Summer Travel Galleries

If I don't leave this coffee shop now, I'm going to have a public anxiety attack. It's nuts here today. Also, I haven't slept well & Julie (the Cat) & I are leaving to house/cat sit tomorrow. It's going to be like a vacation - I am so ready to be somewhere else even if it's in the DC-area.

I read many interesting things today & saw wonderful photographs. However, balky bandwidth & several inexplicably crashed sites are making it more-than-difficult to construct anything worth posting. I think I better get home to pack & decompress.

Summer Travel Galleries refers to a search on LIFE. If you aren't interested in Vladimir Putin's Manliest Moments, you might find Speedos: Gift or Curse? a hoot. (Three guess what I say about them. Oh gawd. I had a boyfriend not too long ago who insisted on wearing one. He's neither European nor an Olympic swimmer. These are the two categories I will accept--grudgingly--in Speedo sporters.) There are many more summer photo galleries for your viewing pleasure. Have fun.

I'll check in on Friday night (US East Coast time) if all goes well. And I'll respond to email, comments, & blog postings ASAP. I'll be in a better mood, too. I promise.

(photograph is from LIFE but I've wasted nearly an hour trying to find the credit. Phooey.)

Making an Exit

Every exit is an entrance somewhere else.--Tom Stoppard

Making an exit, planned or not, is almost always an option. Hold your head high while doing so. If you are pulled together with flattering lipstick & comfortable (but pretty!) shoes, it really helps. Armor thyself. Do not run away as if on fire. (Unless being chased by a lunatic. If you are on fire, believe me, you have other things to worry about. Remember: stop, drop, & roll.)

I've slunk through bookshop & library shelves, wound around corridors, exiting through a catering area more than once. Yes, I was on the ground. Once I crawled out of a club on my hands & knees through the kitchen. (I no longer do these things.) This is in response to a friend who told me that he cannot attend an event because of someone's possible appearance. But I've done the same, so I can't wag my finger at him. (I did not advise him to wear lipstick, no.)

(I'm turning off comments for this post only to relieve people from feeling imposed upon to make them.) OK, pressure's on. Just opened the comments.

(photograph via AMC of Joan/Christina Hendricks because she's putting on her armor here; plus, I can't see the finale of Mad Men until it downloads on iTunes tomorrow - mimph)

What I'd Be

without you. Racing over here to see "who"? Not yet. On a summer (it still is) play-list, blaring out of a teensy speaker is God Only Knows. Trust me, it's very cool in a mix. Julie swoons every time that song, Bus Stop or Try & Catch the Wind play. She's such a flower child-cat. At the same time, she enjoys the remastered Exile on Main Street. She's super cool in a friendly way & I wish I were more like her.

No, the subject is - what would I be without having flown many years ago, 16 September, at age 17* to Strasbourg, France. (via Luxembourg. Alone, baby, alone.) It's not that I regret our fast communication & info tech. It would have made a huge difference in my life some years later in the Middle East--for the better, possibly saved some lives. I don't pine for the good old days; they weren't always so good upon further examination. Anyway, as nervous as I was, I had to make the decisions on my own. That made me more confident, or at least damn nervier, than most 17-18 year old people today. Listen, I was never going to have much support no matter where I went or lived. (Material support? None. So before I receive more messages of "you had money, you grew up with..." No I did not. (This part is To Be Continued.)

I knew there weren't too many chances in life. If you think that's pessimistic, I would say it's realistic. You get a chance, you damn well better take it. Sometimes you can create an opportunity--but it's not all you, a lot depends on fate (or whatever you want to call it), other people, world events. (BTW, I'm not a fan of taking advantage of another person & calling that an opportunity.) That's why I went to Strasbourg & not to Paris.

Honestly, this whole enterprise is beyond ridiculous without a camera. These because the girl has a tripod & she's dressed in a manner similar to 1970s non-awfulness. (It wasn't all bad.) I wore hats & still do, but I don't think I had one this floppy. The rest are for-real Strasbourg photographs. The second one, it's the real place & it's a pigeonnier, close to the Rhine where I used to walk (approaching it through the other shot, which is a wheat field surrounded by the Strasbourg forest).

I have to break this up into parts. And then fix them. Bear with me. There are lots of great links here & on Julie's blog, Giulia Geranium. The Clever Pup is pondering Paris & has some current, good information on hotels. She researches this stuff to a fare-thee-well...so take advantage of it. Also, Liberty of London Girl's London Fashion Week Survival Kit giveaway is on until Thursday, 23 September. I still don't know if it's only for UK visitors, so enter anyway. It's fun to read the posts in between hideous world news bulletins. For those worried about Tea Party Poopers & assorted lunatics (if not, wow, wake up), The Political Carnival is my favorite place to check in. I rely on Laffy & Paddy to keep my spirits up, too. They are stylish, tweeting troublemakers.

(*soon to be 18 but I still love that I turned 18 in France. I'm hopeless about it, just let me have that, OK? Merci.)

Prowling for Flowers

It grew late. Through the open door, stealthily, came the scent of madonna lilies, almost as if it were prowling abroad.
--D.H. Lawrence

Well, close enough, though these aren't madonnas. They are Casablanca lilies on sale at White Flower Farm. I recently purchased a White Flower Farm 100-daffodil naturalizing kit for a friend & her husband's first anniversary. The bulbs will be shipped when planting time arrives. Meanwhile, today's White Flower Farm email highlighted these scented lilies & I can't resist showing them. I hope to resist buying any.

As a child, I was inordinately proud that my name means 'lily' in every language in which it appears. I was flower-mad from birth. My mother received a phone call from a neighbor at early dusk in late summer. Do you know where she is? She's naked in Mrs. N's rose garden. Uh oh. They split up & cornered me (I was a fast runner, even for 4 years old). I remember a thorn in my little paw--I blamed them (I must have been drunk on scent, to be so cheeky). As they rudely interrupted my communion with flowers, I'd clamped my fist around the (very few!) roses I'd pinched. My neighbor apologized for frightening me. My mother was annoyed, as one did not apologize to a child for anything. In her world, anyway. She said I was a bee in a former life. Or a dolphin. I wish she'd make up her mind.

If you have any room in your garden - you're lucky & here's the link to White Flower Farm. I've never had a thing go wrong with anything I've purchased from them. (I used to have a garden.) Many people shriek & say, the prices. Yes, well, you get what you pay for in these matters. (E.g., perfume)

[flower images via White Flower Farm]

Week's End - What a Dream I Had

...that tulle-clad, I rushed across the street & fixed the power grid myself. This is also to acknowledge a lovely man-child (at the time) who made this his song for me (& sang it) when he walked me around the chilly forests of Alsace, often late at night. Also rambles on the grounds of a château, close to the Rhine. Yes, we even heard the Cathedral bells, though not the Lorelei. It's the anniversary of a very difficult day & so I thank him. (Yes, too sentimental. Oh well.) Update: better quality video, here.

Continuing unexplained power outages. No one is telling us/answering our questions.

Le Regard Bleu/The Blue Look

Une Histoire de Bleu / From A Story of Blue by Jean-Michel Maulpoix [From Poetry, October 2000]

Nous connaissons par ouï-dire l'existence de l'amour.

Assis sur un rocher ou sous un parasol rouge, allongés dans le pré bourdonnant d'insectes, les deux mains sous la nuque, agenouillés dans la fraîcheur et l'obscurité d'une église, ou tassés sur une chaise de paille entre les quatre murs de la chambre/

************
We know through hearsay that love exists.

Seated on a rock or under a red parasol, lying in the field buzzing with insects, our hands clasped behind our necks, kneeling in the cool darkness of a church, or settled on a straw chair within the four walls of the bedroom/(continued)

Four walls of bedrooms (chambres) via Marie Claire Maison. Yes, still looking at these (& rewriting). I loved this prose poem in the October 2000 Poetry & still do. It fell off the shelf today & so it's come to this: books or journals that fall on my feet (or head) due to lack of housekeeping (or space), that's a post. That's what happens with writing, as well. It's not as dumb as it sounds or seems. (She said to herself.)

That's Richard & Elizabeth to You

& me. Not Liz & Dick! Some of Richard Burton's love letters to Elizabeth Taylor are in the July 2010 Vanity Fair. This is not news, I know. I look forward to receiving my copy; yes, I take it, don't judge! (With the hideous images, descriptions of human rights abuses I have to read & gaze upon...eye candy is what I need, baby.) When there is a highly-publicized VF cover, sometimes it does not arrive in my mailbox. (Grace Kelly arrived in May, so I have hope.) Monday night update: nope not here; it's on the stands. Hmmm.

I can't believe I'm posting these but the couple loomed large when I was little. Anyway, the "Liz & Dick," "Dick & Liz" is annoying. When one is preoccupied with more important matters, small things can grate. So that's my excuse to post photographs of them. (Yes, of course it's also because Burton was Welsh.)

Very few images are attributed, oddly. Some of the black & white are by Gjon Mili in LIFE archives; the others are from The Burtons - a tumblr blog. It's fun, pay a visit. And though there's a super-mushy song playing behind it, here's a well-done, high quality YouTube tribute to E&R. Very clear & beautiful photographs, many I'd not seen before. So on a June Monday, have a little fun.

Week's End - Day at the Beach

This was going to be 'no day at the beach' but these are too cute, though that older one seems a bit bossy. These are not necessarily two sisters as I have older cousins & felt like a little sister quite often. However, the three younger sibsters will fill your ear about my alleged bossiness. Propriety - & a lack of time to write a clever riposte (for now) - prevents me from making my case. (I said, for now, B, E, J....mwahahaha). If they're not good, I'll scan photos on a new-to-me printer/scanner & post them. Let me think on what I shall take in return for not doing so...hmmm.... Nope, can't be bought. Ciao!

[photographs by Nina Leen, LIFE Archives]

One Too Many Mornings

Happy Birthday, Bob Dylan, you cranky cuss. I was slow off the mark (again!) & La Clever Pup beat me to it. Here's her post Not Dark Yet.

The image here is via BabyBlueOnline. The longish quote because the painter deserves credit (though only the painter's sibling is named. Hmmm.).

"One of our regulars here at the cafe, Dabney Oakley, has sent us a painting done by his sister in 1964. The story is that a "'Bob Zimmerman' was visiting a friend at Randolph-Macon Womans College in Lynchburg. Not looking like the usual prepsters from Hampden-Sydney, Washington & Lee, or UVa, he was asked to 'sit' for a 'Studio Portrait Class.' The portrait shown was done by my sister. I'm sure there are others 'out there,' too."

Would love to know more about those paintings (that college isn't far from here & friends teach/have taught there). Alas, one more cup of coffee is needed on this new morning. (OK, I'll stop.) Still, hey painter lady--get in touch.

Some years ago I attended a Dylan birthday party (no, he wasn't there). My then-newish boyfriend looked at me in muted horror (it's possible, believe me. He was a diplomat's son from a Byzantine culture - well, that's redundant. Levantine with the Byzantine diplomatic background overlay.) I assured him the tiny harmonicas thrust at us upon arrival were party favors, nothing more. He parked himself in a corner with Dylan (the Resident Cat) & fiddled around with the plastic. An hour later, he played something (don't remember what). Not bad though, not bad at all.

Worlds Collide (Always)

"There is within these peoples' souls a tremendous amount of beauty and [conviction] that they can actually make a difference.." - Tom Block, artist & activist

This event is more detailed on Giulia Geranium; also here on the festival site. My entire life as a writer & poet (& let's face it, as a bon vivant:) has a tension that I wish I could work out as Tom has. (I've spent my life trying.) We're fellow members of a local Amnesty International group; he's founder/producer of a humongous Human Rights Art Festival in our neighborhood. The list of executive producers, sponsors, & other helpers is quite impressive. Last year, about 4 of us sitting around a table in a now-defunct café, talking with Tom about the festival seems a million years ago. Many local (& beyond) bloggers are having great fun with this, of course. Like the answer is...do nothing? Well, I guess I won't be kissing them at the booth.

I really am thinking of taking Julie to a few events but concerned about her asthma. Will try to borrow decent camera. I'm not officially volunteering as I didn't know how I'd feel on any given day...but I'll be hanging out at various venues...so come up & talk to me, already. Two fun words to tempt you: Flash Mob. (I know, I know...technically not if people know...simmer down, people.)

The YouTube video is worth watching...just a few moments with Tom. I tried to embed it but it's not cooperating.)You should be there when he meets someone he's painted. (You want/enjoy surreal? I can't even begin to describe it at this moment.) The funny thing about the video though...I forgot that Tom wore a suit that day...I barely recognize him. (Don't tell him. Puhleeze.)

[image by Tom Block/all rights reserved/used with permission of artist]

Week's End - Café Stories

People have suffered enough this week with my unedited goofball antics. But I have a little café story. As I was gathering my things to leave, I fell/draped over a small table (see above) when I espied a man on whom I had a severe, disabling crush walk in. It was my secret (until then). The two friends who'd shared my wine (one white wine glass!) shared my mortification--hey, the whole outdoor audience, shared in it. Oh, it got better. I abruptly raised up from the waist (think cobra position), turned around (to run away, of course, wouldn't YOU?), & fell right into/over the chair in which I'd been sitting for 2 hours. Skinned my knees, broke a sandal strap, my sunglasses. The psychic damage would have been awful...but he asked me out after he pulled me up off the sidewalk.

Here's to a lovely weekend, whatever you have planned. (Watch your step.) A big thank you to Kristin Espinasse of French-Word-A-Day fame (well-earned) for the use of her photograph. If you've not been to visit Kristin, you must. I insist. I'll fall right onto your desk if you don't.

Walking the Old City

In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,

I walk from one epoch to another without a memory

to guide me...-by Mahmoud Darwish

[photograph via we heart it, unattributed from an unidentified tumblr acct. Let me know if it's yours; I'd love a dove hair ornament]

Jerusalem in Sepia

[The Real Israel blog; unfortunately, inactive]

Signorina Destiny

"Painted in 1900. This picture was given to the Artists War Fund, in support of British casualties of the Boer War. The girl is drinking a toast to the departing warriors, whose ships can be seen in a mirror in the background. Once again the painter produces a highly attractive female, and moreover one of real flesh and blood, in contrast to the more stylised figures of Edward Burne-Jones, with whom his work is so often compared. The Italian origins of the painter’s art are also apparent."* Painting by John William Waterhouse.

No matter the foregoing, Signorina Destiny has always evoked Venice for me. And curiously, or not, The Wings of the Dove (Henry James). Yes, I'm distracted (slightly) as I wend around & wade through heaps of reading & research; but wanted to post it as it's so very pretty.

[*Image of 'Destiny' & text in italics via a lovely website jwwaterhouse.com, maintained by Mr. Alan Do.]

Jerusalem 1986: The Borrowed Flat

Cringe. Originally published in WordWrights magazine (No. 29), copyright, October 2003. (written & revised over many years...it's been a few years, time for another revision.) Via scan with another poem cropped out. Not ready to see that again! Several issues are missing from the site. I'm not surprised, what a dysfunctional bunch (more than usual). You should (not) have been at the party to which I was persuaded to go. I whispered to a companion, "Let's get out of this boring, insane place--I mean really. The nerve to be crazy and boring? That is not to be borne." He said, "Material, you always say it's material..." Yes, well. That was not material. What it was I can say another time. Drawing a blank. SNL skit doesn't cover it.

(Copyright, Susan V. Sears/all rights reserved)