Author: Monda

Austen as Antidote

No Telling

I think I’ve found the cure for all this political doublespeak and tragic economy and war: Escapism.

The only thing better than a rich, fat novel is six thick volumes, all nicely bound and lovingly reproduced with original 19th century illustrations. Ahhh. A full set of The Oxford Illustrated Jane Austen.

In my bi-monthly bookshelf scalping for The Ultimate Shelf-Cleaning Book Giveaway, I ran across this set and realized I’d never read Mansfield Park. Never. Not one page. It was like finding a hundred dollar bill in the pocket of last year’s coat. And even though Anderson Cooper crooned about political strategies in the background, I turned off the TV.

For a half-second I wondered what might happen if our Jane were transported from her century into ours and – all techno fright aside – what she might think of a gal like Sarah Palin. Can you imagine? It’s like those bizarre beauty contest questions that asks you to assemble a dinner table full of people, living or dead, for an evening of high conversation.

Jane Austen and Sarah Palin across the Limoges. One talking nonsensically nonstop and the other, well, probably taking notes for some low character in her next book.

Since I’d rather not take to drink over all this horror, I’ve decided to take to Austen instead. I’m talking 565 pages, with appendices. Portable Heaven and no scrolling ticker.

NaNoWriMo or Bust, and a Video Poem

Fresh Ribbon

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=1192767&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1

Codes from Musser on Vimeo.

NaNo

This typecast is brought to you on Alice, a witty debutante of an Olympia SF that – if my life were different – would definitely be used in Typewriter Brigading the NaNoWriMo. When I figure out what I’m doing wrong with my camera, I’ll share photos of Alice and another FABULOUS Olympia, both delicious cursive hand-me-downs from the best typing buddies a girl ever had.

Windchimes and Widow-Women in Paradise

No Telling

Writing about my sweet neighbor-lady’s political fright yesterday reminded me of a couple of neighborhood issues in our Walled Subdivision Paradise. First, a brief history.
I moved here a few years ago when this little circle of patio homes was still all construction and dirt and sticks in the ground connected by string. I was seduced by the promise of marble counter tops, six-inch ceiling mouldings, and of never again sweating over my own yard work. Living in a 100 year-old Downtown Grand Dame of a place was fabulous, and while I’ll always sigh a bit at leaving the wrap-around porch and Seven Sisters irises, that old house was more upkeep than any one woman could manage, even with an expensive and ever-changing team of electricians, plumbers, tree-men, and mowing neighbor-boys. I love the smell of New Construction in the morning. It smells like . . . victory.
What I didn’t know was my new Walled Subdivision Paradise would become a sort of weigh station for retirees either headed for The Home or The Grave. I don’t say this lightly. By the end of my first year here, I was the youngest resident by an easy twenty-five years and two neighbors had already passed into their Sweet Release. So far this year we’ve lost four.
There’s quite a bit of turnover in this ‘Burb.
Longevity is a woman’s prerogative, so the majority of these homes belong to widow-women with small yappy dogs and an abundance of hanging windchimes. I’m not sure why the windchime thing is so important, but there it is. Walk the circle on a breezy day and and it’s like driving home from a ZZ Top concert – a bit muffled and “huh?” for an hour or so. Everyone here has several chimes and at least one each of the gonging call-to-prayer variety usually reserved for Buddhist Temples.
I suspect I’m the only one bothered by the windchime concert because I’m the only one who can hear them. I’ve been on the porch on stormy nights watching for tornadoes as the wind whipped frantically through the streets. This happens regularly here and I always enjoy a good stormy night, but the collective throng of these hundred angered windchimes can drown out even the train-roar of an F-4. The widow-women sleep peacefully behind darkened windows and never know a thing, bless their hearts.
In our darkest moods, my daughter and I have plotted systematically vandalizing the larger and more mellifluous of the chimes. We have our moments. We won’t do it, though, because as well-brought-up Southern Women, we could never. If one of these widow-women should pass on in the night we committed a heinous windchime-attack, we’d never survive the guilt.
Or the prosecution. These old gals don’t play.

That Genie Won’t Go Back in the Bottle

No Telling

I’ve seen and heard an awful lot of hate lately, and it worries me. It should worry all of us.

John McCain made an attempt yesterday to quell a bit of that, but the attempt is late and doesn’t square with his campaign message. He’s between a rock and a . . . well, rock. One one hand he’s got to make Obama out to be the devil, and on the other – not devil enough to assassinate. Yes, that’s a strong word, but some folks out there are riled up and the Crowd is starting to sound like a Mob. Some people believe anything you tell them, and once they become suitably inflamed they don’t much like being told the devil’s not quite as bad as all that.

You don’t have to use a podium and a large hall to incite folks, either. I live next door to a sweet elderly woman who’s cornered me several times in the yard to discuss “that HUSSEIN Obama” while her nervous little dog pees in my grass. She’s convinced he’s a Muslim/terrorist/A-Rab/communist/Antichrist, and she’s genuinely afraid. Stirring up fear in people is one thing, but frightening old neighbor-ladies is an unforgivable sin. I try to avoid her on Wednesday nights after Bible Study and – of course – on Sunday evenings when her conspiracy fears seem to be most feverish. She’s never attended a political rally and probably never will, but that doesn’t stop her from knowing what she knows. She may watch FOX News, but she gets her real political information from the good people at church.

That, my friends, is a genie that can never go back into its bottle.

The Wednesday Night Bible Study group my neighbor-lady commiserates with will never cause a harm. To anyone. Ever. But there are those out there who who might. There are those out there who have, actually. Arkansas has its fair share of lunatics and I’m sure every other state can say the same.

It all goes back to my teaching mantra. I tell my students that in their essays and in life, the most important thing they will ever get right is to Know Their Audience. Words are powerful and require responsible wielding. I also tell my students that what they don’t say is just as important as what they do say. Just ask those folks up the road who were around when Faubus closed the schools. They’ll tell you all about the incendiary nature of irresponsible words and silences.

Working both sides of the aisle is going to be an even trickier business now, because McCain also has to work both sides of the pew as well. “Country First, “senator. Country. First.

Typewriter Storage as Art. Problem Solved. Kind of.

Fresh Ribbon

The lovely machines at my house are multiplying like rabbits. The problem , thus far, isn’t how to get rid of them (GAD!), it’s where to store these vintage beauties.

I ran across Rebecca Horn’s Blue Monday installation on the Guggenheim collection, and voila! Storage as art. I even found a blog where David Scrimshaw had a happy little storage accident – more art.
So now I’m thinking hard about the seven or eight typewriters cozied under my bed, nesting in their cases like off-season tulip plantings. Clearly, I need a storage solution less on the hide-it-under-the-bed side and more along the lines of oooh aaaah art.
I’m also thinking about the five typewriter cases stacked side-by-side in the bookcases, but not too much. While the effect is scarcely art, it does add a bit of ambiance – another A-word. Close enough for me. Besides, hanging 15- to 20- pound typewriters up like a string of freshly-caught bass has got to be a strain on some structurally important part of the house. I’ve lived in too many old houses to play fast and loose with architectural integrity, even for Art.
It’s not like I leave all my typewriters under the dust ruffle to die. I do take them out for regular spins that can last four or five days each, giving each a good run for their ribbons every single night. I write on them. A lot.
It would be odd to turn my house into a Typewriter Guggenheim, not that there’s enough space to even imagine it. I’ve had houses with indoor vistas, but now I’ll take the storage problem over the electric bill every time. Especially lately.
Another Terribly Good Idea might be to fill out my collection by scattering a few typewriter-related goodies here and there. Fish Nor Fowl gathered a charming group of vintage typewriter delight from Etsy, and I suspect many of these will end up on the Christmas List/in my house/not under the bed.

Vintage Writing Keepsakes, because I’m Sick of Talking Politics

No Telling


I believe it’s time for a political break. The whole mess has put me in a sour mood and I’d rather talk about writing goodies. So here are a few vintage writing keepsakes I’ve been collecting while on my tiny address book binge. I can’t help myself, really – they’re cheap, easy to find, and a complete delight to actually use. The lovely embedded abalone memo book with pencil above is my absolute favorite, and it only set me back about $4.00 on Ebay.


Oh, you can spend a fortune on the real McCoy sterling silver keepsakes, but I’m all about the cheap brass or tin variety. The memo covers are always just this side of classy and don’t seem to tarnish or wear in an unattractive way. The delicate brass pencil is a bit of a problem, though – I can’t seem to find the right size lead. It has to fit perfectly. The whole thing is 2 1/2″ by 4 1/2″ and finding little replacement notepads is no problem at all. It doesn’t appear to have been used much, if at all. only one piece of the original paper is torn off. This little keepsake must have lost it’s initial luster quickly for some reason.
There’s nothing quite like jotting a little here-and-there note in this compact keepsake – I’ve had to get over my post-it note brainwashing, though. It’s embarrassing trying to stick a note that simply doesn’t stick.

This little notebook is the same size and weighs almost nothing. It’s made completely out of cheap tin, cost all of $2.00, and I couldn’t love it more. The name “Evelyn” and pieces of an address in Pennsylvania are hand-etched on the inside cover, and it looks like our girl made her own notepads out of scratchy rag paper, cutting each page by hand and fastening them together with a staple.
This one wasn’t a throwaway keepsake at all. I’m guessing Evelyn had this for quite some time, writing lists and addresses and directions and things to remember. I’m also guessing Evelyn in Pennsylvania was quite proud of this sweet little memo book and might have made a modest public showing of pulling it out to make this note and that. In rooms where all the girls have ornate sterling, it wouldn’t work. But in a world of women with no silver memo books at all – tin or otherwise – Evelyn would be quite a hit.
My grandmother told me once that if your pearls aren’t real, you must either have an electric smile or a very fast walk. I’ll bet Evelyn had a winning smile.

Losing Our Way

No Telling

My God. Between the Wall Street golden parachuting and the tiresome Dance of the House in D.C., between posturing politicians and winking ambition, there is Addie Polk.

(CNN) — A 90-year-old Akron, Ohio, woman who shot herself as sheriff’s deputies tried to evict her from her foreclosed home became a symbol of the nation’s home mortgage crisis Friday.

Fannie Mae foreclosed on the Akron, Ohio, home of Addie Polk, 90, after acquiring the mortgage in 2007.

Addie Polk is being treated at Akron General Medical Center after shooting herself at least twice in the upper body Wednesday afternoon, her city councilman said. U.S. Rep. Dennis Kucinich, D-Ohio, mentioned Polk on the House floor Friday during debate over the latest economic rescue proposal.

“This bill does nothing for the Addie Polks of the world,” Kucinich said after telling her story. “This bill fails to address the fact that millions of homeowners are facing foreclosure, are facing the loss of their home. This bill will take care of Wall Street, and the market may go up for a few days, but democracy is going downhill.”

Neighbor Robert Dillon used a ladder to enter a second-story window of Polk’s home after he and the deputies heard bangs inside, Dillon told CNN affiliate WEWS-TV in Cleveland, Ohio.

“I just thought she may have fell or couldn’t get up or something,” he told WEWS. “I didn’t know [she had shot herself] until I got in there. And even when I got there, she was breathing, but she wasn’t saying anything to me. I knew she needed help then.”

Dillon said he saw blood when he put his hand on Polk’s shoulder.

“There’s a lot of people like Miss Polk right now. That’s the sad thing about it,” said Akron City Council President Marco Sommerville, who had met Polk before and rushed to the scene when contacted by police. “They might not be as old as her, some could be as old as her. This is just a major problem.”

In 2004, Polk took out a 30-year, 6.375 percent mortgage for $45,620 with a Countrywide Home Loan office in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. The same day, she also took out an $11,380 line of credit.

Over the next couple of years Polk missed payments on the 101-year-old home and in 2007 Fannie Mae assumed the mortgage and later filed for foreclosure.

Deputies had tried to serve Polk’s eviction notice more than 30 times before Wednesday’s incident, Sommerville said. She never came to the door, but the notes the deputies left would always disappear, so they knew she was inside and ambulatory, he said.

A recent Akron City Council study identified a number of lenders whose practices it deemed predatory.

“I get a lot of calls about this predatory lending where people are elderly and they’re probably living on a fixed income and they get somebody to give them some money,” Sommerville said. “Then they get in a situation where if they miss a payment they lose their house. I don’t think people quite understand what happens.”

The city is creating programs to help people keep their homes, he said. “But what do you do when there’s just so many people out there and the economy is in the shape that it’s in?”

Many businesses and individuals have called since Wednesday offering to help Polk,
Sommerville said.

“We’re going to do an evaluation to see what’s best for her,” he said. “If she’s strong enough and can go home, I think we should work with her to where she goes back home. If not, we need to find another place for her to live where she won’t have to worry about this ever again.”

He said that by the time people call for help with an impending foreclosure, it’s
usually too late.

“I’m glad it’s not too late for Miss Polk, because she could have taken her life,” Sommerville said. “Miss Polk will probably end up on her feet. But I’m not sure if anybody else will.”

I’m ashamed of us. One of these suave and semi-suave candidates had better do something for Addie and those like her, and be damn quick about it. And sincere. Fix it on the quiet and don’t use her as a campaign commercial. Just save her because it’s the right thing to do when our moral compasses have forgotten true north. Let Addie Polk finish her life in dignity.

UPDATE! Just found this (10/4) on CNN.com…

Fannie Mae Forgives Loan for Woman Who Shot Herself

I’m sending Mrs. Polk some flowers right now.

Note on the Fridge to Moleskine

No Telling

Oh, dear. For the past couple of months I’ve been frantic for more Extra Large Ruled Cahier Moleskine notebooks, and you appear to have ceased production. Can’t find them anywhere – not even the sad Kraft paperbag covered ones.

This simply won’t do. I’ve a special fondness for these notebooks – EXACTLY these notebooks – and it frightens me a little that I may never see another one. Sure, I know you make scads of other sizes and strange gridded things, but my level of desperation for the lovely lined beauties has made me look elsewhere for scribble notebooks.

Elsewhere, I tell you. And it’s not a pretty experiment.

Ladies – you know what it’s like when you’ve got to find a new lipstick, hairspray, shampoo, whatever? We buy and buy brand upon brand, always finding something that’s almost right, but never quite what we’re looking for. Countertops and make-up cases groan under the weight of unused products. Same with the Moleskine.

Apica, chemistry notebooks, cute composition books, expensive leather journals from miscellaneous book stores – they’re all functional and in their own ways a delight, but they’re not the Moleskine’s that slip perfectly into my purse, the ones with the flexible black covers, the ones with the perfect line spacing on exquisite paper.

Please let us know soon the true fate of these XL lined cahiers, because scribbling should be near-perfect tactile experience, and I’m sitting here with almost-but-not-quite notebooks.

Thank you so,

Monda
UPDATE: I wrote a pleading email to Moleskine and received this heart-stopping response…
“Thank you for contacting Customer Care. We appreciate your inquiry. However,both the XL Ruled Journals and the XL Squared Journals have been discontinued by the manufacturer. The only XL Journals we have are Plain. We do offer both the Ruled and Squared Journals in both the Cahier Line and theTraditional Moleskine Notebooks in both Pocket and Large sizes. Please let us know if you have additional questions, or if we can assist insome other way.
Moleskines.com Customer Care

Toll-Free: 1-800-808-7714″
Sweet. Jesus. Say it aint so, Moleskine….