"STARRY NIGHT"
We have gone to many art museums over the years, and when the Van Gogh exhibition was scheduled to be in Columbus, we were very excited to go.
At the museum, we were packed very tightly together and I could understand people wanting to take their time to view the pictures, because that's exactly what I wanted to do also, but it was very frustrating to have only a few seconds to enjoy the paintings.
We saw "The Potato Eaters" and other less-famous paintings and then, finally we were in front of "Starry Night" and a woman that I had been shoulder-to-shoulder with for an hour put her young son in front of us and the little boy said, "Boy, he must've been crazy when he painted that!"
I said, "Your son has a distinguished career ahead of him as an art critic!"
"DR. POZZI AT HOME"
When the Armand Hammer Collection was scheduled to be exhibited in Cincinnati, I especially wanted to attend because of the paintings of my favorite artist, Corot, but I was awestruck by a John Singer Sargent painting, "Dr. Pozzi At Home". I had never been a Sargent devotee, but I kept returning to the painting time and time again. I had noticed an older man sitting in a wing chair off to the side. At that time, I was 37 and he was at least old enough to be my father. After about the fifth time of viewing the painting, the man arose from his chair and spoke to me, "I see you're a Sargent fan." I answered, "Well, I wasn't before today." We discussed Sargent's work and then he asked my favorite in the exhibition and I said, "Jean Baptiste Camille Corot." He said, "You even know his entire name." I said, "I've loved him since I was a girl." He said, "That couldn't have been too long ago." I laughed at the old man's obvious flirtation.
Then he asked, "What kind of work do you do?" I said, "I build trucks." If I had slapped him in the face I don't think he would have looked as shocked as he did. He said, "I meant what kind of art medium!" I laughed and said, "No, I'm not an artist." He said, "But you are so knowledgeable!" I said, "I'm just an appreciator; artists need appreciators!" He told me that he was an artist and mainly worked in watercolors. He and I discussed other artists in the exhibition such as Boudin, Sisley, Morisot, and Bonnard, and then he said, "You could come to my studio if you like." I asked, "When?" and he said, "How about after the exhibition today?" I said, "I'll have to ask my husband; he's over there fascinated by the da Vinci items." The old rascal answered, "Oh, your husband--your husband's with you--I didn't mean for your husband to come." I squealed, "Oh,
no--this is like in the movies--if you have ETCHINGS, I'm going to die!"
That was the first time I'd ever been propositioned in my life and he moved away as quickly as a DIRTY OLD MAN could!
DAFFODILS
by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud,
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering, dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle in the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay
In such a jocund company;
I gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought;
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
HAPPY 80TH BIRTHDAY MAYA ANGELOU, APRIL 4
I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS, by Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
In my family, when a man neglects to fasten the Zipper in his trousers, we always say, "X-Y-Z", which means "EXAMINE YOUR ZIPPER". Last week, standing in line at the Post Office I noticed that a man beside me had his Zipper wide open. I said, "X-Y-Z" to the guy. I have said this for so many years to so many men that I sometimes forget that some men might not know the meaning of "X-Y-Z". I could tell that the man in line didn't understand so I told him about the family saying.
After he zipped his Zipper, he kept getting close to me--uncomfortably close--and he started talking to me in a low voice. As I have hearing loss in one ear, I didn't hear exactly what he was saying, but I knew it wasn't good! Fortunately, it was my turn to get my stamps and leave! Mother warned me not to talk to strangers and I should have listened to her!
At a training session at BMY, one of the instructors quoted, "As Winston Churchill said, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." I raised my hand and told him, "That's actually a quote from George Santayana." The instructor imperiously told me that I was WRONG. My mother always said that I was "briggety" (we can't find the word in ANY dictionary, but we've used it all of our lives), so I challenged him with, "So how much money did your wife let you bring with you today?" [This is the smart-alecky thing my brothers always say when they are ready to bet somebody!] He asked, with great indignation, "What does THAT mean?" I answered, "However much money you have in your wallet is how much I'm going to bet you that I'm RIGHT!" There were a lot of "ooohs" in the classroom and one person said, "I wouldn't want to bet with HER if I were you!"
The instructor did not say another word but, and instead of acting like a stand-up person, he reported me to my boss John Wood, after the class. John told me that my behavior was inappropriate but laughed and said that he wouldn't bet with me either!
I believed that the instructor was the one who behaved inappropriately. The next day, I brought my beloved "Bartlett's Familiar Quotations" to work with me (inscribed from my friend: "We're quite a PAIR--my Bartlett's and ME!"--she knew how I love puns--PAIR/PEAR), and made copies of the quote for the instructor, John Wood, my fellow quote lover Patty, and all of my classmates.
Do you think that the instructor had the graciousness to tell the class he had been wrong? Of course not!
You can imagine what kind of evaluation I gave him!
clem·a·tis pronounced [klem-uh-tis, kli-mat-is]
–noun
any of numerous plants or woody vines of the genus Clematis, including many species cultivated for their showy, variously colored flowers.
1551, from L. Clematis, from Gk. klematis, name of some kind of climbing or trailing plant (probably the periwinkle), from klema "vine-branch."My mother and I loved to watch "The Victory Garden". One Saturday as we were watching, Jim Cockett told about his clematis. He pronounced it : "clem-uh-tus". Mother looked at me and I looked at her with disbelief as we had pronounced it "cluh-mate-us" all of my life! As I always have my trusty Merriam-Webster's Third International Collegiate Dictionary on the basket beside the couch, I casually picked it up thinking that Mr. Crockett had to be in error. The pronunciations in the dictionary [I can't do the upside down e's here, so bear with me] were: klem-et-es, kli-mat-es, kli-mate-es and kli-mah-tes! AAARRRGHH!! I couldn't believe we were wrong! I called my sister-in-law Sheila, my expert on all things botanical, and she agreed with our pronunciation. I called Sheila's mother Wanda who is an even greater authority, and she agreed with us. I ran to our home library and grabbed my beloved Oxford; no "cluh-mate-us" there either. I also checked my Webster's Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged; no "cluh-mate-us" there either. I ran upstairs to look at Les' American College Encyclopedic Dictionary; no "cluh-mate-us" there either! I checked all SIX dictionaries in the house! [I guess there is such a thing as having too many dictionaries, but I don't think so; after all, one of them saved my brother Norman's reputation in the great "toboggan" debate!]
Do you know how difficult it is to quit pronouncing a word WRONG? I cannot tell you the number of times people have looked at me strangely when I have pronounced clematis CORRECTLY. Several people, including one greenhouse owner, have pronounced it incorrectly after me, to let me know that they thought I was wrong! That's a fairly amusing tactic people employ to let one know they think one is wrong, but it always results in my relating the Jim Crockett story!
