cheeries

 

Dear Chérie,

I often write cheeries, when I mean cherries.  This is somehow as it should be.  I am making some ceramic cherries.  These are the proto-cherry.  Watch this space for more, possibly.

These cherries may put you in mind of a cocktail I made up, the Don't Worry Baby;  I can tell you right now that the Baby, I Don't Care cocktail (as soon as it is invented) will be even better than the Don't Worry Baby.  In the meantime, baby, have this great book of poems.  Have this, too; baby, I don't care.

everyone*

 

Dear Radio Dodo Listener,

Here is a fine version of a fine song: your song of the day!  I love this song's stately procession.  A woman sang it at our wedding.  A thing happened, though, at the wedding, where another paid musician suggested that I ought to also have Forever Young, because this fellow had had it at his wedding.  I said okay, because I didn't want to fight with talented musicians who knew better than me; but, yes, I regret that I didn't say no to it.  It's a tiny thing, of course, like every transgression (and every grain of sand).  Forever Young is fine, it is fine, really.  But it isn't half the song that Every Grain of Sand is:  Forever Young is a wish song, Every Grain of Sand is a statement song, a proclamation.  Our wedding was not a wish, our wedding was a proclamation.  If I had it to do again, well, there'd be some changes made.

1.  It will be our guest list.  Not anyone's mother's guest list.  No one 'should' be on the list- the list will contain the names of people we want to celebrate with, people we want to witness the pronouncement of our vows.

2.  Our wedding will be in the publicly owned Estrella Adobe, because a smaller venue is no problem (see item 1).

3.  Not only am I making the cake, I am going to make the food, too.  Because items 1 and 2.  I do not want to share the fun of throwing this big party.  We will not have dinner, or lunch, or gawdhelpus brunch; we will have things you pick up and eat.  Petits fours, tiny sandwiches, itty-bitty crackers with cheese, jam, and a celery slice on them, olives, nuts, that kind of precious, exquisite thing: amouse-bouche.  We will have champagne.

4.  No stupid registry.  In fact, no gifts.  Because when you are 55 and looking at your overcrowded kitchen and your underfunded savings account, you are going to choose to sell all that silver on eBay.

5.  No suggestions.  Have your own damn wedding if you want to have certain songs sung, or certain foods served, or a professional florist.  I loved doing the flowers myself- it was a pleasure to spend all that time amongst the flowers.

That should cover it.  If you know anyone gettin' hitched, give them this list, or the gist of it (which is Do it Your Own Damned Way)- they'll thank you for it!

*Everyone.  Everyone.

bedtime story

 

Dear Tucked-In,

Tonight, a bedtime story.  I think you will find it delightful!

who died and left you in charge

 

Dear Searching,

A book you might like/read/find beautiful is Things in Nature Merely Grow by Yiyun Li.  Notice my ‘might.’  I worry about making suggestions to you- because who died and left me in charge?- as my friend’s mother* used to say. 

Things in Nature Merely Grow is a book about suicide and being a mother.  There was a joke, around looking for books for 8, 10, 12 year olds when my son was that age:  Book has an award; qualifying question:  Does the dog die?  I can tell you right now that the dog dies like you wouldn't believe.  I still think you should** read it.  

Two more books, which I also liked, even loved, but with a little more distance; with a measure of bleakness & sorrow:  Bastard Out of Carolina ( Dorothy Allison) and Member of the Wedding (Carson McCullers).  Dogs die and so does hope in these two, but yeah, I still think you should read them.  The truth has a beauty no matter how sad.  

*My friend's Mom was named Yvonne.  An amazing woman, really; much older than the usual 13 year old's mother.  She and I got along like a house on fire (peculiarly, all old people liked me in my early teens).  Yvonne was a classic alcoholic who chain smoked .  Which didn’t daunt me, because outside of my parents, all my relatives were drunks, and most of them smoked.  She was a connoisseur of country music (when that category meant Tammy Wynette and Waylon Jennings), and a font of phrases like ‘better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.’  She also loved to say; and this one might be my favorite:  Let’s not, and say we did.  I imagined, in my very rural and insulated childhood, that everyone’s mother had phrases like these, and that I would just be collecting more and more of them as life went on; but no, no one else’s mother talked like that, and I have only the handful of phrases to get me through the age she must have been when I knew her.

 ** But, don't read Bridge to Terabithia,  Or do. because adults love this book.  If you want a book where the dog doesn't die, try Pinky Pye.  Or the very lovely Raising Hare.

 

Super

 

Eric Carle, from Draw Me a Star.

Dear Asterisked,

I have been really looking forward to giving you this inflorescence of songs.  I know you probably get weary of my hyperbole; tired of my adoration for all kinds of wonderstuffs made by people.  Well, you can invest your time anywhere; but for me, it is so nice to think of you getting this little packet of beauty.

Keely Smith

Belinda Carlisle

The Carpenters

Sonic Youth

 Peggy Lee

U. S. Girls & Bootsy Collins

The Ray Conniff Singers

The Ventures

Delaney & Bonnie

 PS  The song was originally titled "Groupie," and it was written by Bonnie Bramlett and Leon Russell.

lily pad

 

making it

 

Girl, Interrupted at Her Music, Jan Vermeer, 1658-1659.

 

Dear Y'all,

Again, I have read a book that has me asking why haven't I read this already? Where have you been all my life, Girl, Interrupted?  I could really have used this book... but, that isn't to say I am not happy I found it, finally.  As I was telling a pal, this book made me feel seen as they say; it was strumming my pain with its words.  And, you, lucky you, can read it right now!  In fact, take a chair by the light; I'll wait while you read it!  

I especially love to read about women and their brushes with, or even full assimilation of, madness.  Madness, as you know, is just a kiss away.  But, let me cut to the nub of the matter:  there are two types of books about women trying to get what they want.  In the first type, the women are killed for trying to get what they want, or even for daring to ask.  In the second type of book, the women survive.  Girl, Interrupted, is of the second type.

I have lots of evidence of the literary death penalty for women who want.  Here are just a few protagonists that are punished by death: Lily Bart, Daisy Miller, Marguerite Gautier, Catherine Earnshaw, Lilia Herriton, Edna Pontellier. I still haven't finished it, but I think Anna Karenina gets the big sleep, too.  

Take heart, though, reader, because I have just read three other books where the woman is not put to death for asking for something.  Now, Voyager, Butter, and Famesick.  Happily, Charlotte, Rika, and Lena all 'make it' to the ends of their books, against all the odds, and Famesick isn't even fiction!

PS

Another kiss away.  Does the woman in The Yellow Wallpaper make it?  Offred?  The woman in What Kingdom?  Marie Cardinal makes it, in The Words to Say It.  So does Leonora Carrington in Down Below, Therese and Carol in The Price of Salt.