FAMILY DAY

Yesterday, I was gone from home all day, spending time in activities with various members of my family. The first outing was to Grandparents Day at my granddaughter's high school. Grandpère could not go, as he was due at the boat museum at the same time. Last year, we made the grand tour of the entire school, so GD didn't think we needed that again, but she did want us to visit her art classroom and see the work she had done in class. While we were looking at her pictures, the art teacher came up and said, "Your granddaughter is a very talented artist." I said, "We know." Still, I was delighted to hear the art teacher affirm what we knew. The picture is from our visit to the school last year. The photo from this year will be mailed to me.

Next up was a pleasant lunch at a local restaurant with my daughter-in-law and son to celebrate my DIL's birthday.  I enjoyed spending time with them, catching up with what's going on in their lives and the life of their son, my grandson, who is at LSU.  I have sworn off discussing politics with my son, except about matters upon which we agree, and I managed to keep my oath till the end of the lunch, which mercifully concluded before the discussion became too heated. I'll simply add that we all agree on certain matters political, which I will not detail here.

My next destination was my son's house to stay with my grandson until his older sister, my granddaughter in the top picture, came home from school and running errands. My GS is now a couple of years older than in the photo.

So. There it is - my family day - which is why I didn't blog yesterday.  Busy, busy, busy.

STORY OF THE DAY - CLOSE TO THE GROUND

I still fly a lot in my dreams, she told us, but I try to 
stay close to the ground. At my age, a fall can be pretty 
serious.

Indeed.  :-)

From StoryPeople.

SPEAKING OF NIGHTMARES

John Fuseli - The Nightmare

Early this morning, I had not one, but two nightmares.  The first is all but forgotten, but it involves a head-and-shoulders picture of a young woman with reddish-brown hair, wearing a green dress or blouse.  In some way, the picture is vitally important in my nightmare and causes me great anxiety, but why I don't remember.  I woke up, went to the bathroom, and went back to bed.  The question as to whether I dream in color is definitively answered.

I slept again, as I was worn out, only to begin another nightmare.  The second nightmare is one that recurs.  Grandpère hurries me to leave to catch a plane to somewhere or other, and I realize that I've forgotten to pack several vital items, which I cannot do without.  Anxiety, sturm und drang, GP saying, "We have to leave now!", and me saying, "No, we can't!  I have more to pack!"  The items included, medications, vitamins, and a jacket, among other things.  There I am scrambling ineffectively to gather up what I need to stow in the suitcases, with GP saying all the while , "We have to go!  We have to go!" and me saying, "Wait!  Wait!"

Because I am chronically late, and GP usually hurries me along whenever we go anywhere together, my second nightmare is somewhat of a replay of real life, except that the scene plays out with me intensely fearful and anxious. Then, as usual, I woke up with the entire scenario unresolved and me exhausted already, and having to face the day ahead.  What kind of rest is that?

Some of the experts on dreams say that we dream in metaphors, and the key is to discover the significance of the metaphors.  Others, Jungian types, say all the people in our dreams are aspects of ourselves.  Whatever.  Two nightmares in one morning is too much.

Image from Wikipedia.

JESUS TRAPPED NIGHTMARE

 

By nakedpastor.

ELEPHANT REVIVAL - "BAREFOOT FRIEND"

From their album, "Break in the Clouds."

VASELINE CONTINUED...

Q. Did you hear what happened to the poor young couple that confused Vaseline and putty? 

A. All their windows fell out!

Two of my readers submitted the joke above, so what could I do?  Blame Charley and David.

BLOGGING LIFE WITHOUT PASSION

 

What am I passionate about today?  Nothing, really.  Nor was I passionate yesterday, so I didn't write anything original on my blog.  I posted a joke from my good friend Paul (A.), and I reached for the bottom to celebrate the 200th birthday of Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen's chef-d'oeuvre, by quoting myself, surely the nadir in blogging creativity.   Nor was I passionate on the day before.  I wanted to be entertained and amused, rather than offer entertainment and amusement.  So what did I do with all the free time on Sunday?  I attended the annual church meeting and the service that followed and did a little shopping for a few necessities on the way home.

When I returned home, I put my up my feet and finished the book I was reading, The Soldier's Wife by Joanna Trollope, light fiction which I need from time to time to clear my brain.  Next up were three episodes of the TV series Treme on DVD, which I'm receiving in sequence from Netflix and watching for the first time, because we do not subscribe to HBO.  I'm loving the series.  The creators and actors in the show get New Orleans as right as any show or movie I've seen, and I've seen my share of attempts that were excruciatingly awful.  I find myself jotting down some of the best dialogue from the show and whatever else looks good and funny.  Caution: Strong language.

LaDonna Batiste-Williams, on the refusal by her musician brother, Delmond Lambreaux, who has moved to NYC, to stay in New Orleans for a while to help their father, Albert, a Mardi Gras Indian chief, whose home has been destroyed:

Delmond: "I got a gig."

LaDonna: "We all got a gig.  That's goddam life."
-------------------

Creighton Bernette, a professor of English at Tulane University speaking with a reporter in th days following the disaster:

Reporter: For the sake of argument, let's say New Orleans was, once, a great city...

Creighton: Are you saying that New Orleans is not a great city, a city that lives in the imagination of the world?

Reporter: I suppose if you're a fan of the music, which has rather seen it's day, let's be honest. Or the food, a provincial cuisine which many would say is typically American: too fat; too rich. And, yes of course, New Orleans has its advocates, but what about the rest of the country?

Creighton: Provincial, passé, hate the food, hate the music, hate the city. What the fuck are you doin' down here you fuckin' limey vulture motherfucker?
-----------------

Creighton: "This ain't Lake Wobegone, goddamit!"
------------------

Themes for some of the floats in the Krewe de Vieux parade as shown in the show during the first Mardi Gras following Katrina and the federal flood:

"C'est Levee!"

"Buy us back, Chirac!"

"Mandatory Ejaculation"

"France, please buy us back!" was an oft-heard expression of disgust and frustration at the efforts of all levels of government in the aftermath of Katrina and the federal flood. 

Close on the heels of Treme came Downton Abbey, which I remembered to watch, unlike the previous Sunday, when I had to wait for the replay on Monday and watch on the computer.  If you've watched both TV shows, you know what a mind-bending adjustment is required for the transition.  If you haven't, then you'll have to take my word for it.

Spoiler alert!  Do not read further if you haven't watched the episode and want to watch later. The death of Sybil, the sweetest of the three Grantham daughters, was very sad and perhaps unnecessary.  When the time drew near for Sibyl to deliver, Lord Grantham insisted on calling the "town" doctor, Sir Philip Tapsell, rather than have the kindly local Dr Clarkson attend the birth, because he wanted the best for his daughter, I knew there would be trouble.  And Lady Grantham wished to heed the advice of good Dr Clarkson, which, if followed, might have saved Sybil's life.  Alas.

Bates' story is being drawn out to the point of tedium.  If suspense over Bates' fate is intended to keep us interested in watching Downton Abbey, then the effect on me is the opposite.  Please get on with the story. 

Passion comes, and passion goes.  Before too very long, I assume some bit of news of the stupidity of people in high places will come along and rouse my passion once again.

Cartoon from someecards.

VASELINE

A man doing market research for the Vaseline Company knocked at the door and was greeted by a young woman with three small children running around at her feet. "I'm doing some research for Vaseline. Have you ever used the product?"

She said, "Oh, yes. My husband and I use it all the time."

"If you don't mind my asking," he said, "what do you use it for?"

"We use it for sex," she said.

The researcher was a little taken aback. "Usually people lie to me and say they use it on a child's bicycle chain or to help with a gate hinge. But, in fact, I know that most people do use it for sex. I admire you for your honesty. Since you've been so frank so far, can you tell me exactly HOW you use it for sex?"

The woman said, "I don't mind telling you at all. My husband and I put it on the doorknob and it keeps the kids out."


Cheers,

Paul (A.)

Ha ha ha.  You know who is to blame. 

I use Vaseline as a face cream, because I'm allergic to most other facial moisturizing products, including those that claim to be hypoallergenic.  Just saying.  :-)

HAPPY 200TH BIRTHDAY TO "PRIDE AND PREJUDICE"!

In a good many earlier posts, I've written of the enormous influence of Jane Austen's novels on my entire life.  The words below are excerpted and edited from my post titled. "It's Only a Novel".

As a 16 year old living in a tumultuous household, Jane Austen's novels were balm to my troubled soul. What sparkling wit! No fiction writer is Austen's equal in writing dialogue. What limpid prose! Reading Jane was sheer delight, not to mention that reading her books took me out of myself and out of my environment. After reading the first of her novels, which happened to be Pride and Prejudice, and which is still my favorite although I dearly love them all, I rushed to read the other five. I wanted to be Elizabeth Bennet. I read Jane's novels, and I read them again, and again, and again, up until now, and when I need cleansing and freshening from the load of drivel in print and on the tee-vee, I plunge into the novels and come away refreshed and renewed.  One last thing: I believe that reading Jane Austen's novels in my impressionable teen years contributed for the good to the formation of my moral center, which should give pause to anyone who says, "It's just a novel."

Jane's gift for irony is, to me, unsurpassed. Disclosure: my alcoholic and verbally abusive father had a gift for irony which was not always inflicted on his wife and daughters, and I learned from him to view our mad world through ironic eyes. I owe him for his gifts of books from an early age and for encouraging me to read by always having books and magazines around the house, even when my mother had to borrow grocery money from extended family. We never lacked for music, either. There's irony for you. To this day, I feel sorry for my poor mother's plight, but, in my heart of hearts, I can't regret that the books and music were present.

So.  My tribute to Jane Austen and her lovely novel, originally titled First Impressions, which is 200 years old today, is a rehash but is no less fervent and admiring than if I'd written the words today.

Thanks to MM for sending me the link to an article in The Atlantic, which shows covers of many different editions of P&P that have been published over the years.