Seven Wonders of Me

Once, I won a "New York Quebec Scholars Award" (or something like that, it was a long time ago). My friend Eugene won it too, actually, I think he won it first and then when he left the program, they gave it to me. Anyway, Gene told me that when he opened the envelope announcing his prize, he read the first line, which said, 'although there is no monetary aspect to this award..." and never finished reading it.

Well, that's where Gene and I differed. I left that crap award on my resume FOR YEARS. And still today, I am happy to win ANYTHING so thanks Deborah, the Muse in Kansas, for picking me as one of those to whom she is passing on the "Kreativ Blogger" award (not to be confused with the "fonetic speller" blogger award). I am supposed to tell seven interesting things about myself and then pass the award onto 7 others. I suppose if these things circulate long enough, everyone will get one but, no matter. As I say I am happy to be singled out for any bit of praise; "I like your bracelet" practically makes my day, so I am running with this.

I am uneasy about the pay if forward aspect, however, because 1.) I would probably offend someone whom I admire by leaving them out (all the blogs I visit are under "favored ones" on the sidebar and all have wonderful aspects; 2.) I know some people, probably strange, successful people who win things all the time, don't want to receive such honors and 3.) I am worried that if I picked out seven bloggers whom I admire, several of them might not be willing descend here to pick up their graphic - and then I would feel like a loser, even though I just "won". So, thanks Deborah. You would be one of my seven if I were willing to name them. All you other bloggers, if I have ever left more than one comment on your blog, you may also regard yourself as a winner in my book. So write seven things on your space if you feel so moved and I will come read them and comment.

Here are the seven things about me. You tell me if they are interesting.

1.) I just asked my 11-year-old daughter, the Understudy, if she could think of seven interesting things about me - even one interesting thing - and she could not.

2.) My dad is a science genius, isn't that interesting? When I was nine, although he already had his PhD in physics, he became intrigued by human physiology and went back to medical school. He got his MD while continuing to work part-time as a research scientist. He worked as an ER doc for some time after he finished his internship without ever having left his day job. He is one of the guys who figured out Magnetic Resonance Imaging back in the 70s. He also got divorced from my mother (Quel surprise, as they say in France and Quebec, more on that at number 4 below).

3.) My husband (much older than me) is an arch conservative economist who appears frequently on Canadian television and radio. He can be counted on to say things about free markets, Sarah Palin etc. that send most, normal, nice, liberal pink-blooded Canadians into fantods. He is very nice to his friends. Don't ask about his enemies (please).

4.) I spent most of my 20s living in Montreal with the plan that I would learn French. It didn't work.

5.) I went to law school in Montreal because I wanted to go back to Montreal (where I went to college) and I was no good at math or science (despite my parentage) and so was unfit for any form of additional education. And, yes, if you study the common law, even in Montreal, you may be allowed to sit for the bar exams of New York and Vermont, which I did waaaaay back when I had a lot more energy. (I couldn't have stayed and worked in Quebec because of aforesaid inability to actually speak French).

6.) I have an unaccountable interest in England and things English. But you knew that already.

7.) There's a book I am supposed to be writing.

Oh. I feel cheap. Am I bragging or overexposed? Yes and yes. But that was fun.

Speaking of the Sedarises; Shackleton Speaks IV

David Sedaris has been staying with me this week. Rather, I have been staying with him, as much as I can. I have taken early morning drives, alone, to the store or the bank or where ever, before the rest of the family is awake these last few days(I'm on vacation so not commuting at the moment) so I can listen to the audio version of Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. I even played a couple of the (nearly) G-Rated essays for the kids. Being my kids, they loved them too. Shackleton is now putting in requests for "that depressed guy."

I didn't realize that David's sister Amy was also famous as a writer and performer. I stumbled over her on Youtube in a little Internet Sedaris stalking. (Did I mention that our plans for sponging off relatives on the Jersey Shore this week had fallen through?). She was charming and funny in a bunch of David Letterman interviews, if a bit manic.

So, having been hanging with the Sedarises these last few days I have this feeling that I actually know them. David's family is his best material and the fact that some little incident or description of a personal characeristic might embarrass a near relation is no reason for him not to discuss it - in punishing, unflinching detail.

It's pretty clear that all these Sedarises (six kids in all: Lisa, David, Amy, Gretchen, Tiffany and Paul - I told, you I am getting to know them) - are really bright, and kind of normal (they watched TV a lot as kids; their Dad was an engineer at IBM), but also that they are, to varying degrees, crazy. At least David is at least half crazy -like DSM-IV-diagnosable-crazy. Fortunately, it seems to be the half that allows continued function, like one bad kidney or a deaf ear. Or, more likely, his hinks (OCD and maybe some other stuff too) are a sine qua non of his writing, a necessary ingredient in the Sedaris alchemy. I remember a friend in college telling me that the great thing about Manhattan is that it's an island, and the terrible thing about is that it's an island. So, kind of like that.

As with all my enthusiasms, I am here to share. Upon learning of my recent Sedaris crush, the brilliant Lulu Labonne sent me this link to an episode of This American Life that includes a rib-binder from Sedaris and other great essays read by Sarah Vowell (another Lulu recommendation) and Anne Lamott. All three essays (and performances) are gems. So when you have 55 minutes or so and some head phones, listen through. Link to Lulu's pick

I would love to know what you think about them.

Shackleton Speaks IV

Fun with Febreze

I don't have the nerve/inclination/heart to lay my own loved ones quite so bare as David S. does. I mean, I went to law school and all, which means I am constantly thinking about unintended consequences, and the kids are still too small to really fight back - Shackleton, the brilliant but learning disabled heir to the Woolfoot Throne and Lands, can't even read properly yet. So, I try not to overshare. Still, he's just so funny, and maybe an agent will call and make him rich and famous if I tell about him, so here's some of what he has been up to lately.

First, a little background. One day last week it rained here in Biblical fashion. On that day, I was at work. When I returned home, the Understudy came outside (for the first time that day) and saw that the side door on the minivan had been left open, all day. Everything within four feet of the opened door was soaked. The next day, the van smelled bad. Really bad.

My kids watch lots of TV and the Understudy in particular is moved by commercials to want to buy things. Since she has no money, she wants me to buy these things. She is frustrated by my commitment to buying whatever is cheapest. She wants me to buy name brands, preferably heavily advertised things. She wants me to buy things that it is not clear any one should have or want. Like "Bagelfuls" and "Danactive" and air fresheners. After the car soaking incident, I agreed to buy a horking great spray bottle of "Febreze". This product is, as my kids could tell you, probably by reciting the commercial verbatim, is supposed to make bad-smelling fabrics smell better.

This morning, as I was trying to steam milk at our broken cappuccino machine, I felt something wet on my back. Shackleton was spraying me with Febreze

"Stop that!"

"It will make you smell better."

Then he sprayed the dog and chased her around the table saying. "I want to sniff you!" (Oversharing? It was the Febreze-splashed fur that he wanted to test, but even he knew this sounded sick-making).

Channeling Charlie Chaplin

The other night, while I was trying to read some blogs, Shack came down and asked me to find the top hat we bought for him at the Halloween store last year.

He didn't wear it for Halloween but we both liked the look of it so I bought it for him. Since I also like hat boxes, I had a good place for the topper and I told him where he could find it. Next, he wanted a shirt and tie and a blazer.

The only blazer he had was the one he wore at pre-school graduation (comically too small). His only ties are part of his school uniform and that wasn't the look he wanted. He found once-white dress shirt (also a uniform item) and contented himself with that. Then he asked for a golf club. I found one.

"OK," he said. "Now I need an assistant. Someone who won't cry."

Turns out he was trying to recreate a scene from a Charlie Chaplin movie The Idle Class that we saw here months ago. (The assistant had to be willing to be hit with the golf club).

Here's a bit of the movie - edited at the pace suitable to the audiences of 1921.




OK. I'm off. Happy fourth of July everybody! On that note, I was antique shopping very briefly today, just long enough to buy a vintage Union Jack for the pencil jar on my desk. The Understudy is fairly daring me to wave it at the parade tomorrow. Should I?

Happy Book Sale Season!

It has begun again. Libraries all over Vermont will be off-loading excess inventory, donations, and the un-checked-out at porch sales for the next month or so. My ardor has cooled a little this year because, well, I just have too much stuff, and too many books. But the bargains... Oh... the bargains.

And once in a while a treaure. Two books I rummaged from last year's sales netted about $225 on Ebay, which actually made last season profitable.

Kids and I hit our first sale of 2009 yesterday (and again today) at the splendid Goodrich Memorial Library in the local shire town, Newport, Vermont. Above are some great vintage horsey titles the Understudy picked out of the musty boxes. Did you read Misty of Chincoteague once upon a time? All us girls on Riverdale Road read Misty back in the 70s, in this edition, and dreamed of the wild horses we would adopt. Let's see, how many wild ponies could a quarter acre in the suburbs support - not counting the bit under the balcony where nothing could grow? Three? Four?

And National Velvet needs no introduction. (Once, Elizabeth Taylor was 14, unmarried, and had never screwed up a movie or appeared on the cover of a tabloid).

This edition is illustrated by Paul Desmond Brown who has been good to me, by supplying an original drawing I bought cheap at auction and an autographed copy of a horse stories book from the Stowe sale (bought for 50 cents and sold for $175). I also love his style, profits aside.

The other book is a great 1945 production (in compliance with wartime publishing restrictions, meaning the paper's a little flimsy). It's a compilation of stories and poems by really great writers (Nathaniel Hawthorne, William Rose Benet, etc) and has a few wonderful illustrations. E.g.:


"Foxhunting: The unspeakable, chasing the inedible." (As per Oscar Wilde) Well, maybe, but arent' the horses and their riders beautiful? I admit I would love a chance to wear that kit and have my picture taken next to the glossy neck of a chestnut hunter.

Stowe's sale starts next week.

A Quick Hello; Puggles, Pygmy Jerboim and David Sedaris

The weekend draws to a close at the Last House and I couldn't rest easy tonight without saying something here. Do I have a syndrome? Probably. Am I making it worse by indulging a little hit of blogging? Probably, but there you have it.

Our friend Annmarie,an architectural historian from Quebec, came by with her daughter who is a little younger than the Understudy,and their new "Puggle", "Snoopy." Snoopy may be the cutest creature since the Pygmy Jerboa ( q.v.).



We had lunch outside. The girls choreographed a dance to a Jonas Brothers song and and danced it for us all. Annmarie and I sat outside on the breezeway drinking Diet Dr. Peppers and complaining about not having enough money while Whusband led the kids and two dogs to the river at the back of our property. As I write, Whusband is trying to watch Madama Butterfly on PBS and getting irritated at us all for making up our own arias and singing along, e.g., "Now my life is going badlyyyyyy". And, "O why is my son is a plaaaastic puuuuuppettt!" (Which is true in this production). The kids asked why Madama's child is a plastic puppet and I said it was because his father was plastic.

Whusband did not approve of the Jonas Bros. as the soundtrack for the lives of our children.

All in all, a fine sort of Sunday.


Puggle puppies are difficult to photograph, as evidenced by the little photo essay above.

Woolfoot Recommends....

David Sedaris hardly needs any publicity from the likes of me, but
On Friday evening I rode home listening to him read essays from his collection "Dress Your Family in Corduroy Denim." I laughed so hard at the first essay that I almost wet myself (sorry, but true). I checked the New Yorker website and that essay is available only in abstract unless you subscribe, but here's another Sedaris gem for your reading pleasure. I hope it may finish your weekend the way it started mine (the laughing, that is, not the near-peeing).

Postcards (and chickens)

Mom's still here, eating ice cream just now and watching something on TCM, so I am sneaking in some computer time.

We have been back and forth to Gloucester, Mass., visiting Mom's identical twin sister and her husband at their Fisherman's Cottage smack dab on a rocky cove on a hidden corner of Cape Ann. It was worth three nights on a fold out sofa.

This morning I snuck out of the house early for a walk on Jay Peak with Maisy.

In case your own relatives or co-workers haven't buttonholed you lately to force you to look at their vacation pictures and you've been hankering for that experience, here are a couple little postcards of our recent travels.


Shackleton went lobstering... That's my aunt in the background keeping my uncle's boat from floating away.

This is their front yard; a tame, wee bit of the Atlantic


The Understudy conquered the seawall


It's all like a postcard there when the sun shines, which it did for about 10 minutes.


This Morning in Vermont: A Bad Day for Skiing but Not Too Bad for Walking with the Dog





I have photographed this tree before, on the flanks of Jay Peak. How did it get that way?

Chicken News

Oh, and we got chickens to raise here at home last week. We moved them off the porch last night and into Whusbuand's "chicken tractor." (A coop on wheels). I'll keep you posted. Maisy is tormented by the sight of them, so close and yet so far behind the chicken wire.

Happy Friday, Again; McDonald's, The Metro, Mennonites

The sun was out on my long drive home tonight, after two days of rain. The sky was blue with cottonball white clouds hurrying by. There was a fresh breeze that moved the leaves without turning them the wrong way around.

I had to stop at the drug store next to McDonald's in Morrisville to get some lip balm. (Why chapped lips in June?). The important part of the previous sentence is "next to McDonald's". It was dinner time. Yet, I resisted the lure of a filet'o fish, strawberry shake and fries. "Away from me Filet 'O Fish Satan!" I thought. (I didn't actually say this out loud, you'll be relieved to know). And I pushed that evil filet'o fish away, and bought my lip balm and continued my trip north, fishless, fryless, shakeless. A small victory for self control.

Now, (this next bit seems like a digression but hold on to the end) remember the "imagist poets" from 10th grade English class? Here's a quick refresher:

so much depends
upon a red wheel barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.

--William Carlos Williams

and

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

--Ezra Pound

Nice, easy sledding in English for once (even if a bit bewildering at 16).

I was thinking of the imagists as I rounded the first corner after leaving the drug store -- maybe because there is a Mennonite bakery straight ahead at the traffic light called "The Red Hen".



It was closing time at the Red Hen, apparently, because a pretty, young Mennonite woman was locking the front door. The thing about the Mennonite women, or at least whatever group of them have settled around here, is that they dress like they are on their way to Sunday school, in the Great Plains somewhere, in about 1878: long dresses, aprons, hair pulled up tight under a white cap at the back of their heads, you get the picture. The red light lasted long enough for me to see the store keeper pull the door closed, crank the key over hard in the lock, and then to hop into her black Volkswagen Jetta.

Is there not an imagist poem in there somewhere? Would you write it and send it on?
Maybe I'll do one too.

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While we're on the subject, we drive by a big Mennonite farm in Hyde Park, Vermont almost every day. My kids are always craning to see the little girls who live there, since they look like they walked off the set of Little House on the Prairie.

There is a wooden sign in the front yard of the farm house with a message that gets changed from time to time. This winter, for a long time, it said "The Earth Will Be Burned Up." Hmmm. I don't suppose there's any disagreement about that. The question really is when and exactly why. We'll leave that discussion for someone else's blog. The sign was changed this spring to "Jesus Knows Your Thoughts". Recently, however, another sign has been added to the lawn. It is hand painted and stands right behind the religious warning. It says, "Fresh Brown Organic Eggs." Invariably, I think, well, I can't remember what I was thinking (probably, "we're late" or "I'm going too fast for this curve") but, Lord knows, now I am thinking of "fresh, brown organic eggs." Perhaps this is a bit of thought-craft by a clever Mennonite...?

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I am supposed to be cleaning the kitchen/weeding the garden/preventing the children from burning themselves over the remains of the charcoal that cooked tonight's hamburgers as they melt marshmallows. My mom is coming for a 10 day visit on Tuesday and believe me when I tell you we are not ready... People who have been living in refugee camps in Africa might prefer their present accommodations to what we have on offer at the moment. So, I am not sure when I can get back to writing here and visiting my usual haunts but I will eventually. Meanwhile, I hope anyone who managed to read this far has a happy weekend.

Back Again

Sorry.

Not sure anybody noticed but I've been away from my crumbling keyboard and out doing stuff in the real world, namely traveling to old New York to see my Dad turn 70 in the company of many far flung relatives. We gathered under a tent in the side yard at Dad's and caught up on the last five years or so. It was interesting that this was made more challenging by my deaf ear. Really, it's gettting to be a problem. Perhaps something must be done, like a hearing aid or surgery. In other family news, my brother (41, long divorced) brought along the girlfriend he has been dating for about four and a half years (Russian, smart) and announced they were getting married. So, that was fun. I also got sick (with a cold) on party day, which gave all the shouted conversations under the tent a fevered haze. I am still hacking and sniffling so you can be glad for this reason, among many possible others, that you aren't actually anywhere near me.

Finally, although no one seems much to have liked my foray into fiction (except that most intelligent, perceptive and kind, not to mention polite, bloggging genius, Mme Defarge), I am think, think, thinking about a bigger writing project. This thinking has taken some of the starch out of my need to write here. (This blog, like many others, is partly the product of the mild OCD and ADD from which I suffer [the attention deficit in my case is that I don't get enough attention]. So the obsession and compulsion being otherwised channeled, well, I guess that's enough said. I'll go read a few blogs now.