Spooky Sunday - Falling Darkness

It's Halloween in Oxford, and mischief is in the air — and, as it happens, murder. A woman is found dead, a stake through her heart, a bulb of garlic in her mouth. It's a surreal crime...Inspector Lewis final episode of season. Falling Darkness. (via PBS Mystery website) Jane Austen World's review. Love these. Boo!

(photographs via Jane Austen World & OldUKPhotos (dot) com)

On the Phone - Charmed, I'm Sure

I will call, just a moment. Keep repeating to self: Go to the party, you idiot cow. What is wrong with you?" Oh, I should be kinder to self? As in, I never speak to people the way I speak to myself. Right. What could be so scary? You've done this most of your life. Why didn't I read the book beforehand? Shall not pretend to have done so. Shall remain calm in manner of Bridget...oh no, that wasn't charming. Funny, yes. Goal: no funny business (tonight). Especially no unintentional slapstick. No, you absolutely cannot go in nightgown & ballet slippers. Only maniacs, people under 20, & Julian Schnabel wear their pajamas at public events.

Oof.

[images of AH (except AH reading book) via Lia Chang's Backstage Pass blog. A new-to-me scanner/printer sits just where it did more than 2 weeks ago when a friend dropped it off. Of course it does. AH reading book by Mark Shaw; in pjs, by Alfred Eisenstaedt, both via LIFE Archives]

Here's Your Hat...

Though it sounds very Blondie (the comic strip, not Deborah Harry), I need one more (hat). It's so hot outside that I'm delaying errands until early evening (when the hail & thunder will no doubt arrive...timing is not my forté), hence the hat hunting. The b&w Nina Leen photographs were shot for fun. Perhaps that's why Suzy Parker popped the goofy number on her head. It's definitely a case of "one of these things is not like the others." (I love the blue dress.) And that's why I need one more hat; I miss my beloved messed-up (real) Panama. It's less girly when that is necessary & it has a coolness factor that I need.

Unfortunately, a few years ago, I left the hat in my mother's car. It was a somewhat contentious weekend & very hot, as well. I painted a lot of trellises, pruned a lot of roses, & whatever else was on her list. She popped out to do some errands & a pint of Ben & Jerry's was placed in the upended hat. Panama hats can withstand a lot of abuse, but a desert-battered chapeau will go to hat heaven when it becomes a Chunky Monkey Lake. I don't even like that flavor!

[I can't remember where I got the color Suzy pix but myvintagevogue has a very nice selection, so here's that link. The Panama is via Village Hat Shop (dot) com]

Rose Clothes

[Nina Leen/LIFE archives]

Cutting Up in Black & White, Part One

"Well then, we went and had tea with Henry James today ... and Henry James fixed me with his staring blank eye — it is like a child's marble — and said 'My dear Virginia, they tell me — they tell me — they tell me — that you — as indeed being your fathers daughter nay your grandfathers grandchild — the descendant I may say of a century — of a century — of quill pens and ink — ink — ink pots, yes, yes, yes, they tell me — ahm m m — that you, that you, that you write in short.' This went on in the public street, while we all waited, as farmers wait for the hen to lay an egg — do they? — nervous, polite, and now on this foot now on that." --Virginia Woolf

From today's Writer's Almanac site. (Thank you, dear Garrison.) As solemn as I am today (& lately), this made me laugh out loud. It's the natal day of Henry James. I will elaborate, in the summer, on the big huge embarrassing booboo gaffe scene I made /committed/created in an academic department one fine spring day. Briefly, then...I was caught mocking James, his plots, sentences, & the stentorian-voiced (female) professor who taught his oeuvre--ahem. (Let me be clear: she was a literary luminousa & scary. Grown men quaked in her presence.) My impromptu comedy skit, including different voices--when I go for it, I go big, people--was a hoot; everyone laughed until they cried (or peed their pants.).Then all went suddenly silent. The sickening realization that, holy cow-wow, she's right behind me. Right? Where is everyone going? You're leaving me alone? Cowards!

I blame...my mother (of course I do). Yes, and all relatives & family friends who encouraged me to perform, to mug for their cameras, & generally to entertain them. It had a weird effect of making me even more shy--except when performing. (And now, they want me to pull a Tina Fey. Too late, people. Besides, do you realize that you will be in this stuff? Huh?)

It cannot be overstated how often my mother was stopped & asked: do you know who you & your little girl remind me of? Also what cannot be overstated is how much my second sister looks like the young Shirley. [Photographs by Allan Grant in 1957/LIFE archives]

PS: Mom, et al: you asked for it. What can I say? You have a few months to procure hush money.

Satellite Dishes

Phftt. Bombs in Moscow. "Tea parties." Listening to a favorite WAMU-FM (NPR) show & two Maryland /DC TP-ers. OK, bravo, for having them on to expose their lunacy. I can just predict it: I'll bite through my mouthguard tonight (again).

I have nothing (that I can write here). Please consider going to Giulia Geranium (Julie the Cat's blog) & clicking some do-gooder links over there.

These pix cracked me up a few weeks ago--LIFE Archives. It's not the era I'm researching, so I don't remember why these popped up. Probably because I love Nina Leen photographs. Did anyone's mother (or did you, do you?) wear these? My mother was more a pencil skirt person. She was a dish, though. (As we were always told. Endlessly. I'm not bitter.)

Once Upon a Time, a St. David's Day in Italy

My favorite St. David's Day (March 1) memory is a daffodil quest in southern Italy. I was visiting friends for a few weeks, near Naples. One of this delightful duo was shy about his southern accent & still-tentative English. My southern dialect--forget it; "regular Italian" - it kept slipping into French. Our Italian-speaking link was doing something important --foraging for dinner ingredients. Me? Of course, I was obsessed with flowers & on this weekend, daffodils. I forgot the Italian word, if I ever knew it. Finally after squeaking out 'spring, 'yellow,' & I don't remember what else in Italian, S. lit up & said, "trombone?" I, being an ass, said,"No, no. Trombone? What? No that's an instrument in inglese." Finally, slow me, oh. Daffodils. They are trumpet-shaped--ah.

The sight of an older man pretend-playing a horn instrument & a younger, somewhat exasperated English-speaking woman performing the universal hand-to-head circling motion amused a bunch of bored children with no immediate interests except a Saturday gelato. We made a little bow to the kids, & slunk away. After the forager returned, she explained what was what (after laughing a bit too much--ahem), & S. became obsessed with the idea that I should have trombone. I was embarrassed that I had not only called him crazy in a public market, but now I had given him a new mission. He's one of those lovely people around whom one should be careful to express any wish that he could possibly (& maybe not even possibly) fulfill.

Later that evening, as I fussed with the sitting room brazier, tossing in clementine peels to achieve the most fragrant scent, I looked up & there he was in the doorway, holding a gigantic bunch of the longest-stemmed daffodils I'd ever seen. Before or since. I don't know where or when he got them that day, but being an Italian he possessed a sense of the dramatic moment & thus waited for a post-dinner flourish.

Here are some lovely links to a celebration of St. David's Day weekend in Rome (yes, yes), the end of which involves daffodil distribution. Also, here is a link to a current National Museum of Wales exhibit: Italian Memories in Wales.

cariad & ciao

[photograph of Sophia Loren, I should look so good, via If It's Hip, It's Here; Scented Alley in Naples by golden puppy via flickr]

Haiti

It seems there was an earthquake that/ Left nothin' but a Panama hat/ And a pair of old Greek shoes./ Didn't seem like much was happenin',/ So I turned it off and went to grab another beer./ Seems like every time you turn around/ There's another hard-luck story that you're gonna hear/ And there's really nothin' anyone can say/ And I never did plan to go anyway/ To Black Diamond Bay.

Determined to put something in about Haiti. Plus, it means something to me. Some years ago, as a reply to my plea to help in another disaster, a friend played this song. I have to say, it was a unique way of saying no & he received style points (from me) for it.

Whether you were planning to go or not. Let's not turn our backs. Like my former friend.

There are postings everywhere with suggestions for donations. I made mine to the Red Cross & World Vision. There are links on Giulia Geranium (or scads of other places). Plus every country has their Red Cross chapter. Upate: I see that Wyclef Jean's Yéle Haiti Foundation has its donation site up, now. He donates 100% to relief, too.

Another update on Thursday: Received this wonderful message just now in a Red Cross e-card:

Ciao Susanna and Giulia,
I was inspired by your posting and have made a donation for the relief effort. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday!
xoxo

[photograph of Haitian bird in a cage by John Leonard/LIFE archives]

Christmas Wrapping Rumpus

Dreading tonight's second holiday wrapping-for-donation gig. I used to be fairly good at it. Years of inability to give gifts have rendered me as four-thumbed as this child. Seriously, wrapping-under-pressure is stressful. The only thing more stressful? Two weeks ago there were very few customers in the large bookstore. Eep. Hope for better tonight. And no lectures from those who disapprove of Amnesty International. In a departure from my tight, slight, polite smile, I fear I might roar back causing said person to back-flip in manner of Peanuts characters. Off to brew calming ginger tea. Do visit Hazel at The Clever Pup who is back with amusing Christmas tidbits (original art, French video, handmade moose ornament, & much more).

It's also supposed to go colder & wetter this evening. But of course. Wish me luck.

[photographs by Nina Leen via LIFE archives]

PS Update: Amy Merrick on Design*Sponge has a funny post on lagging behind in holiday spirit & what she did about it. Hint: it involves a fishnet leg lamp & a Daisy Red Ryder BB gun.

Dim-out Fashion

A way to divert attention away from one's waistline. And making do...[Andreas Feininger photo essay in LIFE archives/1943]