement in the study.

"No!" says Daddy. "I won't have my room being set up for the ladies' garden club meeting!"

"If I done it anyway, sir, just to see how it looks, would you sack me, sir?"

"Sack you? What do you mean, 'sack' you?"

"I mean, would you like fire me?" Lucinda has a mischievous side.

"Why, no," says Daddy, "I'd never go that far! You injure me, Lucinda! Have I ever mentioned firing anybody? Do I strike you as a cruel person, Lucinda? Have you ever seen or heard me make anyone unhappy? Doing violence to anyone's feelings?"

"No, sir," Lucinda lies.

She was finally permitted to put one blossom in the study.

"One blossom!" Daddy boomed. "Get one of those d__'d things from the kitchen garden--one of those cabbages as big as your silly head!"

Of course, they're not cabbages, but an old bush of cabbage roses that grow to gigantic size. When fully opened, they're bigger than a dinner plate. Lucinda was happy enough, so she stuck one big rose in the stein on top of the green bookcase--as instructed by Daddy. She had to use the library ladder to get up there, and nearly had a fall.

Other Stuff Around the House

The quilt on this bed was made by Grandma's cousin, a Mrs. Cleveland.

*

This is what Daddy mockingly calls "the kitchen garden!" The erstwhile* handyman, Billy Bones, occasionally plants herbs or something there, but his addiction to alcohol prevents his taking proper care of things, so they die. All except the cabbage rose which has been there all along.

*in the sense of "sometime"

*

If any spot around the house can be called a garden, this one on the other side of the house is it. Maybe you can't see him, but Dolly's pet turtle Aesop has escaped the house and is trying to climb into the pond.

If It's Tuesday, It Must Be Valentine's Day!

Have a happy day, Everyone!

Giant

Another movie I had never seen in its entirety was on TCM this morning. It was worth watching to the end, I guess. But I've got to get busy around here. Anyway, whatever else he was, Rock Hudson was the handsomest man I ever saw, in or out of the movies. Which just goes to show you. In the '50s and '60s, I kept hoping they would remake "Gone With the Wind," with him and Liz T.

I'm getting busy.

Lassie Came Home

I had never seen the movie, "Lassie Come Home," until yesterday on TCM. Everything about it was perfect except a close-up of tiny Elizabeth Taylor's face in which, with so much makeup, she looked exactly like the adult E. Taylor in one of her skinnier moments.

Yesterday my Sister Susan had an afib episode with much pain, and sensibly called the paramedics and went to the hospital. They stabilized her and ran tests, but I haven't heard today whether she's still there or has come home. I hope the MD's and techs weren't in the mood to put her through a transesophageal EKG, as they did me the only time I called 911--I was routed to the stroke center, when all I had was vertigo--those ceiling beams in the living room were whizzing around like in a tornado, and I got scared, was all.

I came out of my hole this morning and saw my shadow. I'm in the mood to hibernate for another six weeks or so.

It's here.

My favorite months, from best to worst:

December - November - October - September - May -April - June - March - January - August - July - February

The best thing about February is that it's short.

One of the worst things about it is that it's hard to pronounce.

Help Is Where You Find It.

Charlie, the Lowe's installer, came today and put up a new door at the top of the stairs. He said they ordered the wrong door for the basement, so he's going to reorder it. While he was working in the foyer, I asked if he would do me a big favor--help me move the dollhouse so I could put a cloth on the table, and then set the house back on the cloth. He said sure, and wanted to know all about the dollhouse while we were moving it.

I had packed up all the furnishings in the house, because I need to repaper at least one of the walls and make some other changes.

The white cat's ear has healed up nicely, though it'll be scarred. He's such a sweet kitty. I fixed him a bed again in one of the big plastic bins turned on the side, and put it on the deck. Trouble is, it all gets wet and frozen when the weather is bad.

The poetry reading last night was very good. We had eight attendees, and some good stuff was read. Joe read a sympathetic poem about a somewhat scary incident with a black person, which made me brave enough to read my Autherine Lucy poem. I think that's the first time anyone except Ramey, Barry M., and Prof. M., at UAB, had read or heard it. Years ago, Barry gave it and another poem of mine to Prof. M. to read, and the great man said the other poem was worth working on but the Lucy poem wasn't. Our poetry group seemed to like it, though.

***

Here's a poem, or song, that I wrote in the 1980's after Bob disappeared.

Bob the Cat
His mother was Carly, a proud calico,
His dad was a rogue black as jet;
But my feline companion called Robert the Bob
Was loved by all that he met.

They called him Beautiful Bob;
He was gentle and never a snob.
With eyes golden yellow,
A most handsome fellow.
Was my dear Rob.

He was brave and faithful and true,
The best pal that I ever knew.
The years can’t erase him;
No pet can replace him.
He’ll always be Beautiful Bob.

Vickie and Albert

Jenny and I used to make dolls out of clothespins, but I've sold, lost or given away most of them. I don't know where Mama got these two big antique clothespins, but she gave them to me long ago. She had used her tiny drill to make holes through for their arms. All these many years, I've meant to ask my artist sister Ramey to paint their heads to resemble Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and I've collected pictures of the royal couple so I could make their costumes. But I never think to tell Ramey. So I'm posting this as a self-reminder.

The taller pin is nearly 5 inches high, and I've thought about using it to make a new Daddy for the Dolls' house, so he would be almost as tall as Mama. But I hate to abandon the Prince Albert idea.

Queen Victoria was a pretty good-looking little woman until she had twelve children, Albert died, and she didn't care much any more.

***

Shakespeare's prettiest poem:

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,

As: to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,

And purest faith unhappily foresworn;

And gilded honor shamefully misplac'd,

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

And right perfection wrongully disgrac'd,

And strength by limping sway disabled;

And art made tongue-tied by authority,

And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,

And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,

And captive good attending captain ill--

Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone,

Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

This is the thing he wrote that, in my opinion, most strongly indicates Oxford as the author. It sharply describes his life, and the influence of Authority over his works.

The Dolls' Storage Shed

Besides the unsightly piles of household stuff in the attic, the Dolls have to keep some things handy in the storage shed, like garden and carpenter tools, the sewing machine and the ironing board. And the trash cans.

Daddy has acquired three new hunting dogs, Sooner, Echo and Belman, who currently sleep in the shed because Tiny the Airedale won't let them come into the house.

Daddy himself gained a lot of weight over the holidays. He also quit dyeing his hair black, and looks quite different. Will show new pictures of him later.

***

I looked out the window this morning, and it looked like someone had turned on the lights. Oh--it was the sun, which I hadn't seen in several days.

***
A poem so beautiful it makes me cry:

"Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.

Let us discover some new alphabet,

For this, the often praised, and be ourselves

The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,

The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,

And all that welcomes rain; the sparrow, too,--

Who watches with a hard eye, from seclusion,

Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done. ...

"...The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait
In the dark room; and in your heart I find
One silver raindrop, --on a hawthorn leaf,--
Orion in a cobweb, and the World."

by  Conrad Aiken

Hello, Goodbye

One cold rainy day last week, I went to the drugstore to pick up a prescription. When I got back and opened the garage so I could get in, a pretty black and white dog ran in ahead of my truck. He was wet and cold and shivering, and I sort of rubbed some of the rain off of him. Then I went upstairs and fixed him a plate of leftover beef stew and rice and things and took it down there.

He tucked his long bushy tail between his legs and looked sort of sheepish, but after a while he ate it all up. He had on a collar, and I turned it around and around, looking for a tag, but he didn't have one.

"You're a right nice dog," I said. "Matter of fact, you're the very kind of a dog I've been looking for, with your long wavy hair and your medium-sized build. How would you like to hang around here?"

"No'm," he said. "Much obliged for the dinner and the rubdown and all, but I reckon I'll get on back to the house when it quits raining."

"Well, it was mighty nice talking to you," I said, and he said likewise. So we shook hands, and after a while I let him out. When I looked out the window, he was long gone.

I really don't want a dog, but it had slipped my mind.

Crossroads

The movie "Crossroads" (1986) was shown on TV last night, and I watched it, of course. They don't make movies that good any more, and probably never will again-- Is that true, or is it just the old-timer's classic "good old days" versus "bad new days"? It's a subjective thing, of course.

Watching the movie on TV saved me the difficulty of opening my new DVD package and figuring out which remote to use to play the disc, all of which I've been putting off for a month or more. I've got several unwatched DVD's. Must remember to arrange another tutoring session with Jed, and label the relevant remote. I may not be tech-smart, but at least my kids are.

I think I'll copy Roger Ebert and start a Four-Star Movie column on this blog.

21-0, by gosh!

That's a little better than 9-6. What happened to the No. 1 LSU Tigers, y'all?!!! The Tide sort of casually rolled over them, that's what!  You won't find a whole heap about it in the news, not at all like what you would have found if Auburn had done anything near this. But then, it's Alabama's what? fourteenth National Championship, big deal. Nick Saban said he was happy, and almost smiled.

Book Club and Other Stuff

It's January, and as far as I know, no one has mentioned resuming book club. It's probably just as well.

During the twelve days of Christmas, I got old. It seems to be different for different people, the point at which one surrenders and admits to being old. For me, it was a day when I realized that I feel, not just tired, but superannuated. I think I need a new hairstyle. Or A hairstyle. What's a good style for thin, gray, straight, baby-fine, flyaway locks? If you can call them locks. Maybe like Mirren.

Would need a face-lift to go along with the style. And lots of makeup. All of which really boil down to lots of money.

I have to say that for me, December was the best month of 2011. Dec. 31st wasn't the best day of that year, but at least it was the last one. I wish everyone I know, and don't know, a Happy New Year, and I hope to goodness everyone wishes me the same. A year with no broken doors, broken teeth, broken resolutions, flooded basements, carcinomas, new stray cats, paucity of poetry prizes, lost things-- Last week I laid a newly opened deck of smokes and a lighter somewhere, and have been looking for them ever since. "Many are the travelers . . . "

I think this year I'll read Walden again. And The Once and Future King. Hank's poem about Lynn, in Then We Came To the End, was heartrending. That was really a good book, worthy of all the prizes it won.

Then We Came To the End

By Joshua Ferris

I started reading this book about an advertising agency where employees were being laid off left and right. Good writing, but execrable personae and lack of story. Several times I started to quit reading it. Man, I thought, I hate these people, and I'm not a person who hates people. I'm not a person who keeps on reading a bothersome book just because I don't have anything better to read.

And then, after so many pages of no positive reactions except to the most offensive characters, on page 108 I find myself rubbing my eyes and screaming with a sick sort of laughter, just because they finally revealed who stole Tom Mota's chair.

Come to think of it, Brizz's totem pole was pretty good, too. I guess I'll read a few more pages.