October | 2013 | dual personalities

October 31, 2013

This and that: toil and trouble edition

by chuckofish

Halloween really crept up on me. For the first time, I forgot to send cards to my loved ones. Not that it has ever been one of my favorite holidays, but without any little children around, it holds even less appeal for moi. I mean there are people in my neighborhood who put up fake cemeteries in their front yards at the end of September! Good grief.

Since I have sworn off candy corn, what does that leave?

Well, because I love my traditions, I did dig out my Halloween candles earlier in the month.

And here’s an adorable picture of the boy in toddler cowboy mode:

In other news, earlier in the week I picked up my finished needlepoint pillow from the Sign of the Arrow.

You’re impressed, right? The ladies at the SOTA were too. Allow me to bask in the light of this accomplishment for a little bit, please.

And in honor of our departed pater, who died on this day 21 years ago, let us read Psalm 90.

LORD, thou hast been our refuge, *
from one generation to another.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever the earth and the world were made, *
thou art God from everlasting, and the world without end.
Thou turnest man to destruction; *
again thou sayest, Come again, ye children of men.
For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday
when it is past, *
and as a watch in the night.
As soon as thou scatterest them they are even as a sleep, *
and fade away suddenly like the grass.
In the morning it is green, and groweth up; *
but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and withered.
For we consume away in thy displeasure, *
and are afraid at thy wrathful indignation.
Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee, *
and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.
For when thou are angry all our days are gone; *
we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told.
The days of our age are threescore years and ten;
and though men be so strong that thy come to fourscore years, *
yet is their strength then but labor and sorrow,
so soon passeth it away, and we are gone.
So teach us to number our days, *
that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

7 Comments

October 30, 2013

Darlin’, pardon me

by chuckofish

Edith Head died in 1981 at the age of 83, but because she was honored by Google on her birthday (October 28),

she has had a “new life” on the internet and in the blogosphere this week. Lots of bloggers posted about her and the memorable costumes she designed for actresses ranging from Mae West to Grace Kelly to Natalie Wood and Audrey Hepburn over her long career. Yes, she won a staggering eight Academy Awards and was nominated for 33!

I will not repeat what many bloggers have posted about the iconic designs Head provided for iconic Hitchcock and Cecil B. DeMille films. No, but I would like to mention a movie frequently overlooked when dissecting her career. It is one of the 33 for which she was Oscar-nominated: John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance!

Who can forget John Wayne’s double-breasted cavalry bib shirt and that terrific 10-gallon Stetson:

Or his gingham go-to-meetin’ dress shirt?

And Head must have had fun designing Lee Marvin’s Liberty Valance costume. What a menacing figure he cuts in his striped pants, exuberantly embroidered vest and Mexican hat, twirling his silver-handled quirt! His costume says: I am one mean bad-ass and don’t forget it.

Jimmy Stewart looks very John Hough-like in his suit, about to be chosen as their representative to the Constitutional Convention.

Edith Head once said she really enjoyed designing the costumes for The Sting because they were mostly for men. I imagine she had a fine time working with John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Lee Marvin, and the incomparable Woody Strode!

Lest we forget: she was a very versatile lady.

P.S. She also designed the costumes for White Christmas. Who will ever forget Danny Kaye’s grey pants, grey socks, grey shoes ensemble? And, of course, these two goofballs:

3 Comments

October 29, 2013

What are you reading?

by chuckofish

Recently I was looking around for something to read. It dawned on me, after looking something up in The Oregon Trail by Francis Parkman–something to do with our great-great grandmother’s stepfather (the mysterious Austrian Louis Vogel, whom Parkman describes as shifty-eyed)–that I should just read the whole thing.

The Oregon Trail: Sketches of Prairie and Rocky-Mountain Life, you will recall, was originally serialized in twenty-one installments in Knickerbocker’s Magazine (1847–49) and subsequently published as a book in 1849. It is an engaging first-person account of a 2-month summer tour in 1846 of territory that would become the U.S. states of Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado, and Kansas. Parkman, a Harvard graduate from a distinguished Boston family, was 23 at the time.

The heart of the book covers the three weeks he spent hunting buffalo with a band of Oglala Sioux.

Francis Parkman by N.C. Wyeth

Through much of his trip Parkman suffers terribly from dysentery, but he soldiers on admirably and his tone never reflects the misery he must have experienced. At one point he considers,

“Am I,” I thought to myself, “the same man who a few months since, was seated, a quiet student of belles-lettres, in a cushioned arm-chair by a sea-coal fire?”

He undertook this adventure in large part because he had been fascinated by the American Indian since childhood. If he was expecting the “noble red man” of popular fiction, however, he appears to have been disappointed. What he finds and documents without prejudice is far from that stereotype. He sees too that change is bound to come.

Great changes are at hand in that region. With the stream of emigration to Oregon and California, the buffalo will dwindle away, and the large wandering communities who depend on them for support must be broken and scattered. The Indians will soon be corrupted by the example of the whites, abased by whisky, and overawed by military posts; so that within a few years the traveler may pass in tolerable security through their country. Its danger and its charm will have disappeared together.

The Parkman Outfit. Henry Chatillon, Guide and Hunter, by N.C. Wyeth

I am enjoying the book immensely. Parkman evokes the same mid-19th-century youth and optimism found in Whitman and to some extent in Melville–who reviewed the book favorably when it was published.

It is indeed a remarkable thing that this brave young scion of Boston made this arduous trip and recorded it. We should be grateful, because it is amazing to me how little exists in the way of reliable records from this period. Most westerners were too busy (and some illiterate as well) to write anything down. Parkman’s travels with his friend John Quincy Shaw and his telling of them are a treasure. Clearly he learned a lot on his journey–about the land and about himself.

Shaw and I were much better fitted for this mode of traveling than we had been on betaking ourselves to the prairies for the first time a few months before. The daily routine had ceased to be a novelty. All the details of the journey and the camp had become familiar to us. We had seen life under a new aspect; the human biped had been reduced to his primitive condition. We had lived without law to protect, a roof to shelter, or garment of cloth to cover us. One of us at least had been without bread, and without salt to season his food. Our idea of what is indispensable to human existence and enjoyment had been wonderfully curtailed, and a horse, a rifle, and a knife seemed to make up the whole of life’s necessities. For these once obtained, together with the will to use them, all else that is essential would follow in their train, and a host of luxuries besides. One other lesson our short prairie experience had taught us; that of profound contentment in the present, and utter contempt for what the future might bring forth.

One lesson I have learned from reading this volume is that there are hundreds of books on my own shelves worth reading and re-reading!

What are you reading?

6 Comments

October 28, 2013

To go with the drift of things

by chuckofish

I had a rather sad weekend, spending a good deal of it thinking about what I had been doing the weekend before when daughter #1 was visiting. I try not to do this, but it is hard.

I watched a depressing movie about Sylvia Plath (played by Gwyneth Paltrow).

And I read some sad poems.

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question ‘Whither?’

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

― Robert Frost, Reluctance

I watched some stressful World Series games. But this guy always cheers me up.

I will miss our skipper in the off-season. See, there I go again! Well, onward and upward this week and go Cards!

4 Comments

October 26, 2013

Tragedy struck

by chuckofish

My (reproduction) Assyrian relief fell over and smashed to pieces on my office floor.

My colleagues were kind and helped me box the pieces, but they didn’t really understand and they made jokes about how it would seem more authentic if reconstructed from pieces. They were just trying to cheer me up, but I feel terrible. It was a very special gift from my parents. Sigh. I will put it back together, although I’m not exactly sure how to proceed. Certainly, it will take more than gorilla glue.

I spent the rest of the week consoling myself by rereading my collection of Mary Stewart novels.

Well written and civilized, these books are balm for any bibliophile who is tired of finding only things like 50 Shades of Gray on the shelves (not that I’ve read it). I know I sound cranky and old-fashioned, but it’s such a pleasure to read a book — a light romance novel, no less — in which the author assumes the reader shares a certain background knowledge and assumptions about good behavior and societal ideals. And everyone smokes constantly — honestly, it’s like ‘Mad Men’.

In other news, Halloween fast approaches. #2 son came home this week to collect things for his costume and that brought back many fond memories of past Halloween glory. Here he is as the Phantom of the Opera

the same year his brother went as a mad scientist.

Little brother, Tim, has always been adept at avoiding the camera, but I caught him many years ago in character as the Wolfman.

My boys have always loved Halloween — what boy wouldn’t like the chance to dress outlandishly and run around in the dark? It will be very quiet around here this year and I expect to turn the porch light off pretty early, but that will give me time to read Wildfire at Midnight so I don’t mind. What have you got planned?

2 Comments

October 25, 2013

Friday movie pick: He which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart

by chuckofish

The battle of Agincourt took place on Friday, October 25, 1415 (Saint Crispin’s Day) in northern France. You can read all about it here. And here’s the rousing speech by (Shakespeare’s) Henry V. (Every day is a good day to read this out loud; you will feel smarter having done so.)

Laurence Olivier–the best Henry V

What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Today is also the anniversary of the Charge of the Light Brigade, a charge of British light cavalry led by Lord Cardigan against Russian forces during the Battle of Balaclava in the Crimean War in 1854.

Here is the famous poem written by Alfred, Lord Tennyson to commemorate the event. I think my older brother had to memorize this poem in fifth grade and that was my first introduction to it. My kindergarten self thought it was pretty dramatic.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death,
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldiers knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Where is this post going? you ask. Well now, I don’t know about you, but all this patriotic English hoo-haw puts me in the mood for some Errol Flynn! However, the film version of The Charge of the Light Brigade (1936) is notable mostly for the fact that Errol Flynn does not “get the girl” (Olivia de Haviland).

No, his brother, played by the handsome Patric Knowles, does. This is hardly satisfactory.

I am more in the mood for something like Rocky Mountain (1950), which dishes up some large helpings of Confederate hoo-haw.

My movie pick for this week tells the story of a Confederate troop, led by Captain Lafe Barstow (Flynn), prowling the far ranges of California and Nevada in “a last desperate attempt” to build up an army in the West for the faltering Confederacy. The troop fails in its mission but the honor of the Old South is upheld as they too make a charge into “the valley of Death”. Although it features an aging Errol Flynn, it is not as bad as it sounds, due mostly to a pretty good screenplay by Alan Le May who wrote The Unforgiven and The Searchers. Also, Flynn does not phone in his performance as usual during this phase of his career, probably because he was trying to impress his co-star, the 24-year old Patrice Wymore, whom he married when filming ended.

Flynn was always impressive on horseback.

Anyway, I like this movie and its old-fashioned gallantry. There is even an obsessively loyal dog. And the tune “Dixie” is prominently featured in the tear-inducing score. I am hoping that it will be a good respite from baseball stress. Our Cardinals who have…fought so well…we hope will come…

…thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell…

Well, you get the idea. In other news: Eminem’s daughter Hailee was named homecoming queen at her high school. I don’t know about you, but this makes me very happy.

5 Comments

October 24, 2013

You’ve gotta have heart

by chuckofish

Okay, so that was embarrassing last night. But we all know one thing, right?

You’ve gotta have heart
All you really need is heart
When the odds are sayin’ you’ll never win
That’s when the grin should start

You’ve gotta have hope
Mustn’t sit around and mope
Nothin’s half as bad as it may appear
Wait’ll next year and hope

When your luck is battin’ zero
Get your chin up off the floor
Mister you can be a hero
You can open any door, there’s nothin’ to it but to do it

You’ve gotta have heart
Miles ‘n miles n’ miles of heart
Oh, it’s fine to be a genius of course
But keep that old horse
Before the cart
First you’ve gotta have heart

–Richard Adler and Jerry Ross
Damn Yankees

…and this is pretty funny: a World Series showdown between the brass of the STL Symphony and the Boston Symphony Orchestra

Go Cards!

4 Comments

October 23, 2013

Take me out to the ballgame

by chuckofish

Tonight is the first game of the World Series, and although I do not think of myself as a superstitious person…when it comes to baseball, I sort of am.

Two years ago I posted this picture of daughter #1 with Fredbird on the day of the first game of the World Series. We won in 2011, so I am going with that again.

And it is a classic (circa 1990?)) photo, isn’t it?

October 22, 2013

Happy Trails

by chuckofish

Good-by is a prayer, a ringing cry. ‘You must not go – I cannot bear to have you go! But you shall not go alone, unwatched. God will be with you. God’s hand will cover you’ and even – underneath, hidden, but it is there, incorrigible – ‘I will be with you; I will watch you – always.’ It is a mother’s good-by.

–Anne Morrow Lindbergh, North to the Orient

Well, I got up at 4:30 this morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, to drive daughter #1 to the airport. I have a long day ahead of me at the salt mine, but c’est la vie, n’est-ce pas?

We managed to fit in every favorite hometown thing she wanted to do. Yes, we went to the zoo.

We went to Grant’s Farm,

the Missouri Botanical Garden,

and squeezed in some estate-saling and outlet mall shopping.

We also ate out four times. We even went to church!

And the Cardinals won the National League pennant for the 19th time.

The Missouri Botanical Garden displays its Cardinal pride.

I am not too sad that daughter #1 has jetted back to her glamorous life in NYC, because I am going to visit her there in a few weeks for a quick weekend. Then daughter #2 will be home for Thanksgiving. In between my life will settle back into its old routine.

Thank goodness! I couldn’t keep up this pace for too much longer!

4 Comments

October 21, 2013

Flyover fun

by chuckofish

There are few places in the world more fun to hang out on a beautiful fall day than the beer garden of Grant’s Farm.

Free beer samples and giant pretzels. The best.

Daughter #1 heads back to NYC tomorrow, so I’ll have a longer post then. For now, the Cards trounced the Dodgers in game 6, so it’s on to the World Series!