dual personalities

Tag: family

August 4, 2014

The very top of summer

by chuckofish

“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.”

–Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

How was your weekend? Mine went super fast, starting with my Friday night when, after an exhausting day, I sat down to watch Cat Ballou and promptly fell asleep. No great loss, but there went my Friday night!

Saturday I went to a baby shower-(!)-given by the friend of the first soon-to-be-a-grandma of my friends.

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Time marches on–relentlessly.

I watched a good documentary about the Ghost Army in WWII suggested by my dual personality.

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The documentary tells about a 1944 secret U.S. Army unit that was set up in order to misdirect the Nazis. The weapons used included inflatable tanks and specially made sound effects records. Their mission was to use deceit to fool the enemy into thinking there were troops where there were none. It worked to an amazing degree. Fascinating!

I worked on my DIY project in an upstairs bathroom–removing wallpaper and glue. The worst. My career as a hand model is officially over.

I continued to read about Ned Kelly and started a memoir of a pioneer Presbyterian minister who established the first protestant church on the western slope (in Lake City, CO).

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Ned Kelly, as portrayed by the wonderful Peter Carey is an engaging enough character, but the rest of the Australian population, in particular the Irish element, are rather dreadful. I will persevere because Carey writes so well. Unfortunately we all know it will end badly for our anti-hero and there is nothing Kelly can do about it. Oh well.

The Rev. George Darley was truly an amazing man. He ministers to his flock, leads temperance meetings, raises money, conducts funerals for all sorts of characters, and treks back and forth over the San Juan mountains in all kinds of terrible weather. And he has a sense of humor:

“Before going far my swearing acquaintance seemed disposed to enliven the hard ride of almost sixty miles by having some fun at ‘the Parson’s’ expense. He finally called out: ‘Parson, this is not the road to heaven.’ Being already loaded, I answered: ‘No, but there are plenty of such men as you on like trails going to hell, and I am doing what I can to save them.’ That ended his attempts to have fun at the ‘Parson’s’ expense.”

Have a great week!

 

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July 28, 2014

“You mistake my choice not to feel as a reflection of my not caring, while I assure you the truth is precisely the opposite.”*

by chuckofish

 

at the seaside

Edward Potthast “At the Seaside”

The woman in this painting looks comfortable, doesn’t she? Reading under an umbrella at the beach. Lovely. It was very hot this weekend in my flyover town and I could have used a beach, but there is no beach nearby. I had to make do with an air conditioned house. Not complaining.

I was working on my DIY project anyway. I developed blisters on my hand and had to stop. You might think this is because I was working so hard, but really I am just a wimp.

I finished the Robert Galbraith (J.K. Rowling) mystery which I enjoyed. I hope she writes more with Private Detective Cormoran Strike.  I started in on John Cheever stories. I am not a big fan of short stories. They are always a little too creepy and clever. Cheever’s are no exception, but he is a good writer.

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I went to evensong with the boy to see his old pal Michael preach–his first homily since getting the green light for divinity school.

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The boy and his old chorister buddies (head proctor, middle, and chaplain, right, at the RSCM camp)

The chaplain’s grandmother told me that she thinks we should all rent a bus and travel to NYC together when he is ordained. I was like, for sure, great idea! I can picture it now: the bus pulls up in front of St. Bart’s and all Michael’s flyover friends and family spill out on to Park Avenue! I am so ready.

I watched several movies including Star Trek Into Darkness (2013) wherein Captain Kirk (Chris Pine) et al go on “a manhunt to a war-zone world to capture a one-man weapon of mass destruction.”

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My expectations were low, so I enjoyed it. Personally I think they should make a whole movie about Dr. McCoy (Karl Urban) who definitely did not get enough face time in this voyage of the starship Enterprise.

I also watched an old favorite of mine, Proud Rebel (1958), which deeply affected me as child.

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Alan Ladd plays a former Confederate who is searching for a doctor who can help his son who is mute as a result of a traumatic event during the Civil War. His son is played by his real-life son David Ladd and they make a likable and attractive duo. Wonderful Olivia de Haviland plays the woman who helps them and gives them a place to live and falls in love with both of them. The supporting players are good and it is well directed by the great Michael Curtiz. The music is even by Jerome Moross! It is a good movie that has a lot going for it. If only Alan Ladd weren’t as stiff as a board! If only he could muster an iota of romantic interest in Olivia’s character! If only he could act! It has everything going for it–even a smart and loyal dog–except for a leading man who is up to the part. There are many reminders of Shane in this film–from the boy to the bad guys–but one of the reasons I suppose Shane works is that the title character (as played by Ladd) endeavors heroically not to show his feelings for Mrs. Starrett. Alan Ladd is good at not showing his feelings.

And what did we learn here? That Alan Ladd could have played Spock? Discuss among yourselves.

*Mr. Spock

 

11 Comments
July 25, 2014

Tout va bien

by chuckofish

So look at this:Screen shot 2014-07-23 at 7.38.25 PMJ. Crew put my mantra on a t-shirt. Once again I am hipper than I supposed.

And guess what? It’s Friday!

I am, as usual, looking forward to my weekend. I have no glamorous plans beyond finishing this book

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which is not bad–Robert Galbraith, aka J.K. Rowling, knows her characters and the dialogue is quite good. The action moves right along. A couple of people at work recommended it and I have to say I was pleasantly surprised.

I will also continue to scrape wallpaper glue off the walls of an upstairs bathroom.

Don’t worry–I won’t be home all weekend. I  plan to go to an Evensong service where the boy’s childhood friend (and Best Man) is preaching. The RSCM (Royal School of Church Music) choir camp will perform. All my children attended this  camp at some point, the boy for the longest duration. He even went to one in North Carolina. Anyway, that should be fun, if not super-fun.

The weather the last few days has been unbelievably beautiful–cool and not humid–and so unusual for this neck of the woods in July. I am extremely grateful. It is the kind of weather that makes you glad to be alive.

Take a deep breath and say, “Smell the pine in your nostrils!”

Okay I’ll explain. My best friend in the third grade Nancy went on a family vacation out west and she wrote me riotously funny letters. In one she described how her mother was continually saying, “Smell the pine in your nostrils!” Somehow this vivid picture stayed with me through the years and I used to say it to my children when they were growing up. We would giggle. Perhaps they will say it to their children.

Anyway, tout va bien! Have a great weekend.

 

8 Comments
July 22, 2014

“This is Jim Rockford. At the tone, leave your name and message, I’ll get back to you.”

by chuckofish

When I talked to daughter #1 on Sunday, she told me that James Garner had died.

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“You’ll have to break it to dad gently,” she said. Then we chuckled because it has been a family joke for years that the OM has a bit of a thing for old James Garner. I always thought this man-crush was odd because JG always reminded me a lot of the OM’s pater and their relationship was, shall we say, less than familial. But let’s not get too Freudian about it all…

James Garner, you will recall, was the star of the hit TV series The Rockford Files and Maverick and some good films including The Great Escape (1963), The Thrill of it All (1963) and The Children’s Hour (1961). He was only nominated once for an Oscar–for Murphy’s Romance (1985)–and, of course, he didn’t win. (William Hurt won that year for Kiss of the Spider Woman! Remember that one? Me neither.) He was miscast a lot–he played Philip Marlowe in Marlowe (1965) and Ira Moran in Breathing Lessons (1994). Frequently you had the feeling he was the second or third choice for a role.

But you had to hand it to him for being a working actor for all those years–1956-2010–that’s impressive. He didn’t seem to care if he had top billing; he just wanted the work. He gave the impression that he didn’t take his profession too seriously–he knew he was no Olivier–but it paid well and, despite the physical trauma of stunt-work, it wasn’t too hard.

“I’m a Methodist but not as an actor,” he wrote in his autobiography The Garner Files. “I’m from the Spencer Tracy school: Be on time, know your words, hit your marks, and tell the truth. I don’t have any theories about acting, and I don’t think about how to do it, except that an actor shouldn’t take himself too seriously, and shouldn’t try to make acting something it isn’t. Acting is just common sense. It isn’t hard if you put yourself aside and just do what the writer wrote.”

A refreshing attitude, to be sure. He had “exasperated” down to a “T”. You can read all about his career here.

My mother was a fan of those Polaroid commercials he did with Mariette Hartley in the ’70s. Remember those classic commercials? (Remember those cameras?!) She thought they were great and I’m sure she bought at least one Polaroid because of them.

 

Anyway, I settled in and watched several episodes of The Rockford Files–Season One on Sunday night.

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Rockford in all his Sansabelt, poly-wool glory

I find it very comforting to watch The Rockford Files with its car chases through the banal southern California scenery and the really bad ’70s apparel, home decor and hairdos, because I can imagine my parents watching it. It was one of their favorite shows. The 1970s (worst decade ever!) was the decade of my youth after all–when I graduated from high school and went to college. So The Rockford Files is nothing if not familiar.

So rest in peace, James Garner. We’ll miss you. And the walk down memory lane with the The Rockford Files just may continue tonight…I highly recommend it.

Into paradise may the angels lead thee; and at thy coming may the martyrs receive thee, and bring thee into the holy city Jerusalem. 
–BCP, Burial of the Dead, Rite I

6 Comments
July 21, 2014

We are climbing Jacob’s Ladder

by chuckofish

sarah&duncan

Lovebirds circa 1988

Since my dual personality already posted about her silver anniversary and the wonderful wedding in England that started it all, I will refrain from doing so. My pictures from the big event are pretty much the same.

I will limit myself to this one of daughter #1 (almost 5) and the boy (2 1/2).

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The boy, as previously noted, was coming down with chicken pox, but he was enough on the ball to be quite taken with the wedding. It was in the fall, after all, that he came home one day from pre-school and announced that he “had decided.” “Decided what?” I gamely asked. “I’ve decided to marry Lauren B.”

And, reader, he did. Just about twenty-three years later, he did–and in July as well!

I don’t think he would have been contemplating wedlock if he had not attended this great wedding in England. You just never know what your younguns are thinking.

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What a bud.

Anyway, how was your weekend? I estate-saled, ran errands, tore wallpaper off the walls of an upstairs bathroom (you gotta have a project), attended church, and planted a rose bush.

As I noted on Friday, I planned to watch Road to Perdition, but I could not find my copy! Can you believe it? Curses again. Instead I watched The Naked  Jungle (1954) with Charlton Heston, Eleanor Parker and William Conrad with a really bad French (?) accent.

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You remember–it’s the one about the plantation in South America that is in the path of a 2-mile-wide, 20-mile-long column of army ants! It was clearly shot on a soundstage, but it is better than it sounds. Charlton is always worth watching.

On Saturday night I watched The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014).

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I am not a fan of Wes Anderson–he is highly over-rated, if you ask  me–so my expectations were low. I enjoyed it, however, mostly because I am a  minor fan of Ralph Fiennes. He is wonderful (who knew he could be funny?) and elevates the material. There are the usual cameo appearances by Wes’s hipster friends (Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Ed Norton, Bob Balaban, etc.) and inappropriate (and an inordinate) use of the F-word, but it is worth watching for Ralph and his sidekick played by the very funny teenager Tony Revolori.

I was a reader once again at church (substituting for vacationing lay readers) and I read the story of Jacob’s dream of the angels ascending and descending the ladder (Genesis 28:10-19a). I also read Romans 8:12-25, which includes “you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear” and also “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.” Good stuff.

Here is a terrific rendition of the old negro spiritual “We are climbing Jacob’s ladder” sung by a Dutch men’s chorus. (I love that they pronounce Jacob as “Yacob.”) We don’t hear this one much anymore–probably because of the refrain: “Soldiers of the cross.” Listen to the whole thing–it’ll rev your engines to start the week off right!

If you love Him, why not serve Him?

(Here are all the words.)

 

10 Comments
July 17, 2014

Happy birthday to some real yankee doodle dandies

by chuckofish

Today is the OM’s birthday so let’s all sing a rousing chorus of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”!

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Gee, this is real keen!

And here’s a special rendition of “Shine On August Moon” just for you:

 

It should be noted that July 17 is also the birthday of the great James Cagney  (July 17, 1899 – March 30, 1986). I must say I was not a fan of his as a child/young adult. He is an acquired taste, but I have grown to appreciate him over the years. For years he was type-cast as a gangster, but he won an Oscar for playing a song-and-dance man in Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942). He is sensational in White Heat  (1949) as the devoted son and psychopathic killer. It was his portrayal of Lon Chaney in Man of a Thousand Faces (1957) that made me an admirer.

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I remember watching this melodramatic movie with the boy when he was a small child. He was quite struck by the story and I think he actually wept during the scene when Lon’s young son Creighton is taken away from him. It prompted me to take a deeper look at Cagney who is indeed impressive in the film.

He was also quite a hoofer and his distinctive dance style was admired by the likes of Barishnikov, who was actually a pall bearer at his funeral. Check it out here–he’s like a marionette!

 

By the way, Ronald Reagan (U.S. President at the time) gave the eulogy at his funeral. Now that’s impressive.

So hats off to the OM and to James Cagney–let’s toast them both tonight!

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Bonus picture for a Thursday Throwback: Our brother and one dual personality salute the flag in a festive mood in 1980. (My apologies for the ink stain on our poor brother’s face.)

8 Comments
July 16, 2014

What are you reading?

by chuckofish

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Once again I found myself casting about for something to read over the weekend. I picked Susan Cheever’s memoir of her father John Cheever (May 27, 1912 – June 18, 1982) from the bookshelf.  I received it as a Christmas present in 1984.

IMGP1065So I have been reading Home Before Dark again and enjoying it very much. Old John Cheever, the “influential twentieth century fiction writer affectionately known as ‘the Chekhov of the suburbs,'” is such a familiar type of dude to me–the waspy, literate Yankee gentleman who is also a terrible alcoholic.

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I mean look at him in his shetland sweater. He was even a practicing Episcopalian who said grace before every meal! So familiar. Like my own pater, he made to age 70, but just barely.

It’s true that this “brilliant chronicler of American suburbia” led a tortured double life filled with sexual guilt, self-loathing and immense quantities of booze. Unfortunately his bad behavior went way beyond drinking too much. But I really think Susan Cheever could have stopped after writing her first memoir. Did she need to write another? Cheever’s son Ben has edited a collection of his letters. And they sold his journals in an auction. He has been turned inside out. Does anyone deserve this?

Anyway, I bought a used copy of The Stories of John Cheever and I will re-acquaint myself with his writing, which is what we should remember old Cheever for, right? I will resist reading Blake Baily’s 700-page Cheever: A Life which chronicles every sordid detail and secret of his life. Enough already.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless he sees the bright plumage of the bird called courage–Cardinalis virginius, in this case–and oh how his heart leapt.

–John Cheever, Oh What a Paradise it Seems

3 Comments
July 11, 2014

“Today’s temperature’s gonna rise up over 100 degrees, so there’s a Jheri curl alert! That’s right, Jheri curl alert.”*

by chuckofish

It is worth living long enough to outlast whatever sense of grievance you may acquire. Another reason why you must be careful of your health.

(Marilynne Robinson, Gilead)

Summer has never been my favorite season. In our flyover state it is HOT and growing up we did not have air conditioning. Yes, you read that correctly.

I was one of those weird kids who actually liked school. And as we did not belong to a country club and I was not sent away to camp, I was bored a lot during the summer. I did not have a friend in the neighborhood. So I read a lot. I watched way too much TV. I went to the grocery store with my mother. A big day was when we went to the movies. Sometimes friends of my parents would give us their box seat tickets to the baseball game. You get the picture. It was a long three months.

Anyway, I have come to appreciate the summer and its slower pace. It helps that we live in an air-conditioned house now. That makes a big difference.

I enjoy all the goings on in my yard. From the day lilies

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to the pumpkins

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to the critters.

I did not take this photo of a mini-bear, but they are everywhere.

I did not take this photo of a mini-bear, but they are everywhere.  There’s a whole chipmunk village underneath our yard.

I appreciate the longer days. For instance yesterday, the boy came by my office at the end of the day and together we trekked down to the new auction house which has replaced the one that was so conveniently located across the street from my office for many years. (Much to my chagrin, some shady dealings forced this 150-plus-year old business to close.) The new auction house has set up in an old church designed by one of our city’s most famous architects and we went down to check out the preview of the inaugural auction which will be this Saturday.

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It was great to do that and get home before dark! Summer has its upside.

I tried to think of a good summer movie for my Friday movie pick, but nothing really came to mind. Jaws (1975)? The Parent Trap (1964)? Dirty Dancing (1987)? American Graffiti (1973)? Gotta say, I’m just not in the mood.

Any ideas?

* Do The Right Thing (1989)

11 Comments
July 10, 2014

Throwback Thursday

by chuckofish

Carnahan cousinsHere’s a summery-at-the-beach photo of three little ladies circa 1917–cousins, all named Catherine after their grandmother Catherine Rand Carnahan, after whom I am also named.

The oldest (top) is my grandmother Catherine Carnahan. The girl in the middle is her cousin, Catherine Carnahan. The baby is Catherine’s niece, Catherine Bays (daughter of her sister, Anna Carnaghan Bays).

I’m just saying…it’s a nice tradition.

 

5 Comments
July 8, 2014

“I don’t know what I would do without her.”*

by chuckofish

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Grace Goodhue Coolidge (January 3, 1879 – July 8, 1957) is one of my favorite first ladies. She and her husband Calvin lived for many years in Northampton, MA, a town I know well. In fact they met there, when she was on the faculty of the Clark School for the Deaf and he was a lawyer.

The story goes that while watering flowers outside the school one day in 1903, she happened to look up at the open window of Robert N. Weir’s boardinghouse and caught a glimpse of Calvin Coolidge shaving in front of a mirror with nothing on but long underwear and a hat. She burst out laughing at the sight; he heard the noise and turned to look at her. It was their first meeting. After a more formal introduction sometime later, the two were quickly attracted to each other.

Her vivacious personality was the perfect complement to his shy character. They were such opposites. She was a Pi Phi at the University of Vermont and the president of her sorority. Calvin was no Greek at Amherst. He was an outsider, an “ouden”–or “nothing.” At the Christmas break of his freshman year, he did  not want to return to school, but because he believed in finishing what he started, he did, and he pulled himself together.

Throughout their marriage, Grace and Calvin were a devoted pair. They may have been very different in some ways, but they also had a lot in common. They were both descended from Puritans, both were from Vermont and both had found their way to Northampton.

Both were animal lovers and the White House was a veritable menagerie sometimes referred to as the “Pennsylvania Avenue zoo.” Dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, even a raccoon–“She was a mischievous, inquisitive party,” wrote Grace of their raccoon Rebecca. “We had to keep watch of her when she was in the house. She enjoyed nothing better than being placed in a bathtub with a little water in it and given a cake of soap with which to play. In this fashion she would amuse herself for an hour or more.”

It is amusing to picture the man who brought dignity back to the White House with a raccoon in the bathtub.

They were indeed a couple, supporting each other. Somehow they went forward after the tragic death of their 16-year old son Calvin Jr. who had played tennis without socks and developed a blister and then sepsis. It nearly ruined them, but Calvin found solace in knowing that Abraham Lincoln had also lost a son while president. He and Grace pressed on.

If you are interested in learning more about the Coolidges, I recommend Coolidge by Amity Shlaes, published last year by Harper Collins. He and his wife were warm and real and unpretentious. They worked hard. I’m afraid we will not see their like again.

So join me in toasting Grace Coolidge tonight on the anniversary of her death in 1958.

*Calvin Coolidge referring to his wife.

 

7 Comments