The Season of the Cigar Box Smell

Reams of paper, books, new leather shoes, a box of crayons. The air is teeming with back-to-school smells right now. Walk into any big box store, drug store, convenience store, or office supply establishment, and all those fine, scholarly odors whack you right upside the head. Such memories!

Oh, the possibilities! (Yeah, those possibilities were usually dead by the mid-October, but still.) Just deciding which 3-ring binder to buy was a major kid-decision. I remember having a great zippered binder that was a laminated map of the world (very useful that year). So much to choose from: How many dividers? 16- or 24-count Crayolas? Paste from the school store or Woolworth's? Pencil box or vinyl case that hooked into a notebook?

And don't get me started on making the all-important school shoes and raincoat/windbreaker decisions! I repeat: Oh! The possibilities.

But the most evocative back-to-school smell has to be a fresh, clean cigar box. Sturdy and compact, a cigar box was the perfect container for school supplies. Seems like it was something that only Daddy could bring home (who knows where daddies got 'em?), and seems like the box was always King Edward brand. Ah, the smell! I don't like the smell of a cigar being smoked, but the smell of the cigar box is just heavenly. And so, well, school-y smelling.

I miss back-to-school shopping, but it's so much more complicated and expensive today. And, shoot, probably politically incorrect to keep one's school supplies in a cigar box. But back in the day, back when school didn't start until the day after Labor Day, we'd turn up in our neat school clothes with King Edward cigar boxes packed with pencils, erasers, crayons, paste, and scissors, all ready for some book-larnin'.

I think I'm going to stop by a smoke shop to see if I can get a free King Edward cigar box. For my "school" supplies, doncha' know.

The Man With The Sign

It's good to remember in this time of clashing voices and absurd accusations, 1) there are lots of ideas and opinions on who owns the facts and truth, 2) polarization is the rule not the exception in our history, and 3) hey, the man (or woman) with the sign (with the message I abhor) is a friend of mine (though I hope none of them would hold the signs in the picture. Yikes!).

How many of us have good friends and family with whom we disagree about political, social, or religious issues? It's hard to keep these disagreements out of the limelight sometimes, but there must be something upon which we agree, right? For the sake of family and friendship?

No one explains it better than Sheldon Harnick in this song. Read it all, even sing along to the tune of Stars and Stripes Forever. And calm down.

The Man With The Sign
lyric by Sheldon Harnick/To the tune of "The Stars and Stripes Forever" by John Philip Sousa

In a town today, not far away,
A shabby little man is marching proudly
Round about and quite without
The music of a marching band.
No drum provides the rhythm for his left---
(not a piccolo)
---Right---
(not a clarinet)
Not a single Sousaphone in sight
Yet he marches on.


But as he goes around he shows
A shabby little home-made sign that tells me
Here's a man who favors
An unpalatable point of view.
It seems to me he's absolutely WRONG!
(his opinion is)
WRONG!
(my opinion is)
He and I could never get along
In a million years.


BUT the man with the sign's a friend of mine
All alone in his proud endeavor
And as long as I fight for this man's right
That's the glory of the stars and stripes forever.


Yes, the man with the sign's a friend of mine
All alone in his proud endeavor.
For the sign says to me, "This man is free!"
That's the story of the stars and stripes forever.


My flag is a full-throated choir
And it sings with the voice of a nation.
When each in a voice can be heard
Then the music is strong and clear.
My flag is a full-throated choir
And each voice adds a vital variation.
And this is the sound I revere:
The stirring music of the stars and stripes forever.


Time and time again, the voices clash!
(I hear the independent voices)
Time and time again, the cymbals crash!
(and time again, my heart rejoices)
When I hear the contrapuntal singing
Then I hear the sound of freedom ringing
When I hear the music swell
Then I can tell
That all is well
Because I know:


My flag is a full-throated choir
And it sings with the voice of a nation.
When each separate song can be heard
Then the music is strong and clear.
My flag is a full-throated choir
And each voice adds a vital variation.
And this is the sound I revere:
The stirring music of the stars and stripes forever.


© Sheldon Harnick

"Did you hear the one about the two lawyers who got married?"

Got a punchline for that? Anyone?

The family gathers this weekend for another splendid occasion, the marriage of niece Lizzie to her intended Collin. Both are lawyers, and Cuz came up with the great idea of finding suitable punchlines to the "two lawyers getting married" joke. Granted, lawyers are easy targets for jokes (just google "lawyer jokes"), but we don't want to be too offensive to the profession. After all, it's a good thing to have a couple of smart legal-eagles in the family, we figure.

Now, Cuz has come up with one pretty good zinger (which I won't share here, though I'm sure the Bride is much too busy this week to be following her Aunt Mary's blog). Alas, I've been remiss in offering anything worthwhile. I'm blaming the heat and humidity, which have dried up any smidgen of creativity that might've been mustered for the occasion.

That's why I'm reaching out to you, my Shorty PJ's public, to hit me with your best shot. Send in your punchlines. Don't be shy. Maybe you'll inspire me to come up with a couple of my own. All those legal terms . . . surely we can come up with few double entendres to raise a giggle or two, eh?

Wait! Here's something: "Did you hear the one about the two lawyers who got married? Their Aunt Mary missed the wedding because she couldn't decide what to wear!" OK. Not funny because it's too close to the truth.

So while y'all are channeling your inner Seinfelds, I'd better track down some wedding clothes.

Pride of Place

Confession: I'm a "place" snob. At least where book and movie locations are concerned. I don't care how fine the reviews or recommendations, if the setting doesn't, er, sit with me, I just can't get comfortable with it - like the whole feng shui is off. Even when I attempt to overcome my prejudice and plug in to something outside my comfort zone, I don't get very far. I get sort of itchy and unsettled, like I've forgotten something important or I'm coming down with a cold.

My place-snob list? East Coast and Deep South (and, occasionally, San Francisco) in the U.S., England/Scotland/Wales/Ireland, all of Europe, China but not Japan (go figure), Africa but not Middle East, Australia but not Canada (what's with that?), South America but not Central America (what?). Crazy, I know. No rhyme or reason, but there it is.

Yeah, there's probably some kind of psychiatric term for my weirdness. I proudly own my pathology. It is kinda crazy to be more concerned about setting than plot, though I do demand a good plot, as well, once it's in the right location. But at this stage of my life, I can live with my craziness.

Now, don't get me started on historical periods . . .

An August Saturday in Central Park

Finally! The humidity has cleared out for a few days, so I've ventured outside again. Yesterday was glorious in Central Park - a bright blue sky and a wonderful breeze. See for yourself:

Not many bright flowers in Conservatory Garden because of this summer's heat, but these seem to thrive.

Yes, yes, my favorite little fountain girls. The Untermeyer Fountain in Conservatory Garden.I never tire of their play.

A father and son get in a little fishin' time at Harlem Meer.

Conservatory Garden lawn and fountain.

The Secret Garden pool. Love the lily pads!

Blue sky and the Education Center at Harlem Meer.

Note the bird keeping watch atop the tower.

Midsummer Report Card

Summer is my least favorite season. It's hot. It's humid. It sucks energy and creativity right out of me. The myth of long, glorious carefree days spent in chlorine or sand died out about the time I had to take on summer work during college. Still, there have been a few bright spots. Let's rate the summer so far, shall we?

Thumbs Up:

• Our Atlanta Braves. Outstanding season, fellers! Whatever happens here on out, you've been a joy to root for this summer.
• Family time in Connecticut and New York City. The Brennan Clan is always fun to hang out with. Anticipating memory-making Bully Bartows family fun in August, with more wedding hubbub.
• Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. Best read of the summer. I highly recommend it.
• 1970's British TV Drama Fest. Duchess of Duke Street, Danger UXB, and Upstairs, Downstairs have kept me cool so far this miserable summer. (Thanks, Netflix!)
• Piragua cart at 116th and Lexington Avenue. Coming out of the steamy subway station into the oppressive air in Spanish Harlem, I dig for $1 and gladly pay it to the cart-guy for a coconut or mango icy treat. Yum!
• "Play Me, I'm Yours" piano art installation in New York City. Fabulous! Fun! Let's do it again!
• Garnier Fructis Full Control Anti-Humidity Hairspray. 'Nuff said.

Thumbs Down:

• Humidity. Humidity. Heat. Humidity. I don't too well in either weather condition, and combined? Well, they just put me in a vortex of surly laziness. Ugh. (And this one "Thumbs Down" trumps all the "Thumbs Ups" combined.)
• New York Public Library's dearth of class Southern literature available via audiobooks. No Flannery O'Connor or Carson McCullers. No Walker Percy. And the list goes on. Really? All sorts of light-weight bodice rippers and ranting conservative TV hosts' novelettes are ripe for download, but no classic lit from a mega-storytelling region of the world? Really?! This certainly shot to hell my goal of only listening to Southern classics on my iPod, I tell ya'. Bah!
• Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel. This won the Man Booker Prize? Yikes! Slogged through almost 200 pages before deciding that, yes, life was too short to waste any more time on this historical novel. Usually love a good historical novel, but she never pulled me in. One reviewer called it "spellbinding." Well, yes, if by spellbinding you mean eyes rolling back in head and nodding off every third sentence. Skip this, and reach for Cutting for Stone. Ignore the reviewers.
• "Play Me, I'm Yours" piano art installation was gone too soon. Should've lasted all summer.

Well, fortunately, the whole dreary season should be over in a couple of months. Until then, I'll continue finding tiny bits of energy in a cold beverage, a dish of ice cream, or in my favorite chair letting the air conditioning work its magic.

Pass the cold cider and deodorant, please.

Free Belly Laughs

I usually reserve posts about my GrandBoy for my GrandMary blog but can't resist spreading the joy to my Shorty readers, as well. This little video is good for what ails ya', especially if you're down in the dumps. Even baby-resistant folks have a hard time not laughing along with Liam, Kate, and her friend Allison. I'm just passing along the belly laughs, free of charge!

Writing in the Spirit and the Style

Fancy your business letters smack of Hemingway? Your blogs have an air of Margaret Mitchell? The short story you wrote in high school sound a bit like a Stephen King tale? Well, now you have a way to find out at "I Write Like," a website that lets you paste in a few paragraphs of writing and have it analyzed and compared to 50 famous authors.

According to the Associated Press, this fun little website isn't the brainchild of some English professor from Kenyon or Swathmore. Nope. The creator of "I Write Like" is a 27-year-old Russian (yeah, Russian) software programmer living in Montenegro (Montenegro? Really?). Oh, and English is his second language.

He modeled the whole thing on software for email spam filters, so the analysis is keyword based. Though some elements of style are considered, your word choices determine the results of your analysis more than sentence structure with this program. And so far, only fifty authors are a part of the analysis, but the young programmer promises to add more.

For example, there's no Herman Melville at present, but when a passage from Moby Dick is analyzed, it comes out as written by Stephen King. Go figure. Author Margaret Atwood, who is among the fifty authors, seems to be Stephen King, as well (she ran her own experiment).

I ran a couple of blog entries, several short stories, notes taken from a meeting at work, and ad copy, just to see what came out. Results? One James Fenimore Cooper, one H.P. Lovecraft, and four David Foster Wallaces. Hm.  Oh, and I ran this blog post through the analyzer. Another David Foster Wallace.

Go on. Give it a try and see what you come up with. I'm going to keep trying until I get Eudora Welty or Dr. Seuss.

The Good Scout

Of all the famous literary characters floating around out there, I've always most identified with Jean Louise "Scout" Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. Tomboy. Check. Great daddy. Check. Tendancy to go anywhere posted as "off limits." Check. Dressing as a ham for Halloween. Well, no, but I would've if I'd've thought of it. (Darn!)

Today is the 50th anniversary of the book's publication, so it's been in the news a lot lately. I love the book, and I love the film. Alas, since TKAM is required reading in a lot of schools, I suspect many students hate it just because it's forced on them. Hope not. (A Tale of Two Cities and Silas Marner were required reading for me, and I ended up liking both.) I hope readers - students or otherwise - give Scout and Atticus, Jem and Calpurnia, Tom Robinson and Boo Radley a chance to work themselves into their lives.

Yes, it's a book full of great characters. Still, the story's narrator hooked me like no other. Scout is honest, petulant, inquisitive, and plain-speaking. She tells it like it is and doesn't understand why the crazy adults are so off-balance. Scout is who I hope I am inside.

With all the anniversary hoopla come the haters. That's fine. If you don't like the book, you don't like the book. If you think it's simplistic or stereotypical or too Southern gothic, fine. But I happen to love it. And I do love the little tomboy Scout, who sees things in a way that only a kid can see. "Hey, Boo."

I haven't read To Kill a Mockingbird in a long time. A fine way to celebrate its Golden Anniversary is to pull it down and spend a little time with Scout.

Little Ones, Lobster Rolls, and Long Island Sound

A pretty great way to spend a 4th of July weekend, actually.

The Brennan Clan gathered in Guilford/Madison, Connecticut, for nephew/cousin David's wedding and managed to make a rather fabulous time of it. Though now only a tangential member of the clan, I still show up for things and the family appears not to notice that my official Brennan Clan card expired in 1987. Plus, they continue to feed me, so what do they expect? Anyway, I was really brought along to take care of the two newest clan members, GrandBoy Liam and stepGrandBoy Aidan, during the wedding. Not a bad gig.

My immediate Brennan crew had never spent any (or much) time in Connecticut, so we took advantage of everything we could afford time- and cash-wise in this lovely coastal area. Cuteness at every turn - town squares, window boxes and hanging baskets of colorful flowers, white-washed clapboard two-story homes, docks and marshes and sailboats and casual seafood joints galore. Well, you expected Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher to come cycling around the corner at any minute. Or maybe a Stepford Wife.

But if you're ever up that way, I have a couple of tips.

First: you must - must - pick up a case of brewskies, stuff some cash in your pockets, and head for Guilford Lobster Pound. Lobster rolls and clam chowder to die for. Really. Huge chunks of fresh, buttery lobster (whole claws!) piled onto toasty buns - my mouth is watering as I type. It's a family-owned establishment, and lovely Janice was a fabulous hostess, even bringing us a bucket of ice for our Coronas and Magners. (See how happy son-in-law looks with his fine food?)

Second: check out Hammonassett Beach State Park on Long Island Sound. We managed to stuff ourselves into a couple of vans/SUVs, found a great spot on the beach, and spent a relaxing - well, as relaxing as you can be with two babes under 9 months old - day sunning ourselves and people-watching. A cooler full of goodies added to the summer festivities. Both babies got their first experience with sand and salt water. The rest of us got the chance to stick our feet in Long Island Sound. And a good time was had by all.

The wedding at the yacht club was lovely from the pictures I've seen. Remember, while the non-tangential members of the clan were eating sea bass and toasting with champagne, I was keeping watch over two precious members too young to par-tay with the more sophisticated guests. (Both boys were asleep by 7:15. Whew.) I did get to partake in the morning-after brunch, which was yummy. And it's always such fun to spend a little time with the Brennan mob (and I mean "mob" in a good way.)

Regrets? Yes, one. That I don't have one of those Guilford Lobster Pound lobster rolls in front of me right now. Sigh.

Most Ruthless Card Game? Bird is the Word.

American history and mythology are full of stories about deadly Wild West poker games, where one slight facial tic can cause a player's head to be blown off by another player's six shooter. But poker is for sissy fancy-pants compared to a card game that soaked up a lot of time in our little corner of Tennessee: Rook.

Rook was the only card game we could play in our house. "Face cards," or gamblin' cards, were forbidden in many good Bible Belt homes, but Rook cards were fine, since they didn't hold the whiff of tainted money, whiskey, cigars, and low-life wimmin. In fact, that's why Rook ("Christian cards") was invented by Parker Brothers around the turn of the last century. But I'm here to tell you that wild, fanatical rivalries can shake a house, even without tainted money and the like.

The game was big - powerful big - up at Grandmother and Granddaddy Rob's farmhouse in Henrietta, Tennessee. Now, my daddy's side of the family was always calmer and more in control of their emotions than my mother's whacky Atlanta Bully Bartow clan. The Nashville/Henrietta crowd was so nice and peaceful and took things in a calm, cool manner. Except when the Rook cards came out. Yep, once that deck of Rook cards was pulled out after supper, well, just be prepared for a competitive evening like no other. The calm, cool, collected crowd became excitable, overly-competitive Incredible Hulks.

Rook was serious bidness. No fooling around. Funny that, since I don't recall money, property, or whisky being involved. Guess it was just pure-T farmboy competition. Even as a little, little kid, I knew not to make light of the Rook game in progress. But my crazy Atlanta mama never got the message. It's a wonder she made it out alive, truly, because she was in it for fun and silliness - the direct opposite of what everybody else was in it for. Nobody wanted to partner with her. She was famous for letting rip a "Caw! Caw!" every time she drew the valuable Rook-bird card. Yes. It is a wonder she made it out alive.

I like Rook. It's easy to learn and fun to play. I like the memories of watching the game played at the farm in Henrietta, knowing I was witnessing a sort of cultural touchstone. I think I have a deck somewhere.

Poker? Pah! Pull out those Rook cards, hang on to your 14s, and pray you draw Mr. Caw-Caw!

A Tale of Two Daddies

It's Fathers Day and time to celebrate and remember all the good daddies out there. Two of the best come to my mind today.

Remembering my own sweet daddy, Newell Clayton Frazier, who died in 1999. He loved all of us like crazy and took real delight in us. He was the one who got up with us in the middle of the night (Mother had daytime sick-duty, Daddy had nighttime sick-duty). He loved grocery shopping, building things - mainly additions onto houses, and gardening. Boy, do I miss all the tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash he supplied over the years! He sat through (though complained about) endless PTA meetings. He let us go everywhere with him - Red Food Store on Friday nights, Stone's Hardware and Snyder's filling station on Saturday mornings, and any other place he was heading out to. He really lived into his fatherhood and set an example of what a good man and daddy should be. I miss him every day.

And celebrating my son-in-law, Greg - daddy to GrandBoy Liam. He, too, delights in his new baby,and shows all the makings of a worthy father - full of love and devotion to Baby Mama/my daughter Kate, as well as for his little boy. I'm sure he'll be the type to pile all the kids in the car whenever he's off to the hardware store or gas station, too.

Happy Fathers Day to all who are celebrated and remembered. Hooray for the good daddies!

Books Worth Losing Sleep Over

Yeah, yeah. Another post about books. Get over it. Anyway, a friend put out a plea on Facebook for "a fantastic, can't put down, grabs you at the start, book to read." Well, we all plod through our share of so-so reading material, but after a string of the "meh" books, one feels one deserves a rip-roaring page-turner.  So I started thinking: What three recently-read books kept me reading 'way past my bedtime? Here's what I came up with:

• The Book Thief by Markes Zusak. Hey, who can resist a book narrated by Death?
• Blackbird by Jennifer Lauck. Sort of like The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls - another page-turner, by the way, but stands on its own right. Couldn't put it down.
• Ghostwalk by Rebecca Stott. All the elements of a good thriller: alchemy, murder, Sir Isaac Newton, Cambridge (though I prefer Oxford).

What are your three most ripping good reads of late? Do share.

A Little (Sweeter) Night Music

After Catherine Zeta Jones' abominable performance of "Send in the Clowns" on the Tony Awards broadcast, I made the painful decision to write off the current Broadway revival of A Little Night Music. I've never seen the play, but I know the soundtrack backward and forward and really wanted to see the songs in context. But, oh, how awful was CZJ, whipping her head around, over-dramatizing this subtle, angry song? Yikes! (How she won her Tony is beyond me.)



If you're at all familiar with Judi Dench's rendition from the mid-1990s, it's hard to watch even the most seasoned pro attack "Send in the Clowns." I wasn't expecting Zeta Jones to measure up to Dame Dench, but I expected at least an engaging interpretation. Well, I'll leave it to you to compare - first Zeta Jones (YouTube, shot from TV version - only thing available right now), then Dench. There's about 1:00 of an interview at the head of the Dench video; stick with it, but grab a hankie first.



However, the gods of Broadway decided to smile down upon me. After all, who knows when the next revival of A Little Night Music will come around, eh? Well, Zeta Jones and Angela Lansbury (who is marvelous in the role of Mme Armfeldt, I'm sure) are leaving the show after June 20. The show is closed for a couple of weeks, when - wait for it - Bernadette Peters and Elaine Stritch take over Desiree and the Mme on July 13.

Sign me up, sez I! And I lucked out with an Orchestra Center/Center seat for . . . July 13. Bernadette Peters. Elaine Stritch. A Little Night Music. I can hardly wait for "Weekend in the Country," "You Must Meet My Wife," and "Every Day a Little Death." Buh-bye, Catherine.

Weekend with the Bellamys

Don't you just love getting away for a couple of days and catching up with old friends? Thanks to Netflix, I get to hang out with a whole passel of folks from my not-so-misspent-PBS-watching youth: the inhabitants of 165 Eaton Place: "Upstairs, Downstairs."  Even the theme song takes me back to my earth shoe-wearing days.

As nice as Richard and Lady Marjorie Bellamy are, it's really Rose, Hudson, and Mrs. Bridges that I want to spend time with. The "downstairs" friends always seem to have more intriguing stuff going on.

And secrets are being revealed that we Americans missed out on in the 1970s. I became suspicious when I discovered that six episodes  on the DVDs are in black-and-white, not color, and I couldn't remember ever having seen them. Come to find out, PBS didn't air the black-and-whites, and several other episodes from the first season.

A shame, too, because those first few episodes with Pauline Collins as Sarah are wonderful. She was cute as a button. Sarah comes back later, we know, but the lost black-and-white episodes are treasures. Such fun discovering new things about old friends, eh?

Anyway, with all the chores and running around that must be done this weekend, it's so nice to come home to Rose and Hudson keeping order at Eaton Place. And I look forward to reliving the years - theirs and mine - for weeks to come.

If only Mrs. Bridges had my supper on the stove.

Summer Trash

OK, so I've already told y'all about my plans to stick to Southern authors for my summer audiobook list, but who will give me ideas about what actual paper-page-turning books to read for the next few months? Why, the New York Times, of course. Thanks to Janet Maslin's list of  guilt-free beach books, I have a few ideas of what to have on hand to lull me to sleep at night. C'mon, you know you've been dying to read Chelsea Handler's Chelsea, Chelsea, Bang, Bang and Dave Barry's I'll Mature When I'm Dead.

No? Well, maybe something else will strike your fancy. Summertime is a great excuse for reading less intellectually weighty tomes (aka: trash). Nobody expects you to read War and Peace (has anyone actually read W&P - ever?), so you're free to pick up whatever murder mystery, bodice-ripper, or C-level celebrity biography you may be drawn to.

Realizing that one man's trash is another man's college entrance exam essay subject, I'm open to summer reading suggestions. I don't like romance (the type with Fabio, et. al. on the cover) or much of science-fiction, but I'm open to any idea you're not too ashamed to pass along.

Go ahead. Toss your trash my way. Let's agree to leave Tolstoy, Schopenhauer, and Proust in their rightful places, propping up wobbly tables and filling the unreachable shelf in the bookcase.

Growing Up Southern

Friend Richard is working on a new book about growing up Southern. We Southerners take our idiosyncracies for granted, I believe, and are taken aback when some little quirk that comes so naturally to us - speech, mannerisms, humor, story-telling - is pointed out to us by non-Southerners. As much as I want to pass on some pithy anecdotes for Richard's book, this ingrained-ness has made teasing out the stuff distinctly "Southern" troublesome for me.

Of course there are the usual suspects: our over-the-top love of Co-Cola, fried okra, church on Sunday, family reunions, outrageous (and outrageously told) stories, Gospel music, Steel Magnolia mamas, hard-workin' daddies (pronounced "deddies"), and Vacation Bible School.

And the burdens we carry: antebellum/plantation/slave-ownin' history, gun-totin' bubbas, trailer trash, some folks who are conservative-to-the-point-of-unChristian, 100%+ humidity in the summertime, and the fact that any time a news organization interviews someone from the South, they head for the fattest, greasiest, most toothless idiot they can find. (Hey! Who's in charge of PR for the South?  We've got some shorin' up to do.)

But delving into my mama-isms, school and church experiences, and musical tastes (be that music or food), a lot of what I'm coming up with may or may not be distinctly Southern. Maybe it's more about the time and circumstances into which I was born - "Greatest Generation" parents/"Baby Boomer" kids in 1950s/60s. Maybe it's just the standard middle-class experience of that era with a Southern swirl on top.

I do have a solid list of real Southern stuff to pass along. Deep down inside, I know that I'm different from anyone raised outside the South. Yes, there is some indefensible baggage, but mostly it's wonderful, shiny, hilarious DNA that I'm proud to have.

But if any of you Southerners have something you'd like to pass on to Richard for his book, let me know and I'll put you in contact with him.

New York Minute: Of Coffee Cups, Sidewalks, and Baseball

New York City is full of news. All the time. And it's not all Fashion Week, Met Openings, Broadway Premieres, or Times Square bomb threats. Stick with me, kid, and I'll keep you in the loop. Here's the latest.

New York lost the creator of a city icon recently. Leslie Buck, designer of the Anthora coffee cup died a couple of weeks ago. Way before Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts decided that coffee was a big deal, Mr Buck created disposable, distinctive Greek-themed coffee cups for the ubiquitous imbibation sold at delis, coffee shops, and street carts. Grab 'em while you can, but you must shun Starbucks, et. al., to get them. Or, stop by any gift shop and get a replica in ceramic. I don't like coffee, but I love the cup. Cheers, Mr. Buck!

The other day someone drew a line down a portion of 5th Avenue's sidewalk, dividing it between "New Yorkers" and "Visitors." A little art project, so think most folks, but it did spur lots of press coverage and discussion amongst the people. The point of the whole project was to create a fast lane for those of us walking at the speed of light and give folks who want to stop suddenly, take pictures, look around, get lost, etc., a place to do that without causing a major pedestrian pile-up. While acknowledging the importance of, even loving, NYC tourists,  those of us trying to get from point A to point B sorta like the idea of a speed line for workin' folks. Alas, the line is gone now. Fun while it lasted.

The weekend's biggest brou-ha-ha is the ever-popular subway series, pitting the New York Mets against the New York Yankees. Yes, a city divided. If I was a bettin' girl, I'l lay down bucks on the Yanks to sweep (they won last night), but as an Atlanta Braves fan, I really don't care who wins the subway series. It's best to avoid any baseball talk for the next few days because fan-egos are fragile (or explosive) here. Fortunately, a temporary cease-fire will be signed by Monday so that New Yorkers can function productively. At least until the next subway series.

So now you're in the New York loop. Go ahead, walk on the New York side of the sidewalk.

Southern Sounds for Summer

I've decided to spend the summer with Southern authors. From now to Labor Day, only voices from the South will be downloaded onto my iPod to enhance my daily commute, airline travels, and rambles 'round the big city. The last couple of summers have been dedicated to Tales of the (Real, aka New York) City, but I need a change.

It's amazing the number of fine books I've missed over the years, so I'm creating my very own summer reading list. Goodbye, Bookmobile! Hello, iPod! The goal is to find golden gems from Southern writers that have somehow escaped my attention and plug 'em into my little portable story-tellin' device. I'm looking for any and all suggestions of such literature available via audiobook for download, preferably from free sites, like the library.

First up: Olive Ann Burns' Cold Sassy Tree. My only defense for missing this when it came out in 1984 was that I had a year-old child at the time, and keeping up with bestsellers was not high on my must-do list. Second up: As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. I've read a lot of Faulkner, except for this one, and am looking forward to having someone do the work of reading it to me so that I can just sit back and enjoy the language and the story.

I don't have a Third Up yet, so feel free to suggest away. Remember, I'm looking for American Southern - Georgia, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, the Carolinas, Virginia, Kentucky, and, yeah, I'll accept the city of Baltimore. Just send me the title and author, and I'll search it out. Doesn't have to be "Great Literature," just good Southern story-telling.

And if I can't find it in audio-form, I'll read it the old fashioned way, by turning its pages before going to sleep at night.

Finding my niche

For Elegant Scribbles, bid'ness is booming in 2010. That's the little handwriting/addressing service I started in December 2008. Not calligraphy, just neat, clear handwriting for event envelopes, wedding invitations, birth announcements, and thank you cards. I regularly place ads on craigslist and a few other free marketing online sites, and truth be told, it took a while for the ball to start rolling with it.

Thanks to a couple of non-profit organizations (remember last year's famous-people addressing bonanza?) and word of mouth, I'm kept consistently busy with my little cottage industry. Lately I've worked with clients from Hallmark Channel, MTV, and am now on L'Oreal's employee service concierge list. Seems folks either don't have the time or the hand-writing skills to address all those save-the-dates or fancy gala invitations. And they don't really want calligraphy; they want readable, neat handwriting. That, I can offer.

One of my biggest clients keeps me busy writing thank you notes to corporate leaders who have attended its exclusive conferences. I love having the work, but this particular client is the only one who wants me to block print everything instead of using script because the writing needs to look gender-neutral (and face it, my script is girly). I will testify that it takes a lot longer to block-print 200 thank you's than to write them in script, and I need a couple of days to rest my hand after one of these writing-marathons.

Most of my other work is for brides- and grooms-to-be: save-the-dates, wedding invitations, and thank you notes. So far, so good. Knock wood, I've had no bridezillas. They are so grateful to have this one big thing off their to-do list, that I'd really have to mess up royally to make 'em mad. All have been lovely people (and I hope I'm not jinxing myself by saying that).

Of course, I have a huge day-job, so Elegant Scribbles only gets my attention on nights and weekends. Still it pays for groceries and Con Ed, which is helpful. I'm just one person and have realized my hand-writing limits. I don't think I charge enough, but I hope to sort that out as time goes on.

Who knew that those early years struggling with penmanship booklets in elementary school would pay off?