Christinglish

"...and all the sweet serenity of books."

"Well, you and I bolth [sic] like to read. So maybe we should have a speshul [sic] reading night, just me and you. Maybe Wednesday or Saturday." Younger daughter Veronica scribbled this note to me back when she was in 1st or 2nd grade. Like mother, like daughter. And we celebrated our shared love of books in a trip to Barnes & Noble, last weekend: It was one of those indulgent sprees that culminates in a large carryout bag with expandable bottom! Stopping in for Master and Commander--the book and the movie--for my nautical patriarchal's father's day gift, we also stocked up on some poolside/couch-lounging summer reading:

• Veronica's haul: Catch 22, Joseph Heller. I was surprised at this selection of an older title, familiar to my generation but now rather obscure. Roni just shrugged and said, "I've heard of it. It looks interesting." She also snagged not-one-but-THREE Agatha Christies that might actually be new to Veronica and me, "bolth"! Rather amazing, as I've been reading A.C.'s ouevre since my college days @ the University of New Mexico: If I had ANY money left over at the end of the month (I recall living for weeks on end with $0.13 in my bank account, once: prudent finance manager, I've never been!), it went to paperback Agathas at the Lobo Campus Pharmacy, one of my fave hangouts in Albuquerque! V-Ron actually got hooked on A.C. from some of my old UNM-era paperback tomes, too cherished to pitch! And I was pleasantly surprised at her selection of What Do Christians Believe, by Pope Benedict. Veronica is leaning toward a vocation as a human rights lawyer, so it is delightful and fascinating to watch her bend her mind around thoughty, weighty issues. AND she likes Bob Dylan. Hmmm, Interesting cat, that V-cat!

• Christine's haul: Lark and Termite by old fave author Jayne Anne Phillips, whom I discovered while managing Page One Bookstore in Albuquerque back in the '80s. I remember reading her Shelter and an earlier title called Machine Dreams (featuring the old Phillips 66 red winged-horse logo on the cover) and thinking, "Lands, if I could just stop and sit down for a few hours and collect my thoughts, this is the type of writing that I would do/could do." I am still waiting to discover those few hours of unencumbered free time ("If Ah could jus' find two minutes to rub togethuh," as darling sister-in-law Angel would say!). Like L&T, I heard about Serena on a recent NPR broadcast. It hooked me with this opening line: "When Pemberton returned to the North Caroline mountains after three months in Boston settling his father's estate, among those waiting on the train platform was a young woman pregnant with Pemberton's child. She was accompanied by her father, who carried beneath his shabby frock coat a bowie knife sharpened with great attentiveness earlier that morning so it would plunge as deep as possible into Pemberton's heart." How could you NOT read that tale? I used to have a book around here somewhere titled Great Opening Lines, or somesuch. Once I set about to write the next Great American Novel, my opening line will be a killer. Trust me. I also picked up a copy of A Tale of Two Cities: My girls both find it astounding that as a lifelong bookworm/slash/college English major/slash/former bookstore manager, I've never read one of the best tales going (and I do love Dickens). Other tomes on my nightstand: Have You Seen...? (a compendium of must-see movies), and the no-doubt laugh-out-loud-riotous When You Are Engulfed in Flames, by David Sedaris. I am still laughing at his Rooster story from Me Talk Pretty One Day, lo these several years later! Wow, and to close (didn't mean to go this long but I DO love to talk books), two additional titles of interest: Petina Gappah's short stories of Zimbabwe, called Elegy for Easterly. I loved in her NPR interview that she said "Zimbabweans are hungry for the written word"; as am I. She also said frankly and charmingly, “People always ask me how I manage to find humor in so much bleakness, but I think this is almost a necessary skill to have.” And finally: "We find ways of coping with pain by laughing at it and by laughing at ourselves." (One of my favorite lines is, "Those who can laugh at themselves will always be amused.") And I saw a copy of Beowulf @ B&N in middle English (or was that even early English?). If my arms weren't already laden down, I would've caught that one up, too, and read it aloud until I felt the modern-day incarnation of Isolde. And then there was the series on the noble, adventurous, and unprecedented early Athenian navy. I forget the name of the attributed admiral, but he said something along the lines of "I may not know how to catch a fish or mend a net, but I know how to make a small city great." Wow, that's heady, inspiring stuff. Athens and Greece did rather make their mark, n'est-ce pas? Already have a shopping list started for our NEXT trip to B&N...!

While Veronica has growed up and moved on, and cuddling up with Mommy and a good book may no longer be her top pick for entertainment of a Saturday eve, I am still so pleased that she has inherited my love of the written word. To close, the entire Henry Wadsworth Longfellow line runs like this: "The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, and all the sweet serenity of books." Lovely, indeed.

;Feliz cumpleanos, Lisita!

"Today is the birthday of El Guapo," ran a line in a Portillo family fave film from our CA days. Can you name that flick? More importantly: "Today is the birthday of El Yse!" Nuestro Cinco de Mayo bambina es 23, hoy! Te amo, mi hita: Mas, tardes...! (P.S. How do I love thee, Elyse? Let me count the ways. Today, to honor your birthday, I texted, phoned, twittered, blogged, and facebooked about it! Pix and flix to follow!!)

Maybe I should build her a cake or something....

Happy M'aider!

As we enter again the lusty month of May (I just love saying that: QUITE big on Camelot I was, back when I was enjoying the simple joys of maidenhood, and all those adoring daring boys!), I have a fun little nugget to share, gleaned from my hero Garrison Keillor on today's NPR broadcast of "Writer's Almanac." We've all heard the distress call of "May day, May day!" in the nautical sense of S.O.S. Garrison tells me it has nothing to do with today's date. Rather, it is from the French for "Help me!": M'aider (pronounced, as you might have guessed, "Mayday"). I'd never heard, never known; but it makes perfect, tidy sense. And how I love to learn more about la langue francaise, and to share what I've learned with tout  Le Monde. With that, I'll close with one of my phave Phrench phrases: "Tout le monde est fou, sauf moi!" (All the world is crazy, 'cept me!)

Hie thee, thither

Hail fellow, well met! Hie thee to www.talklikeshakespeare.com for a rollicking romp in celebration of the Bard's 445th birthday. Take the quiz of Shakespeare-coined words and phrases (I scored a dismal 29%, though would've done better if I'd gone with my gut) and watch a young, fresh-faced Fab Four run through a comedic poke at A Midsummer Night's Dream. I always crushed on the other three, especially George and Ringo, but watching this clip I'd have to agree: Paul really was the cute Beatle! Another gem on aforementioned site: the cast of Gilligan's Island doing Hamlet. Alas, poor Mary Ann! (You were expecting Yorick?) Ginger of course got to play the beauteous-but-soon-to-be-bedraggled Ophelia, whereas Mary Ann got stuck with a man-wig and had to play Hamlet's brother alongside the Skipper as Hamlet's father. (Me being a not-so-willowy but-at-least-I-was-brainy brunette, I always sympathized with/related to Mary Ann.) Gilligan as Hamlet was weirdly wonderful, of course.

And in other Bard News: I twittered about "Talk Like Shakespeare" day today, and collected a follower named "William Shakespeare, theBardofAvon." We'll see where that goes. Meanwhile, prompted by TLSD's Web site, I've been ruminating on my earliest "Shakespearience." How's this: My sibs and cousins had a neighborhood bicycle club when I was growing up in idyllic SW Portland in the 70s, called "The Boneshakers" after the big-wheeled bicycles of the 19th century (my sister Rose was studying them in school, at the time). Each of us had a club name that had to link to either "bone" or "shake." My name, of course, was "Shakespeare." And with that, adieu: I bid you good morrow..!

Zivio! Or: Getting in touch with my inner Slav...

Attended the Sts. Cyril & Methodius 45th Annual Slavic Heritage Festival in the Houston Heights, today. Kick-off mass was played by my mother Catherine, and the mass was said in many tongues. Festival sponsor was the Slavic Heritage Alliance of Greater Houston, composed of factions four: Croatian, Czech, Polish, and Ukrainian. Elyse and Raoul got their first taste of a "Czech fest," which I used to catch when I could, back in the day. Sister Rose and Dad Win attended, as well.

Festival highlights included aromatic, mouthwatering ethnic fare; traditional costumes and music; folk dancing by young and old alike (including a scarf dance led by Fr. Paul Chovanec, who married Raoul and me 24 years ago come December); and an appearance by the lovely and talented reigning Miss Harris County Czech-Slovak Queen 2008. Veteran Czech Heritage Singer Rosalie Leonard posed the rhetorical question: "Accordians, Czechs, and beer: How can you beat that?" Rosalie, an accordionist for the singers, led the grand march at Raoul and my wedding, lo those many years ago. It's great to see that she's still going strong.

The festivities were temporarily interrupted by the sudden arrival of the Houston Fire Department, dispatched to put out a fire on the roof of the SBJST Lodge. Never a dull moment, when you're running with the Slavs! Hope to create a photo album with photos from the day: Truly, not your run of the mill Sunday afternoon follies!

Zivio ("a votre sante," comme ils disent en France!)

Red sky at morning

Woke early to track Ike and feed the dog. Fetching bowl from backyard, noted cotton-candy pink clouds to the northeast (or nor'east, as my friend Jim C would expect me to growl in the grizzled tones of an old tar). Remembered during girlhood days of boating the Oregon coast, my dad would intone, "Red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky at morning, sailors take warning." Fitting! Today's Chronicle headlines include "COAST STERNLY WARNED: GET OUT" and other dire warnings and predictions. No severe weather conditions in Houston yet, but TV news coverage shows the storm surge already topping the seawall down in Galveston. Concerned for friend Claudia H's father, who as of yesterday had elected to shelter in place in G-town. Hope he's had a change of heart.

Here are a few storm links:

• Rock you like a hurricane: http://www.stormpulse.com/
• Ridin' the storm out: blogs.chron.com/weatheringike
  
• Preparation tips: http://www.westernunion.com/2007stormprep/?src=HurEmailPre0808
• Federal resources: http://everything.typepad.com/blog/2008/09/help-for-hurricane-gustav.html
  

Red Sky at Morning by Richard Bradford was also a favorite novel of my youth, a tragicomic coming-of-age tale memorable for its vivid characters and colorful dialogue: Velma Mae and Venery Ann, "Don't talk dirty in front of my sister," and something about someone getting their ass blowed off. Mark that title in the Recommended Reading column!

 

IKE SWIRLS TOWARD TEXAS

So blared this morning's Houston Chronicle. Cuh-RAZY to be sitting here waiting to experience a hurricane. Though on my second tour of duty in hurricane country, have thus far managed to stay out of The Path. Or "Harm's Way," an oft heard phrase in these climes, in these times. We were here to experience the influx of Katrina evacuees, the bizarre mass exodus that preceded the lackluster Rita, and my folks hunkered down here in '83 during Alicia.

Hoping, praying me and mine and friends and fellow Houstonians are spared severe wrath. Gonna be an interesting couple of days. Was caught in some of the nutty evacuation traffic this afternoon (mandatory evacuation of Galveston and surrounding areas, worried for our friends the McDonald and Lindenberger families, who have beach houses down on Tiki Island--one of the first places to be evacuated) and witnessed gas stations disgorging cars into lanes of  traffic. Some fuel shortage troubles, and Mayor Bill White held off on opening the contraflow lanes 'til this eve's rush hour had passed. Contraflow was a congestion-relieving safety measure implemented in Rita's wake, to prevent future instances of insane traffic gridlock. Waiting with bated breath (and optimistic hope) to see how that works. As Raoul says, "Hurricane comin', get out da way!"

In general, I don't like Ike. What I do like is the action verb "swirls" to describe his approach. Funny, though, it sounds much more lithe and graceful than his heavy-footed entrance will assuredly be.

Hunker down.

"Fiddle-dee-dee!" cried .... Pansy?!

What if?! Can you imagine if Margaret Mitchell had stuck with her original plan and named her headstrong heroine "Pansy"??! A Gone With The Wind devotee since girlhood (I read the 1,036 page library book in four days when I was in third or fourth grade, then turned around and read it in three days to match my best friend/competitive nemesis Lisa Susanka's reading time: also an avid reader, Lisa TORE through the book after I'd given it such good press: she might've read it faster, but I read it FIRST!), I was delighted to discover on today's edition of Garrison Keillor's "The Writer's Almanac" that, on this day in 1936--when my mother, who introduced me to GWTW, was a few weeks shy of her first birthday--Gone With the Wind was first published. My mom's other early book/movie legacies included Dr. Zhivago (ah, Yuri), Wuthering Heights (sigh, Heathcliff), and Giant (mmm, Bic and oh you, Jett!). And of course, her girlhood copies (circa 1930s) of the Nancy Drew and Pollyanna serials. Thanks, Mom!

Mitchell's sloppily presented GWTW draft also had a different title: Tomorrow is Another Day (for obvious reasons, if you know Scarlett and her train of thinking). Read about it yourself, here (and while you're visiting, I suggest you also read lovely poem/prayer that kicks off Garrison's monologue; and if you've never LISTENED to his learned musings, I urge you to do yourself a favor and check out the podcast version: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2008/06/30). As Garrison intones: Be well; stay safe; and be in touch. And as Wills would say, I must away. But wanted first to note this very special day in the life of literature and cinema--two of the things that most inflame me!

P.S. Daughter Veronica, who is Scarlett's 21st century incarnation (though I had to work on her for YEARS before she'd read and then watch GWTW, stubbornly resisting because "I don't like war stories": she finally capitulated last year and caught GWTW fever, BIG time), helped me find some GWTW book/movie quotes this eve, in honor of this very momentous occasion in publishing: www.imdb.com/quotes. I especially like Rhett's line to Scarlett that she needs to be kissed often, and by someone who knows how (photos, here: http://us.imdb.com/media/rm3864041728/ch0006054). Mmm, Rhett, is it just me or is it hot in here? I don't just love you cuz you're a dashing blockade runner with a rakish air and a tender heart. But we won't think about that now: We'll think about it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day....

Limaids

Limaids
Originally uploaded by Christinglish

OK, here's the start of the photo deluge I promised back in Disciplina Praesidium Civitatis. Only it's more of a trickle. But remember: I'm still learnin', here. While I love to write and am eager to share and wish I coud rocket into the blogosphere at warp speed, my techno/geek skills could use an energy drink. An Eddie Izzard comedy gig springs to mind: This is me, to a T. (Seriously, WATCH it: You. Will. Roll.)

Back to posted pic (click to enlarge): Front and center, that's my little grad--and I do mean "little," measuring in at a diminutive five feet. But don't let size fool you, this wee lassie is a dynamo. Little but learned, is my Lipchick...! (Remember, Li, you have the opportunity to rebut: Comment, away.)

More pix from the big day to follow. (Sorry you didn't make the first cut, Collin, but I'm still learning how to manage photos in online photosharing program Flikr; you and other Lisi Legionnaires and Portillo Posses will be featured here just as soon as I learn how to deal with photos en masse.).

"It's May, it's May! The lusty month of May..."

Thanks for commenting on my recent post, Collin, and welcome to my little slice of the blogosphere: you have joined a small but elite force of Christinglers! The UT seal document you point to is interesting and informative (and I always LOVE to read about style guidelines, having been a style guide writer in a former incarnation), but it seems to be borderline "classified": something one might exchange in an unmarked envelope whilst huddled on a remote park bench, wrapped in an anonymous trench coat and peering out from beneath a wide-brimmed fedora (now writing in my Carmen San Diego/Nancy Drew/"I'll be the girl behind the potted palm" incarnations).

All this talk of former/multiple incarnations reminds me of two movies that captivated me in my youth: the frothy "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever," starring a fresh young Babs Streisand in a flattering asymetrical bob and a smashing '70s wardrobe, and a trim, hirsute Jack Nicholson; and the darker "The Reincarnation of Peter Proud," starring the lovely Jennifer O'Neill and Margot Kidder alongside Kevin McHale-lookalike Michael Sarrazin. Had a deep crush on Michael Sarrazin and the deep crease between his eyes for a time, there.

Interesting: A second intense schoolgirl crush was on James Drury, another darkhaired brooder with telltale eyebrows and etched forehead wrinkles who starred on TV as The Virginian and had a bit part as pretty-but-secondary character Nancy's love interest in another girlhood fave, "Pollyanna," starring the inimitable Hayley Mills (in a single role, this time: other fave movie starring HM was what else but the original "The Parent Trap": remember her granny panties in the party frock cut-out scene?). I've always said if I were able to live in another time--there's that reincarnation thing, again!--it would be 1913. I think it was the beautiful, unrushed simplicity of that time as depicted in Pollyanna (remember the fishing booth and Polly falling out of the tree, anyone? careful: you're showing your age!) that captivates me. Or maybe it was James Drury and those dreamy brows.

As we close (and we must, having broken the blogger's rule of K.I.S.S. ("Keep it short, Simpleton!"), I must 'splain the title of this post: song lyrics from ANOTHER fave movie of my childhood, "Camelot," the soundtrack of which my mother Catherine would blare summers as we kids slammed in and out of the front porch door of the house on Lee Street, Portland Oregon, in the halcyon days of my youth. Besides, there's only one more day this month I could've used that post title. And nice that I also was able to throw in "the halcyon days of my youth": I have ALWAYS wanted to say that. Come to think of it, perhaps I have....