Acquainted with the Night

Acquainted With The Night is one of the most famous examples of an American poem written in terza rima. (So says Wikipedia & that happens to be correct.) I haven't been reading Frost lately, who is not a huge favorite. It's just my lazy, quick way to post a title that does not say "Oh my %#$@(*&, I have to go to a clinic overnight for this now." Not tonight but soon. I'm so floopy & weirded out that I probably cannot make it to Carol Gillot's reception this evening (see post below). Mimph. Whine. Snarl. Week's End post that will be, if not hilarious, then somehow funnier. (Tim Walker & yes, I'll find other photographs soon. Vogue UK 2006)

Update already - Breaking news from any number of literary listservs, etc. Oprah just announced that Freedom is her next book club choice Maybe I'll hop in to the Franzenphilia/phobia-festival after all.... No, I don't watch her anymore (in years). Yes, I read The Corrections the day it was published (OK, well it took a week to read & should be cut by 200+pages.) I'll be reading Freedom, too, I can't buy it at the moment.

I've started to feel sorry & concerned for Franzen's mental health now. Another reason for not sleeping. Oprah--how dare you? Couldn't you have consulted me & waited until next week? (For Antipodean pals...I don't know if it's published there yet, though it has been in UK. BTW, it cannot have gone unnoticed that The Oprah is on her way to Australia. Hold onto your hats. Oy.)

Paris Breakfasts in Washington, DC

Same photograph as GG blog...I'm only, oh, a week late. Still, if you're in DC (or will be), you might want to attend the opening reception tomorrow at 6.30pm for Carol Gillot of Paris Breakfasts. (Let me know if you'll be there...I'm still planning on it. You can email or tweet to juliethecat.) Below is from l'Alliance Française website because they already wrote it & I'm having a mini meltdown. (Paris sunset via places I wish I were tumblr. Good name.)

*****************
New York City–based watercolor artist Carol Gillott travels to Paris three or four times a year to soak up inspiration and shoot thousands of photos to paint from.

Her Alliance Française exhibit, Paris Façades, features her charming paintings of Parisien boulangeries and patisseries.

For the artist, the heart and soul of Paris is revealed at street level by its shop façades where “There's just as much glamour and mystery in the quotidien boulangerie or fruitier as the grand Michelin restaurant"

It is this bright contrast that makes Paris the perfect subject for Carol Gillot and her delightful watercolors of everyday Parisian scenes, from les boulangeries to les lèche-vitrines.

Visit carolgillott.com & www.parisbreakfast.com

Opening reception is free, but reservations are required. Call 202-234-7911 x31 for reservations.

Reservations will be accepted until 4pm the day of the event. The exhibit runs through 1 November 2010

My Business, With the Cloud

There is a new exhibit at the Corcoran Gallery of Art & I will see it (the title is same as post, I'm not that clever). I don't like to say anything until I have done so, but the reasons are vented below. (So you can stop reading if you're sick of venting. However, it is not political venting.) Here's the review in The Washington Post. Update: Really, really click through the first link. Spencer Finch is such a wonderful artist & the little video is well-done.

The above wasn't in the plan (such as it is) but Strasbourg & environs photo searches have made it clear that the new-to-me printer must be installed to scan personal ugly old photographs. Too many online are quite nice--too nice. They do not capture the way it was then; it's too cleaned up, too fancy. Isn't there something between falling apart & overly groomed artifice? Yes, of course.

I inside-my-head shrieked as dishevelled people ambled by an Amnesty Int'l table (where I was turned down more than once by Muslim-phobe liberals & left wingers about petition signing, so there ya go, oof. No one "side" has purchase on idiocy, though it leans heavily...oh I said, no political venting.). I felt a paragon of style in jeans, a clean linen shirt, & sandals. Seriously. My hair was brushed. What is it with Americans walking about in pajamas & disgusting, stinky footwear? I thought, wow, if we were in the poorest neighborhood in Rome, it wouldn't look like this. The junkies clean up more than these people. Believe me, there are a lot of slobs in Rome. But during a festival or on Sunday, people do put on clothes before leaving home.

So it would seem, Haughty Madame, that you are advocating shabbiness in towns, but not people? No, of course not. But some places I lived, visited quite often have spiffed up so much that it's off-putting, sterile. I can almost (almost!) understand people who visit those theme parks (& Las Vegas) & pretend that they're Europe.

There are a couple of good shots of what I want & I'll post those later. Seems that if I write poems & prose (not travel writing) about Strasbourg & Alsace, I'll have a market, if I can create it. (Tim Walker photograph via the Telegraph)

The Harmless, Necessary Cat

Julie the Cat's address is Giulia Geranium. Update--I'm going to switch this & make J the Tuesday poster cat. (Cheesed off at self that I didn't do that in the first place.) Then, I finally can go flip through September Vogue. Which was late--but not this late. ciao

Paris Awaits Pup

The Clever Pup will be visiting Paris soon. I await her distinct take on la belle Paris sans saccharine sentiment. (She will be solo.) Sibiliance. Susurrant. Silly Sunday. Pfhttt. Thwap. I can barely type. La Pup has already mapped out a few excellent walks.

In other breaking canine news, Benjy the Oracle on AUREA, has been visiting & granting everyone the benefit of his Dachsund Wisdom. He's another pup in Paris at the moment. (His maman is in Los Angeles. Don't ask, just go see.) Herewith, his latest postcard. Also, another amusing & fashionable pup is London's Posetta Baddog, Liberty London Girl's sister's dog. OK, it's funnier than that, see Chien Lunatique.

Yep, I'm goofing off. Oh, & on Giulia Geranium I'm hawking, uh, suggesting a fashion night thingy for charity...but mainly I wanted to re-use a beautiful photograph of an equally beautiful blue YSL coat.

So what are these photographs? Well, they are Paris gowns that are pretty but also funny, sorta fishy looking. (ah ouais). I think I'm so snippy ce soir because I can't watch Mad Men until it downloads in iTunes - tomorrow. Which means I must also avoid a related weakness, Basket of Kisses, the Supreme Mad Men Blog (says moi). It's written/wrangled by two smart, sassy sisters.

[fishy frocks by Louise Dahl-Wolfe via LIFE archives but also on myvintagevogue]

Week's End - Rosemary

That's for remembrance. It feels like it was last year, September 11, 2001. I had this pretty photograph from Design*Sponge in a photo folder. It's rosemary (no kidding) & the Shakespeare popped in. And then I thought, there...that is the way it runs...which is from Bellow's Herzog. Ian McEwan opens Saturday with a fairly long quote using that passage - to excellent effect. (Of course.) Which just means that I access too much free association & call it a post. Eh. Have a good weekend.

A Tea Party

"Of all the silly nonsense, this is the stupidest tea party I've ever been to in all my life"--Alice

Oh good grief. The news is so absurd that if it weren't so very dangerous, I might laugh.--a little. If you don't know what I'm talking about, congratulations. You have been in a dark theatre watching a totally cool (or dorky) film marathon. Here's what I'd like to know: what is your excuse for not inviting me?

Cheers to Maria Caterina who gave me early birthday gifts yesterday that are so super, I'm still dazed. I am indeed very fortunate--in spades.

I'm having computer problems, just in time for the laptop's first birthday. Of course. Deep breath. xo

Red Queen's Race

"Well, in our country," said Alice, still panting a little, "you'd generally get to somewhere else — if you run very fast for a long time, as we've been doing."-Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

In Moments of Quiet

“Now, it isn’t that I don’t like you, Susan because after all, in moments of quiet, I’m strangely drawn towards you… but there haven’t been any quiet moments.” -Cary Grant as Dr. David Huxley, Bringing Up Baby, 1938

Several boyfriends know just how Cary feels. (They're still my friends, though. I think that speaks well of me. And Julie is nothing like that naughty Baby.) Only Cary could look handsome wearing Kate Hepburn's clothes.

I had photographs of people running, but nothing quite does it today. I'm running only in my mind. I was an unofficial cop (again!) on Saturday, feeling tottery, & in clothes not fit to be seen - maybe even by Julie the Cat. I stayed up too late rereading Enduring Love because Marie-Laure at AUREA is reading it & I wanted to discuss it with someone. This completely undid the relaxation of re-watching Annie Hall.

And (her voice rising), I'm being tempted by a friend: Do you want your birthday gift on Wednesday or on your birthday? Oh no. Decisions. Could you resist this? "I battled Huns, Goths, Mongols, Vikings, Zulus, Picts, and Celts...at...to...obtain.."

So, I'm posting dumber stuff than usual for a week if you want to skip checking in. I need to maintain a schedule & this is why I'm not 'gone fishing'. As always, there are good links here & on Giulia Geranium. I've seen so many good posts today & over the weekend that if I link to them, the feedburner thingy will blow up both blogs.

(But I recommend checking out the Truthiness Rally - or Operation Strike of Truthiness--this is a fluid story-- by Stephen Colbert fans. It really does help to laugh. Aussie & European friends, it really is funny & not just American. Friends in Turkey & elsewhere who can't understand English, if you're translating this, facial expressions are funny, too. As evidenced by the film stills above.)

Cheers & I'll do better tomorrow. Really.

[photograph via many tumblrs, here]

Week's End - Fiammetta

It's too soon for autumn leaves but the photograph reminds me of fiammetta - little flame. Or, if you want to be picky about it, fiammette (plural, I am assuming & I'm not checking my dictionary. Correct me, I don't mind at all.) I've been reading Boccaccio via Keats (Isabella and the Pot of Basil). I was vaguely aware that Bocaccio was another Italian inspired by a woman who didn't look at him twice. (Petrarch, too.)

This past spring, I won La Bella Lingua by Dianne Hales from Michelle Fabio's Bleeding Espresso. Dianne wrote a charming chapter on Italian's Literary Lions. As soon as I read, "For years I barely glanced at the white marble busts of Italy's grandi that line the shady paths of Rome's Pincio, the gardens above the Piazza del Popolo," I thought/yelled "I noticed!" But Dianne was doing something I have never done in Rome--jogged. I salute her - it's a great place to run.

I'm in more fragile health & feeling Keats-y, so if there today, I'd be walking by that gorgeous view & sighing. Mainly about the horrible news from Italy & France that Roma are being treated worse than usual. I'm beyond upset. (You just knew I'd turn this into something sad, right? An editor once said to me...you turn a lovely poem into the apocalypse every damn time. Crikey. -- he was English. Then he went on to say something rude about melancholic Welsh ethnic stuff. Harumph.)

Where are the writers, the artists, the poets, the philosophers? (They are actually still valued in some fashion in Europe, unlike here in America.) Well, there are protests, yes. I'll find individual names as soon as I post this. But Italy. France. Shame. Your noble pasts will be so much cold marble statuary lining grand avenues if you continue this outrage. We'll leave WWII out of this, ahem, for now. (I'm talking to you, too, Hungary.) Scapegoats. Remind you of anything? Suddenly, flaming red maples, little flames licking at the blue sky don't seem so innocent.

Apologies to Dianne, for using her charming love letter to Italian in this manner. I did not plan it (obviously, or I'd taken more care with grammar). But that's it; I can't do much more today or the rest of the weekend. Here's where you can buy it (& visit Dianne). I definitely recommend it. This know-it-all didn't know most of it (so far). Giulia Geranium is supposed to start again on Tuesday; but I'm postponing it until I see friends off to Sudan next Sunday.

(The beautiful Jen Gotch photograph via Joanna Goddard's Cup of Jo)

Wire Hangers, Reconsidered

...a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet...-Howl

So much angst about wire hangers. Oy. This is Tim Walker's wire hanger. Here's a Design*Sponge idea for people who have far more energy & time than me...but it's good idea. (Personally, I take my hangers back to the cleaners.)

I'm way behind in everything. And I'm still wondering what people think about those who to take it all the way to the end. (previous post) Back later...

PS: I never saw Mommie, Dearest. I think I was out of the country when it hit (sorry) the screens, by the time I returned I thought--ugh. Perhaps it's something campy I ought to rent in a particularly maso-kitty moment?

All the Way to the End

"Surely all art is the result of one's having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, where no one can go any further. The further one goes, the more private, the more personal, the more singular an experience becomes, and the thing one is making is, finally, the necessary, irrepressible, and, as nearly as possible, definitive utterance of this singularity." --Rainer Maria Rilke

I'm running out of steam for the week, but I've been thinking about Ted Hughes' theory that all art originates from a wound in the artist. He does a better job of 'esplaining it. But Rilke certainly will do.

I heard from a friend today in Prague (he's been living with his wife Vera in an apartment in Prague Castle that Václav Havel arranged for them. It didn't even faze me - of course, you're living in the Castle. I'd already heard but didn't want to spoil his moment.) He is a novelist & filmmaker & friend of perv Milan Kundera. When The Unbearable Lightness of Being was released as book (& then as film later), I asked Arnošt. Well? "Exactly, exactly how it was. That bastard, he did it!" Then he picked me up & whirled me around the room.

It was/is a tight circle of friends/frenemies & a highly competitive bunch, of course: writers, painters, photographers, filmmakers, journos, etc. They supported the "wrong" person in 1968 & were invited to leave. Kundera's success spurred them all on (including director Miloš Forman). I hope someone writes a book about this gang of devils. (There are more.)

Arnošt & Vera lent me 'the borrowed flat' in Jerusalem for many weekends. They sat with me in the - I am not kidding - Elizabeth Taylor Cafeteria...or maybe it was the Frank Sinatra cafeteria (there were two) & tried to make me laugh. One time I got in a car with them. Only once. I was in the back seat with an old friend who then lived in Israel. He started to laugh hysterically...maybe it was the idea of the two of us tootling around the city with our friend--who should never drive (do you hear me, A?) anywhere. Ever. I accessed my "if I go, I go" attitude used to good effect in Greek & Italian taxis. Anyway, those wild & crazy Czechs, they lent me the flat for which I'll be eternally grateful. Now I want to stay at Prague Castle.

Here's to brave people - who, amazingly, miraculously laugh (with a large side of irony). And take it all the way to the end.

[two stills from Unbearable Lightness of Being, still photographer-genius Phil Bray; the "real" iconic photograph via filmwell(dot)org]

Les bois

I had to put something else up. Too tired to find a poem (much less write one or write an essay/post) on solipsism (not the philosophical theory...the selfish bit). It's been a horrible time in our Silver Spring neighborhood (the Discovery Channel hostage situation).

Look at That Face

Look at that face -
Just look at it,
Look at that fabulous face of yours.
I knew first look I took at it,
This was the face that the world adores.

Look at those eyes -
As wise and as deep as the sea.
Look at that nose -
It shows what a nose should be.--The Roar of the Greasepaint --the Smell of the Crowd*

(*lyrics & music by Leslie Briscusse & Anthony Newley)

I want to get September started. Unwisely, I began by reading September 1, 1939 by WH Auden. (A poem he came to loathe & caused all manner of fuss about--something he was quite good at. Poets are such pains in the rear sometimes. I'm a pain in the rear. Haven't you noticed?) It's a poem included in many services, secular (yes, there are those kind) & otherwise, after September 11, 2001. I read it at one. I defended my clichéd choice on the following grounds: "It's only been a few days. There's still smoke in the freaking air. I can't think of anything else & five people are arguing in the corner about who gets to read "The Second Coming".

With all of that swirling in my head, plus Hurricane Earl chugging up the coast, I thought cute cat faces from this slightly altered Giulia Geranium post would be fun. As if on cue, a big wet pink feline nose is nudging me to hurry up already.

[images here, here, here, & here via we heart it]

Atonement

"Was everyone else really as alive as she was? For example, did her sister really matter to herself, was she as valuable to herself as Briony was? Was being Cecilia just as vivid an affair as being Briony? Did her sister also have a real self concealed behind a breaking wave, and did she spend time thinking about it, with a finger held up to her face? Did everybody, including her father, Betty, Hardman? If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated, with two billion voices, and everyone’s thoughts striving in equal importance and everyone’s claim on life as intense, and everyone thinking they were unique, when no-one was." --From Atonement, by Ian McEwan

Some pretty photographs for the next few days & I hope they will divert bizarre people away from my blogs. I'm being comment-spammed like mad. Found out last evening that my mailing address has been changed (for some things, not sure of extent yet) & much is missing.

I do not apologize for one single thing I have said or written (or thought) the last several days & weeks here...certainly I have much to atone for in my life. But my crime of late, if anything, is silliness. Which never killed anyone. Unless they died laughing. If I die laughing, many years from now (!), I shall be grateful.

I shall respond to your lovely comments & emails. Soon. Difficult week (more than usual) ahead. Cheers, everyone.

[Atonement stills by Alex Bailey - the "happy ending" Briony, in her guilt, her atonement, granted to Cecilia & Robbie. I just reread the novel.]

Week's End - On My High Horse

I'm up on my horse--Missus Ed--& pulling outta here. (Glenn Beck just exhorted all of us to ride a horse somewhere...unsure of where because as his very bad Charlton Heston-as-God impression drones on & the mixed metaphors fly & collide, I'm tuning out.) I'm drawing a line under the week here. I will be posting next week, pretty stuff, Strasbourg, etc. But mainly, I will be tottering around to various appointments. There are so many wonderful links here & on Julie's blog.

PS: Glenn is now yelling about England. Canada: you're up next, you pinkos:)

[Missus Ed in her stable, credit soon. Got so excited the other day by seeing a horse & a chandelier that I forgot mee-sef]

The Real Dream/The Current Nightmare

I thought I'd be able to stand watching this but it's beyond anything I can possibly explain. I'm about to crack another tooth. It's like being in the middle of Being There & Network. Toss in Dr. Strangelovian bizarreness. Where are the new Paddy Chayefskys? Glenn Beck is now having a predictable meltdown & boohooing as the invited speakers (those he invited) spray blessings over him. He is being compared to Jesus, among great personages. He (Beck) is being called The Great One. (Jackie Gleason?) Oh, yeah, & toss in Elmer Gantry.

Also, as this nonsense is being held in the honor of veterans...as the sister of a veteran of Afghanistan, regular visitor to Walter Reed Medical Center, & the friend of many Vietnam veterans...I object to this cynical use of our veterans & their vulnerable families.

I am not being a reactionary. I'm reacting to a real threat. Ignore people like this at your own peril., in every country. Freedom of speech is here in my apartment, too. Below is a quote from Totally Mad, Man.

"...History demonstrates what a mistake it can be to treat a crazy fringe as merely that—particularly one with unfettered access to its audience and little sense of responsibility to distinguish between truth and fiction.

How else do you explain the fact that presently, according to a Research 2000 survey, nearly 60 percent of Republicans questioned were unsure if Barack Obama..".read the rest, here. And then weep.

Loony-palooza

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
I Have a Scheme
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Tea Party

Dear Glenn Beck:

Dude, seriously, get a grip.

I've had my virtual skirts over my head trying to ignore the impending spectacle (tomorrow) at the Lincoln Memorial. I feel like I can say this because you are (negatively) affecting me personally: stay the hell out of my neighborhood. Oh, I can calm down because some Tea Party websites/blogs advise those-of-you-who-come-to-restore our honor (?) to stay out of certain neighborhoods/areas. Mine is one of them. Phew.

Ciao-meow from Susan & Giulia Geranium (la gattina)

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To international visitors who are thinking, "Wha?" Good people, this person is a troublemaker, most definitely not of the stylish variety, & is suspicious (or worse) of you, too. You must be un-American 'cause you weren't born here. What might be of interest to non-Americans is what comedian (& neighborhood native) Lewis Black calls Glenn Beck's "Nazi Tourette's."

These nincompoops have the right to be here, of course, but they do not have the right to hijack Martin Luther King's message. If I can, I'll be at another event honoring Dr. King. If I'm too tottery, I'll watch via Twitter & listen to music. Anti-Tea Party folk - do not take the bait. Listen, it's already happening; they want violence, do not give it to them. (Update: I feel I should say, "some people want violence." Not everyone.)

This post obviously can't stand as a week's end, even by my much lower-of-late standards. Something pretty or cheerful over the weekend. tt4n

Update (already): Whaddya know? There's a new blog, Loonypalooza, which is monitoring the weekend's activities. I don't know the blog owner (yet) & must read it before I link to it. But they have posted a link to a Eugene Robinson's Washington Post column today: Even Beck Can't Mar King's Legacy.

Fireflies

Being a self-respecting fashion photography obsessive, I love Tim Walker. Click here for a short Vogue Italia film. What self-restraint--only one photograph. It's like being on a diet. Just playing around, I can't do much at moment. Julie the Cat & I have been moon watching. In other night light news, I am happy to report that the annual festival of fireflies is lighting up a pagoda-shaped pine out back. I wait for it every year. Julie is still on a chair looking out, but her mewing-reportage has subsided so I think the show is over.

Life Creeps Up

However smart we may be, however rich and clever or loving or charitable or spiritual or impeccable, it doesn't help us at all. The real power comes in to us from the beyond. Life creeps up behind, where we are sightless, and from below, where we do not understand. -D.H. Lawrence

Life creeps up & so does bang (fringe) creepage. It will take all my will & strength to make it across town to cure this unacceptable state of hair-affairs. It's a welcome gray, cool day here today. Don't agree (entirely) with the Lawrence quote, but it's how life feels nowadays.

[photograph by Amanda Mason/all rights reserved/via Audrey Hepburn Complex tumblr]

Liberty London Girl

Update/Explanation: I drafted the post below on 1 November 2009. It's posting today with no editing (until a point in abstract future) for a few reasons. 1) Whatever happened on Mad Men last night has even non-Mad Men posters busy as bees. So I'd best download it from iTunes & watch. 2) I feel like hell. More about which later this week (because I'll know something then). 3) I arrived home from my lovely house/cat sitting gig on Saturday evening....to open windows & the a/c chugging away. By the date on the "we're finished rehabbing your bathroom"slip (no you are not & I've busted you to the property manager), this state of affairs went on for at least 4 days. No money coming in & everything going -- literally -- out the window is causing huge upset. 4) Sasha, author of Liberty London Girl, is in the midst of blog troll visitation & it pisses me off. (I should explain that LLG was anonymous at the time of this draft; she has since popped out of her shell & is doing very well indeed.)

The Laura Burlton photographs (via here) reminded me of a sister who was a ballerina-in-training. And the sorts of things we used to get up to in old tulle & netting, as thunderstorms approached from Canada, on Lake Erie. It felt so wild & free. Very unlike today.

27 August 2011 Update - Laura Burlton, excellent photographer, stopped by with her new website address.

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I enjoy this compilation of tidbits on fashion & life (not really in that order) by an English fashion editor living in America. I don't go looking for blogs often as so many of you have great links & recommendations; that's how I came upon this one--sorry but I don't remember where (perhaps, Wee Birdy). I instantly visited as Liberty of London patterns & fabric (& the main store in London) have been important touchstones to another era. One is wrapped around my neck quite often, my grandfather's WWII-era silk paisley scarf. More about which another time.

LLG's post Ex-pat Friends reeled me in again yesterday (Saturday). I can identify, though I'm not an ex-pat at the moment, I know what she means because I could easily be one of the Americans in her group. LLG's LinkedWithin widget popped up a post called Why I Never Lose Hope In America. I was intrigued & clicked on the video. Along with a strongly brewed coffee, it provided the oomph to get on with it another day.

As I watched the video, I thought of the young man who asked me to talk about the Human Rights Campaign & gay marriage last week. I was on my way to arrange my local Amnesty International group's gift-wrap-for-donation gigs at a local bookstore. I was feeling mighty crabby but I know what it's like to pitch one's cause (though I've not done so on a street corner in a zillion years*).

I thought about him, standing up there in the rain, when I watched this video. (And a younger cousin, who is gay & married--& I'm not putting that in quotation marks.)

Thanks, Liberty London Girl. (And for all your excellent tips, too.)

*At 15 (1/2) years-old, I was surrounded, swarmed really, by the meanest bunch of capitalist hyenas in Pittsburgh. They yelled & cursed as I handed out flyers for a Democratic candidate near the plaza of the then-U.S. Steel Building. Two of them were from my church & I thought they were rescuing me from the pitchfork-wielding villagers. Nope. They were incensed that a "nice girl " of their acquaintance was doing this (outrageous, um, Constitutionally-protected) deed. I busted them--to our seminarian, a friend. They were lectured by our minister & shamed into apologies. I think they only felt bad that they swore at a girl from their church. (This was also the minister's opinion & it upset him very much.) Though many steelworkers & other union guys came to my aid, it was a traumatic experience. It felt imminently violent. I can't claim it for sure, but my successful plans to escape to another country for an unspecified amount of time might have been sealed that day.

Week's End - Pip Pip Cheerio

Feeling rather drama-queen tragic. Therefore these Jeeves & Wooster photographs to deflate such idiocy. The second one is on the beach in Cornwall (which is becoming a sub-theme here). Back home tomorrow - I hope to a new bathroom. There are more Jeeves & Wooster DVDs in the mail box, courtesy of the Netflix Fairy. I've been quite entertained the last week by old (but still relevant) podcasts by Stephen Fry (via iTunes). Here's Stephen's website which is great fun. Yes, I follow him on Twitter.

I'll be by to visit people over the next few days & to respond to comments. Moving slowly lately. Toodles.

[Jeeves & Wooster images via tumblrs aplenty, here]

Odour of Chrysanthemums

The short story title popped into my muddled mind a few hours ago. Snipping herbs & flowers, snapping off a few small vegetables (where I'm house/cat sitting), I sensed a change. Of course, it is late summer & it will be too hot for some time yet. I usually welcome the nearly imperceptible shift, the flip of the switch, to a new season. Not today, though, for all sorts of complicated reasons.

But what-ho? (Too much Jeeves & Wooster this summer. I'll be saying 'pip pip' soon.). A new mini-crisis on the literal horizon to divert me. (That's a good thing.) The entertaining birds in the back garden have cleverly timed the emptying of their feeders for this very moment--oh thanks les oiseaux. Now I'll be awake all night if I can't fill them before I collapse from fatigue (which I am about to do). Oh woe.

Strasbourg-of-the-past is what this twaddle above is about. Some of it anyway. Can you see why I drone on about the-rest-of-France & I-love-Alsace, just from that photograph? I hope so. Paris is grand, yes, but it is not the whole country.

[Strasbourg by thexmunichxromance via deviantArt & for good measure, another flower lady via style(dot)com archives]

The Interrupted Concert

It was on this day in 1936 that the 38-year-old Spanish poet Federico García Lorca was executed, a few weeks after the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. In those first weeks, people on both sides — the leftist republicans and the right-wing nationalists — were rounded up and killed, as many as 50,000, with particularly heavy casualties against the republicans. Lorca was a leftist sympathizer, an open homosexual, and a writer who wrote about oppressed people like gypsies, so he was an easy target for the nationalists.--The Writer's Almanac

"Seventy years after his death, his voice is just as alive as on that 19 August night when bullets tried to silence it." --conclusion to this 2006 article, Poet's Death Still Troubles Spain.

Here is the link to the bilingual Fundacion Federico García Lorca (in Madrid) created by Lorca's sister, Isabel. BBC link of Lorca's life in pictures, here. I can barely write a thing as this horrific murder makes me weep.

The Interrupted Concert

The frozen sleepy pause

of the half moon

has broken the harmony

of the deep night.

The ditches, shrouded in sedge,

protest in silence,

and the frogs, muezzins of shadow,

have fallen silent.

In the old village inn

the sad music has ceased,

and the most ancient of stars

has muted its ray.

The wind has come to rest

in dark mountain caves,

and a solitary poplar—Pythagoras

of the pure plain—

lifts its aged hand

to strike at the moon. (trans. W.S. Merwin)

Dancing on Wine Bottles

Valued Exposure:17 year old Bianca Passarge of Hamburg dresses up as a cat, complete with furry tail and dances on wine bottles, June 1958. Her performance was based on a dream and she practiced for eight hours every day in order to perfect her dance. Photo: Carlo Polito/BIPs/Getty Images

Via BBC while doing some research. Utterly unrelated to people acting out their cat fantasies. On wine bottles? I'm too tired to make up anything sillier.

Arms Akimbo

...Their guild is giving money to the poor.

The worthy poor. The very very worthy

And beautiful poor. Perhaps just not too swarthy?

perhaps just not too dirty nor too dim

Nor—passionate. In truth, what they could wish

Is—something less than derelict or dull.

Not staunch enough to stab, though, gaze for gaze!

God shield them sharply from the beggar-bold!

The noxious needy ones whose battle’s bald

Nonetheless for being voiceless, hits one down.

But it’s all so bad! and entirely too much for them.

From The Lovers of the Poor by Gwendolyn Brooks. Entire poem, here.

I'm just as guilty, by the way. But I fight it. (Hint. The labels on my blogs are commentary, as well as a way for me to keep track of things undone, unsaid, incomplete. Ongoing projects, etc.) Something funnier, no doubt, later. Like running down the street at ungodly early hour, after garbage collectors. In robe & nightgown. (I was wearing the nightgown/robe.)

As Julie's blog is on break (though I might take it off break, so much is happening), here is a link to the lists of places to send help to Pakistan.

Update on Thursday evening. Wow, I'm infuriated by the news. Here's another list of places to help Pakistan. As I say on the other blog, some enlightened self-interest is a good thing. So even if you don't care about 20 million people, you might want to prevent some pretty bad blow-back. Just saying.

[Joan Bennett, arms akimbo via Stars of Yesterday tumblr]

Dare to Design a Shabby Apple Dress

Shabby Apple's announcement of their second annual Dare to Design competition was in this morning's email.You do not have to be a professional designer to enter. I'd love it if one of you goes for it. Please pass this along to any friends who might be interested, as well. You have until 15 October 2010, 11:59 EST. SA partners in a micro-finance program in India. This is not a small thing to me when considering a purchase.

I bought a Marseilles dress a year ago & I still love it (stripes!). This summer saw a French-inspired collection (stripes again) & the new retro apron line, Boysenberry Pie. I'm selecting patterns & fabric lately, not designing a thing (although I used to tweak patterns). If you're not up to entering a competition or are looking to buy something ready-made, Shabby Apple is also having a sale. There's a dress for everyone. No fighting!

[Suzy Parker via myvintagevogue; collage from Shabby Apple website images]

A Rose Bath

Pure heaven (if I can't see the Northern Lights) is a rose bath. In a house with electricity. Wireless & cable. Mad Men on a big screen, here I come. (If I can remember the instructions for turning it on.) Thanks to friends-at-the-beach who entrusted their lovely house & garden (not to mention Hermione the Cat) to me. Julie the Cat is trying her very best to be a humble house guest. (I'm dubious but she is giving it a go.) I am rediscovering the joys of refrigeration. A L'Occitane rose gel bath in the whirly-thingy bathtub - most excellent. Must be careful not to pull "a Lucy" & have great fluffs of foam topping the tub. A bit of the gel goes a very long way (I just rediscovered, uh huh). That's it, it's Sunday but wanted to proclaim my excitement at a real (& mold-free) bathtub/room.

Update - I think I just found the very "headboard" I'm looking for, here on From London With Love (via The Clever Pup). Off to shop. Seriously.

[Photograph by Cig Harvey via A Cup of Jo]

Week's End - Down the Highway

Well, I’m walkin’ down the highway/ With my suitcase in my hand...Dylan

OK, well, I'm not walking down the highway but expecting a ride down one tomorrow. (Though you should have seen me tromping down a highway last night, soaking wet, with a flashlight & fueled by indignation & a bit of fear.) And I'm trying to pack what I'll need/want. We've been without power AGAIN for the last few days. To say enough already is not adequate. Finally finally finally our Governor has had it, our County Executive has had it & who knows who else. I've been on a Campaign of Fury the past few days on the phone & radio stations. It will continue--not here--but at a place where the power rarely goes off & then for really good reasons. Like a hurricane. For Instance.

I've lost the contents of the fridge yet again. Not enough ice in the neighborhood. Until late last night, it was pitch dark, over 100 degrees in my apartment, & nearly as humid. Julie was about to sprout mushrooms from her little red head (for the uninitiated, that's the cat). Meanwhile, thank goodness for a fully-charged iPod (lent indefinitely) filled with hilarious & thought provoking podcasts by Stephen Fry. That darling devil.

Ciao for now. I'll visit everyone on the weekend/early next week as I take little breaks from off-line writing & trouble-making.
PS: As Julie's blog is on break, I cannot emphasize enough - somewhere - that millions of people are literally treading water in Pakistan. More than were affected in the tsunami. If you are so inclined--man, I hope you are--please go to Giulia Geranium for a list of places to help. Thanks. [photograph by Tim Walker]

Update: after posting this, the power went out again for 1.45 hours. (This is for record-keeping).