dual personalities

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Happy Birthday Paul Newman

by chuckofish

I miss Paul Newman. None of the young guys out there now (hot though some of them are) quite measure up in terms of presence and cool. I like a lot of his movies, but his best role ever was definitely “Cool Hand Luke”.

I watched this movie recently with boy #3 and it has certainly stood the test of time. I love the scene when Luke meets his dying mother and later when he mourns her death by playing the banjo and singing “dashboard Madonna” (who knew Paul could sing?). There are so many great scenes in this movie and the supporting actors — George Kennedy, who won an academy award for his portrayal of Dragline, Joe van Fleet as the mother, Strother Martin as the commandant, Anthony Zerbe with his dogs, Dennis Hopper, Wayne Rogers, Harry Dean Stanton, and Jo Don Baker — are perfect. But Newman owns every scene. I was struck by how little he actually says in the movie, which just goes to show that the truly great actor can own a movie without saying a lot — and I don’t mean in a Clint Eastwood Spaghetti Western way. There’s a big difference between taciturn and quiet. Personally, I don’t think Clint’s movies have aged particularly well, but we can get into that another time…

I think my second favorite Paul Newman movie has to be “Hombre” — and again, Newman brings so much more to quiet cool than Eastwood ever did. If you haven’t seen this movie lately (or at all), watch it, it’s great. After I saw it as a kid, I went around trying to walk quietly like an Apache for days (I hope no one realized that at the time!). Here he is with co-star Diane Cilento (who recently passed away) in what has to be her best role.

I also really like in “The Sting”, “Long Hot Summer”, and “Road to Perdition” — what are your favorite Paul Newman movies?

Visiting Gertrude Stein

by chuckofish

I was talking to daughter #1 yesterday about Gertrude Stein. She had gone to the exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery and was thinking about visiting the Met in New York where they have an exhibit on Stein as well.

Picasso's portrait of Gertrude Stein

It got me thinking about the expatriot writer and her salon in Paris. People started coming to her house at the turn of the 20th century, visiting in order to check out her Matisse paintings and the Cézannes: “Matisse brought people, everybody brought somebody,” she wrote, “and they came at any time and it began to be a nuisance, and it was in this way that Saturday evenings began.”

During the 1920s many great writers, including Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, Thornton Wilder, and Sherwood Anderson were welcomed into her home. Among those American writers was my grandfather, who, according to my father, went to visit one Saturday with his wife and baby son. In fact, the infant Newell actually sat on Gertrude’s lap! Apparently she thought he was a very cute baby…and why wouldn’t she:

He was pretty adorable, wasn’t he?

A bit of trivia: Gertrude Stein was the godmother of Ernest Hemingway’s son Jack.

He was pretty cute too.

Happy Birthday Virginia Woolf, part II…on a (slightly) happier note

by chuckofish

I confess that this dualpersonality is not a huge fan of Virginia Woolf. However, a passage from Orlando, which struck a note with house-loving me, describes the fate of Knole Park in Kent, which is a bigger house than anyone but a Renaissance monarch should live in (and Henry VIII did own it for a while) and looks like this:

It ended up belonging to the Sackville-Wests and Virginia Woolf, a friend of Vita Sackville-West, spent a lot of time there. In Orlando her main character

…passed down the gallery whose floor was laid with whole oak trees sawn across. Rows of chairs with all their velvets faded stood ranged against the wall holding their arms out for Elizabeth, for James, for Shakespeare it might be, for Cecil, who never came.

the brown gallery at Knole House

The sight made her gloomy. She unhooked the rope that fenced them off. She sat on the Queen’s chair; she openeed a manuscript book lying on Lady Betty’s table; she stirred her fingers in the aged rose leaves; she brushed her short hair with King James’ silver brushes; she bounced up and down upon his bed (but no king would ever sleep there again, for all Louise’s new sheets) and pressed her cheek against the worn silver counterpane that lay upon it.

King James' bed Knole house

But everywhere were little lavender bags to keep the moth out and little printed notices, “Please do not touch”, which, though she had put them there herself, seemed to rebuke her. The house was no longer hers entirely, she sighed. It belonged to time now; to history; was past the touch and control of the living. Never would beer be spilt here anymore, she thought…or holes burnt in the carpet. Never two hundred servants come running and brawling down the corridors with warming pans and great branches for the great fire-places. Never would ale be brewed and candles made and saddles fashioned and stone shaped in the workshops outside the house. Hammers and mallets were silent now. Chairs and beds were empty; tankards of silver and gold were locked in glass cases. The great wings of silence beat up and down the empty house.

Now I don’t much care about the goings-on of aristocrats and the American in me finds those English estates (and, indeed, many of our own) over the top, but I can’t help feeling sorry for any house that has become a museum even as I’m glad it’s been preserved. I think Virginia Woolf perfectly understood that and beautifully described the way the past lingers in an empty house. So Happy Birthday, Virginia!

Happy birthday, Virginia Woolf

by chuckofish

Virginia Woolf was born Adeline Virginia Stephen on this date in 1882. Fifty-nine years later she waded into the River Ouse, her pockets filled with stones, and drowned on March 28, 1941. The author of many essays and well-known novels, she also wrote one of the great suicide notes of all time:

Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ’til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V

Really, don’t you think so? I am not being glib. You have to hand it to Virginia–she really did not want Leonard to feel guilty about what she was doing. And she must have felt that she had no choice. This makes me want to watch The Hours with Nicole Kidman and Meryl Streep and Ed Harris wearing the rocket ship bathrobe from Garnet Hill.

In the bleak midwinter

by chuckofish

It’s that time of year when we stay in a lot. It is a good time to clean closets, organize drawers and cupboards, and…needlepoint. I have done a lot of needlepoint in my time:

I love these elephants from Ehrman Tapestry in England.

…and this exotic blue water bird.

Not to mention these great bees on a brick = doorstop! Brilliant.

I did this millefleur design many years ago.

And this hooty owl as well. Now I am trying to psyche myself into getting back to my needlepoint, which I abandoned a few years ago as a really challenging Ehrman design and my failing eyesight combined to thwart my good intentions. Sigh. I am inspired by a friend of mine who turns 91 this year and still makes a lot of her own clothes! What do you think?

The way I (frequently) feel

by chuckofish

I found this comic in an old high school scrapbook of mine. It so perfectly sums up my altar ego! If only.

Confessions of a bad housewife

by chuckofish

I have to admit it. I’m not a great housekeeper — in fact, I’m really quite awful, although since I live with four guys, I probably deserve a little sympathy. Still, there’s no denying the house could be cleaner. But finally, after lots of online searching, I found some help and now I’ve had a cleaning epiphany. I see redemption in my future! Meet Barkeeper’s Friend

Yes, it’s for real; it’s cheap and you can get it at amazon.com for about $4. It cleans the gungyest gunge off anything. My kitchen sink looks like new, the bathtub (almost) has no rings, and the hard water buildup around the bathroom faucets is soon to disappear. Yes, it’s a sort of acid and you should wear gloves when you use it and refrain from snorting it, but it doesn’t smell and it works!!! Yee-ha!

Next on my list: the greasy, dirty kitchen cabinets.

Jeepers creepers

by chuckofish

I have officially become one of those people who has a pair of reading glasses in every room where there is a remote possibility I might want to read something. Sigh. What’s next? Wearing them around my neck on a chain?

Happy birthday, Mary and Dolly (and Buffy)

by chuckofish

January 19 is my mother’s birthday. It is also Dolly Parton’s. As I’ve mentioned before, it is also Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s birthday. Talk about synchronicity! My mother would be 86; she died in 1988. Dolly is 66. Buffy, being a fictional character, never ages.

On the Episcopal Church calendar of saints it is the feast day of St. Wulfstan (c. 1008 – 20 January 1095), Bishop of Worcester. He was the last surviving pre-Conquest bishop and the only English-born bishop after 1075. Oh boy.

But today we recognize those latter day saints, Mary and Dolly.

My mother's the squirmy one on the right

My mother was born and raised in Worcester, MA. She was a happy child who knocked her teeth back in her head while sledding, so enthusiastic was the abandonment with which she threw herself down the hill. She wore braces (at age 3) to correct her teeth. She was the opposite of me as a child. I was timid where she was gregarious and daring. Her stories of her childhood frequently scared me. Especially the one about the great New England hurricane of 1938–when they ran out in the street to see the destruction! And then, of course, she skied the Headwall on Mt. Washington at Tuckerman’s Ravine while a college girl at Middlebury. She was fearless.

But life can change you. Things happen. You get married and have three kids.You move away from home and your family. You live among strangers. Despite her challenges, my mother was a great mother. She taught me that you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them. She taught me to keep it simple. She taught me that antiques should be lived with, not kept behind a silk rope. She taught me that Shane and Ninotchka and Breakfast at Tiffany’s and The Quiet Man and The Adventures of Robin Hood are great movies and that Errol Flynn was the epitome of handsomeness. She defended Elvis. She tried to teach me and my sister the importance of ladylike behavior at all times. She hated vulgarity. She taught me that you have to work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. She taught me the importance of being spontaneous and that parties should always have favors. She taught me that you could never have enough bookshelves and that there is always money for books.

And then there’s Dolly. Dolly Rebecca Parton as you well know, is an American singer-songwriter, author, multi-instrumentalist, actress and philanthropist, who is best known for her work in country music. Dolly was born in Sevierville, Tennessee, the fourth of twelve children born to Robert Lee Parton and Avie Lee Parton. She is clearly a multi-talented person, but her song-writing is where she really shines. Indeed, she has written over 3,000 songs and has earned over 35 BMI Pop and Country Awards throughout her prolific songwriting career. In 2001 she was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame. She was honored as a BMI Icon at the 2003 BMI Country Awards. Yes, she is an icon.

A lot of people don’t know that since she hit it big, Dolly Parton has supported many charitable efforts, particularly in the area of literacy, primarily through her Dollywood Foundation. Her literacy program, “Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library”, a part of the Dollywood Foundation, mails one book per month to each enrolled child from the time of their birth until they enter kindergarten. It began in Sevier County but has now been replicated in 566 counties across 36 U.S. states (as well as in Canada). In December 2007 it expanded to Europe with the South Yorkshire town of Rotherham, United Kingdom, being the first British locality to receive the books. The program distributes more than 2.5 million free books to children annually. Is this awesome or what?

And her Dollywood theme park has brought jobs and tax revenues to a previously depressed region. She has probably done more to help people live respectable lives in Tennessee than anyone else. Dolly never just played lip service to where she came from. She has spread her wealth around from the very beginning. I have always thought she should run for Governor. She would be a great one. She is clearly a great role-model for all young women. That is why I encouraged daughter #2 to choose Dolly as her 6th grade Reach project. Here she is in costume holding her shoe box Grand Ole Opry for her (1st place) presentation:

Unfortunately her platform sandals are not visible.

She has written so many great songs, but Coat of Many Colors is my favorite. (Dolly has also described it as her favorite of all the songs she’s ever written.) In my humble opinion it is one of the best songs ever written by an American, right up there with those greats written by Stephen Foster, Rogers & Hammerstein, Irving Berlin, Johnny Mercer, Bob Dylan and all the rest. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Hearing it sung by Dolly is a real emotional experience!

Back through the years
I go wonderin’ once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
And how my momma put the rags to use
There were rags of many colors
Every piece was small
And I didn’t have a coat
And it was way down in the fall
Momma sewed the rags together
Sewin’ every piece with love
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of
As she sewed, she told a story
From the bible, she had read
About a coat of many colors
Joseph wore and then she said
Perhaps this coat will bring you
Good luck and happiness
And I just couldn’t wait to wear it
And momma blessed it with a kiss

Chorus:

My coat of many colors
That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me

So with patches on my britches
Holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me

And oh I couldn’t understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love
My momma sewed in every stitch
And I told ‘em all the story
Momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes

But they didn’t understand it
And I tried to make them see
That one is only poor
Only if they choose to be
Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
Made just for me

So happy birthday, Mary and Dolly…and Buffy! You’re the best!

Do you remember Christmas 1976?

by chuckofish

For some undefinable reason, I remember it as a particularly happy one, maybe because I associate it with one of the presents I got that year

Gordon Lightfoot's Don Quixote

and particularly, with the song, from which the album took its name, Don Quixote. I’ve been listening to it recently and it has stood the test of time really well. Here are the lyrics:

Through the woodland, through the valley
Comes a horseman wild and free
Tilting at the windmills passing
Who can the brave young horseman be
He is wild but he is mellow
He is strong but he is weak
He is cruel but he is gentle
He is wise but he is meek
Reaching for his saddlebag
He takes a battered book into his hand
Standing like a prophet bold
He shouts across the ocean to the shore
Till he can shout no more

I have come o’er moor and mountain
Like the hawk upon the wing
I was once a shining knight
Who was the guardian of a king
I have searched the whole world over
Looking for a place to sleep
I have seen the strong survive
And I have seen the lean grown weak

See the children of the earth
Who wake to find the table bare
See the gentry in the country
Riding off to take the air

Reaching for his saddlebag
He takes a rusty sword into his hand
Then striking up a knightly pose
He shouts across the ocean to the shore
Till he can shout no more

See the jailor with his key
Who locks away all trace of sin
See the judge upon the bench
Who tries the case as best he can
See the wise and wicked ones
Who feed upon life’s sacred fire
See the soldier with his gun
Who must be dead to be admired

See the man who tips the needle
See the man who buys and sells
See the man who puts the collar
On the ones who dare not tell
See the drunkard in the tavern
Stemming gold to make ends meet
See the youth in ghetto black
Condemned to life upon the street

Reaching for his saddlebag
He takes a tarnished cross into his hand
Then standing like a preacher now
He shouts across the ocean to the shore
Then in a blaze of tangled hooves
He gallops off across the dusty plain
In vain to search again
Where no one will hear

Through the woodland, through the valley
Comes a horseman wild and free
Tilting at the windmills passing
Who can the brave young horseman be
He is wild but he is mellow
He is strong but he is weak
He is cruel but he is gentle
He is wise but he is meek

I’m sure the song is on youtube and I would have embedded a video, but I’m not that techno-savvy. What’s your favorite Gordon Lightfoot song?