"Do Not Finger the Ornaments"

I have never actually dived into a dumpster, but I have leaned.

 This week I reached waaaay into the enormous reinforced cardboard box at the town dump that is the last stop for books before they hit the print equivalent of the glue factory. Admittedly, my motives were less Panda rescue and more "hmmm maybe-something-for-ebay." (My first fishing expedition in that box resulted in a a first edition hippie lit classic that I sold for $250).

No valuables this time but I did come up with a couple of things that made my life this week better. One was The Essential Handbook of Victorian Entertaining "adapted by" Autumn Stephens (Bluewood Books 2005). It had tea cups on its ironic (practically new) cover so, I thought that ought to be good.

The other called to me, "I'm Old! And I think you know me!" I had a thing for Edna St. Vincent Millay as a teenager.  When I was a high school senior, my good Dad and I took a mini road trip to Austerlitz, NY in search of her home, which had been converted into a writer's colony. (That was the kind of fun 18-year-old that I was). I had plenty of Edna's poetry on my particle board bookshelves all through college and still have it somewhere. This dumpster copy was unmarked, having lost the label on its spine, but sure enough it was 1921's Second April. More on that in a minute.

 Etiquette books of the past are always fun. In college I picked up an Emily Post from the 1930s from another box of discards. I wish I had kept it. I laughed myself hoarse at the time. Victorian times guaranteed charmingly obsolete advice. Here are few of my favorites from my dumpster find:

  Never sit gazing curiously around the room during a visit as if taking a mental inventory of the furniture. 

Do not finger the ornaments.

  To be especially avoided by gentleman callers: Do not use a classical quotation in front of the ladies without apologizing for, or translating it. Do not leave your hat and riding whip in the hall, but take both into the drawing room. To do otherwise would be to make yourself too much at home.

  Young ladies seldom drink more than three glasses of wine at dinner: but married ladies who are engaged in a profession, such as authors and teachers, and those accustomed to society and the habits of affluence, will habitually take five or even six...

 I was taken aback by how much good common sense and, actual excellent manners were commended. "If you have more than one guest in your house, those of the humblest condition are to receive as much attention as the rest." "Do not parade the fact that you traveled in foreign countries." "Do not boast that you are acquainted with distinguished or wealthy people."  Of course, not fingering the ornaments is also sound advice today.

 After all this I'm embarrassed to admit that I have found this book to be perfect bathroom reading.

 Moving onto Edna St. V. M.: I got around to reading a few of the poems this afternoon (home with a cold, seeking a nap) and found a lot to (still) love. How has history judged Edna Millay? A minor major poet? Vice versa? Say what you will, she is from the poetic school of poetry and I like that one. Anyone who could compose:

 Red with heat was every wall,
 Rough with heat was every wire.

 Is going to get my admiration. (from "The Blue Flag in the Bog"). And, girls, how about this:

  Ebb

 I know what my heart is like 
Since your love died: 
It is like a hollow ledge 
Holding a little pool 
Left there by the tide, 
A little tepid pool, 
Drying inward from the edge.

 The book smells like someone dropped it under a shed and covered it with a plank sometime around Pearl Harbor Day - but that sort of adds to its charm for me. It's old and old fashioned. It's printed so that you can see the impression of the type on the thick deckle-edged paper. As per the bookplate, it came out of the library (at some point) of  Sylvia who once attended Colby Junior College for Women. Doesn't it seem criminal for Edna and Sylvia to let this be pulped?  Hmmm. Maybe Panda rescue after all.

Nominations Are Open! Riff Raff Capital of America

I'm thinking of states, but I suppose there are cities and regions that can also compete. There are a few that are blindingly obvious gold medal contenders and frankly no place in the upper Mid-West, the top edge, or the upper corners of the country (on either coast) need apply. I wouldn't want people to think that I have pre-judged this thing, but I will tell you that my sister has a new neighbor. She lives in a gated community and the faux-Spanish mansions there still cost about a million apiece, despite the real estate slough (which has been notably disastrous in this state, which - just one more clue - is shaped like a penis). One of these little duke-doms has just been bought by the owner of a local casino. (Pause). The casino owner's five-year-old son was apparently tearing around the development on his four-wheeler yesterday and when the 80-something yearold lady who lives across the street noted that this was unsafe, illegal, and bad for property values, the casino owner threatened her. What have you got?

Speak for Yourself Mr. Maxx!

 

Wait For It...

Just sitting here *not editing*  but paralyzed, again, by a Kate Bush song.

I have been thinking about KB lately and how, most of the time, I don't really like a lot of her music the first time through.  I buy every record.  I listen to it.  I like some of it and other parts not so much.  I mean, we are not in radio hit territory here.  And yet, thousands at her bidding would speed, and post o're land without rest, if she were ever to give a concert.  I am one of those.  She's a magician.  And those songs that bounce off me at first have a way of wending themselves into my DNA and often later become my favorites.  It has happened time and again.

It pleases me that in this time, where all popular entertainment seems to be required to hook its audience like a hit of crack that KB succeeds in the way that she does.  So much of value is not capable of snap judgment or even instant appreciation.  Point taken.

So, here's a video for the song "Snowflake" from last year's 50 Words For Snow.  It features her son, Bertie, (who is just the same age as the Infanta so I feel a certain connection).  KB's voice, as she sings the chorus, "The world is so loud, keep falling, I'll find you"  coming just behind his choir boy's voice, gets me right between the ribs every time.  Also, the piano in this song is gorgeous.  I am not sure it jumped out at me from the record right away but it has me now, a year or so later.

You may have to listen to it a few times before you get all that out of it.  I hope you will.

Another Shorty

I was mowing the lawn today and it occurred to me that it would have been cool to be born into a family called "Tiplady" (I saw someone with this name on TV recently) or maybe "Scrimshander."  No luck there I'm afraid.  I do wonder how that first Tiplady got his name?  I mean, it's hardly "Townsend" or "Johnson" or "Weaver" or something with a boringly obvious derivation.  There's got to be a great story back there somewhere.
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Also, as I was listening to my lawn mowing musical accompaniment, I got thinking about how I am probably the only 40-something Yankee in the country who has "Lula Walls" on my iTunes exercise mix.  (No comments, please, on the efficacy of my exercise regime).  It always gives me a lift.  Here's a video (pretty much minus any video content) but with the great music.  Maybe do a few stretches while you listen!



Cheerio!

P.S.  I decided I had to look into this "Tiplady" thing and our friend the Internet, as ever, didn't let me down.  Here's a fascinating little look at the possibilities for how this old Yorkshire name was derived.  If you don't have time, the author's best guess is that it referenced a lady bar keeper.

My Little Margie!

Sorry to bore you if you are not down with music from the 1920s, but here's another favorite from my new old play list.  I have a lovely aunt called "Margie" and now a little niece with the same name so this irrepressible little number already had a place in my heart before it embedded itself in my brain.

Press play if you want to hear the Ben Selvin Orchestra play "Margie."  If you leave the player going after the song ends, MySpace will tag on  some other stuff - I don't know what.  You've been warned.  (Is that a xylophone in there?  The guy must be playing it at light speed).

Margie

Greatest Hits of Prohibition

Hey all.  I have been listening to lots of music from the 1920s lately.  They just don't write paeans to drinking the way they used to.  The video isn't much on the one below, but the song is genius.  I got it at iTunes on a compilation of 20s hits and didn't know til I watched the video that words and music were by Irving Berlin. ("Where dark-eyed Stellas light their fellas panatellas...") I was singing it at dinner tonight, to the delight of the Infanta and Shack (not).



Here's a link to another song about leaving the country in order drink.  It's the Jazz Pilots (another great name) singing "Hello Montreal." I have a special fondness for this one because Montreal is the drinking city of my heart.  No pictures, but the music is worth your while.