from the comments
Mr. B.’s friend Alec had a routine. He would come home from school, unlock the door, then fret about the “scary noises” he heard in the empty house. I remember the first time I saw him sitting on the bench behind my house. He was craning his neck around watching our house.
Alec had the cell phone his mother gave him to keep in touch while she was at work. She had a long commute and wanted him at home until she got there, taking care of school assignments and chores. He was a very smart and kind boy. I asked the mother to allow Alec to come inside to do homework. But she was adamant. He could sit on the bench until she got home or calmed down. And that was that.
So, Alec would show up several days a week at least, and Mr. B. would sit with him on the bench. I heard that even when we were gone, and that happened a lot, he still would show up on that bench with his books and phone.
Eventually, Alec, his little brother, and his mother moved. We never saw them again. But I still think about him. Especially lately. And this memory is tied up with Clusterflock. Because when I drop by in silence, just reading the posts, I’m like little Alec on the bench, watching the walls of a home where people I care about live. It’s a comfort ritual.
The Bradbury Building
Another thing Amanda did while I was in Los Angeles was give me a tour of the city that was both incredibly personal and instructive. The most amazing moment was how she handled taking me to The Bradbury Building. It almost feels unfair to describe it — so you can get a glimpse of what the experience was like — because that’s the opposite of how she handled it. She just said, I’m going to take you by The Bradbury, and we parked, and then we walked in.
Why You Should Watch Filth
I know I’m like a cheerleader for John Waters here on clusterflock, but I really do love the man and I love the way his mind works and what he says. This is one of a series.
I always wanted a brother, and I wish John Waters had been my big brother.
(Thanks to Juanito for tipping me to this.)
Gospel Melody Boys
That’s Daddy, third guy from the left. Happy Father’s Day.
Rememberies of the Star Herald
’76 – ’79-ish.
1) Mrs. Carroll (Editor of the weekly she inherited it from relatives before her, sold it to the the publisher in Corning, a decade before I started working there)l: Rick, you’re fired!
Me: Again! Why this time?
She: You turned the air conditioner thermostat up to 78. (This in the middle of the gas crisis in the late 70′s when we were trying to conserve.) Read more
Rediscovering Gertrude Stein
I recently found my way back to Gertrude Stein after many years. Her writing is even more astonishing, more moving than I remembered. I plan to read her all summer.
Here are two excerpts from Paris, France.
Sarah Bernhardt made me see the thin arms of frenchwomen. When I came to Paris and saw the little midinettes and Montmartoises they all had them. It was only many years later when the styles changed, in those days they wore long skirts, that I realised what sturdy legs went with those thin arms. That is what makes the french such good soldiers the sturdy legs, thin arms and sturdy legs, if you see what I mean, peaceful and exciting.
~~~~
And then the way they feel about the dead, it is so friendly so simply friendly and though inevitable not a sadness and though occurring not a shock. There is no difference between death and life in France and that too made it inevitable that they were the background of the twentieth century.
R.I.P. Sir Patrick Leigh Fermor (1915-2011)
‘A dangerous mixture of sophistication and recklessness’: Patrick Leigh Fermor in Saint Malo, France, in 1992. Photograph: Ulf Andersen/Getty Images
Not unexpected. And he led a long and wonderful life. But I am tearing up. This is someone I never met who meant a lot to me in ways that are hard to explain just now. So here is the Guardian obituary. And I hope you will read at least one of his books.
Patrick Leigh Fermor, who has died aged 96, was an intrepid traveller, a heroic soldier and a writer with a unique prose style. His books, most of which were autobiographical, made surprisingly scant mention of his military exploits, drawing instead on remarkable geographical and scholarly explorations. To Paddy, as he was universally known, an acre of land in almost any corner of Europe was fertile ground for the study of language, history, song, dress, heraldry, military custom – anything to stimulate his momentous urge to speculate and extrapolate. If there is ever room for a patron saint of autodidacts, it has to be Paddy Leigh Fermor.
Thoughts on Clusterflock
So yesterday, I was fiddling with a beads and pearls hair comb that I use to pull back my hair on hot days. Rick said, “That’s pretty.” I was flattered. The Iowan is very notice-y. Mr. B. also can be alert, for a teenager. But if I was bound, in front of the wheels of a truck, with the driver threatening to run over me unless those two could name the “cute hair accessory” I had been wearing all week, I would be in trouble. The Iowan wouldn’t be able to say. Mr. Boudreaux would whisper, “What’s an accessory?”
Rick, the writerly friend who also has been a merchandising designer, notices. I see that he takes it all in, maybe even when he is trying not to do that.
I need all of it, my guys at home, my friends who wouldn’t visit this blog and even if they did would click off, baffled. And my Clusterflock. The flock has different meanings for all of us, of course. But to me, it is a shiny bauble, the layer of bubbles that appeared from out of nowhere and now accompany me throughout my day.
Postcard from DC…
If you’re yearning for a lady with whom to lunch, you couldn’t make a better choice than to fly to Reagan National, get on the yellow-line south to King St. in Old Town, Alexandria and walk King to the Potomac where sits Chart House. A lovely afternoon. Cece is a delight.
Dinner with Dave at La Tomate last night, a delight, too.
Wish you were here.
XOR
Update:
Read more
Just a Reminder
Amanda’s Kickstarter project is at 50%, in the final week, with 45 47 49 50 contributors. Let’s get it to 60 if we can.
from the comments
Once Daryl and I were having breakfast in a coffee shop in New York. An elderly woman was talking to herself over her breakfast. At one point she left abruptly, and her table was cleared. She returned around 20 minutes later, obviously unaware that she had been in earlier. She ordered her meal, and the proprietor quietly fetched her plate from her prior visit, which he had slipped behind the counter. We realized that this dance probably played out several times each day.
That man’s kindness has stayed with me in a way that he will never know.
from the comments
I had a similar experience at Starbucks not long ago. In front of me was an older and obviously homeless man with a battered reusable mug. He asked for a simple brewed coffee and the barista smiled at him as his shaky hands fumbled with loose change trying to find the $1.95 he knew the coffee would cost. She smiled at him kindly and very softly said, “I think I saw you in here earlier, right?” He just looked at her and half shook his head, confused. “Yeah,” she said, “you were in earlier, so this would be a refill.”
It was a small kindness, ringing up a $.50 refill instead of a full priced coffee, but it was one of those moments that renews my faith in the goodness of people.
An Unexpected Reaction
On my way home from the Post Office today I stopped at Starbucks to treat myself to an iced coffee. In front of me at the counter was an older woman in a wheelchair — maybe 65 years old. She appeared apprehensive of the whole experience, and seemed to be having trouble deciphering the menu choices. After making her selection and being rung up by the barista, she simply shook her head “no” at the $4.00 price of the small latte she had ordered. The line behind me was growing longer, and other customers were beginning to fidget and roll their eyes. The cashier was kind and apologetic to the woman as she began backing away from the counter before finally reaching into her purse for a neatly-folded $5 bill.
I handed the cashier my card and told the woman to enjoy her coffee. Her reaction made it apparent that not many people have extended kindnesses to her. Her voice reminded me of my grandmother’s.
I took my iced coffee and left hastily, where I cried in my car for about 10 minutes.
tweet of the day
Rapture
It is 6:00 pm CDT. There is a breeze, it is 83 degrees. Beautiful. No rapture near as I can tell from the patio. Course I’m out on the patio alone. As I mentioned, all our friends, save one who isn’t here just now, (Andrew’s out on his bike somewhere.), are heathens.
Drove down to Springfield, MO, today, to meet my parents for lunch at Lambert’s. Had a th’owed roll and a JLT. (Jowl, lettuce and tomato on Texas Toast with “pass-arounds” of fried okra and fried potatoes.) Couldn’t eat it all, sent my left-over jowl home with Mom and her left-over fried chicken livers. (Gravy on the side.)
Lambert’s is loud with old-timey music. We, talkin’, were all like, “Hunh? Hunh?”
We thought storms between here and there, or their there and there, might prevent our meeting. It was a beautiful day for driving. On the way down, Danny and I listened to the sound-track of The Book of Mormon. I was at once horrified and laughed my ass off.
Chimney swifts
We have lived in the same house for 20 years, and each spring a family of chimney swifts nests here. As the name would imply, they build the nests directly in the chimney. They make the most wonderful sounds. The chirps and peeps are nice, but my favorite sound is the whooshing noise that comes down the chimney as they fly about. When the babies hatch, they let out loud chirps when a parent nears with food. Over the years, a couple of babies have dropped to their deaths onto our hearth. But the vast majority survive. One day we notice all is quiet and realize they have moved on. I’m always a bit sad when that happens, though I know I shouldn’t be. And we always know they will return the following year. I wonder who comes back? It can’t still be the original pair. I like to think it’s some of the babies, returning to the place of their birth, to begin the cycle again. I’m honored that they do it here. We never build a fire, so that they can keep this place.
We are about to put our house on the market, and I will not sell it unless I trust the buyers to protect the swifts.
Post to Twitter
A quick thank you to Andrew for the new Post to Twitter feature you will see at the bottom of each post.
Feet on the ground
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It’s okay
I know nothing’s wrong
Windom, Texas. April 30, 2011.
Thanks, all, both for granting me time and space to myself last weekend and for welcoming me on my returns to the fold.
Also, for confirming my conviction that there is no significant “generation gap” amongst folks who are simpatico.
Let’s do it again.
tweet of the day
photo out of context
twitter? (I hardly know her)
dear clusterflock
What is the equivalent of getting a six pack for someone who doesn’t drink?
Jimmie Old
I found out the woman I considered my grandmother when we lived in Iran died Saturday. She and her husband were responsible for my parents’ choice to move to Texas, as well. So she had a lasting effect on my life in thousands of ways.
Rest in peace, Jimmie.
Voice to Text
Danny to Rick, 3:47 pm.
Hey Rick, it’s I forgot if you Carol home public you force yourself love you. I know Sam. So since whoops love.
tweet of the day
