Friday, July 25, 2014

Sorry, Wrong Number

Last night I watched the film noir classic Sorry, Wrong Number (1948) starring Barbara Stanwyck and my boy Burt Lancaster.
 Through a series of telephone calls, a neurotic, bedridden wife
(Stanwyck) comes to suspect her beefy-looking but weasely-souled husband (Burt) has hired someone to kill her. 

It's ridiculously overblown, so the powerfully nasty ending surprised me ...and made it all worthwhile.

Here're the two actors on the set of the film:

Sorting paper goods at the Thrift Store today, I unpacked a vintage address book, below, with a cover of some sort of plastic (?) lacquer over gold brocade fabric.

I imagine it's the sort Stanwyck's character might have used. There's not even anyplace to put e-mail addresses... So I bought it. I'm going to use it too, because my old address book is full.

Does anyone today use paper address books ? Would children even recognize the mail and telephone icons?
     That's Alfie, the wire fox terrier ^ 
I'm house sitting this weekend.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Success! x 3 (and 2 FAILS)

Good news all 'round yesterday!

The nonfiction books I wrote for the school library publisher disappear into school libraries, not fertile ground for authorly ego, so I was thrilled to receive my first ever fan letter for one of my books (the toilet history one) after 11 years.  

I'm going to frame it:
"Your Book is awesome!" + toilet image.

Then, the Public Health people responded like champs to my criticism of their assumption that everybody drives cars:
They added bus & bike info to their direx!  >

Wow! I could weep with appreciation of their reasonableness. 

I've written before about how I am prone to resentment, an emotion that feeds on feelings of powerlessness. So when I take action, I feel less resentful....

Instead, I feel terrified! 
Terrified of repercussions: most terrifying of all, of some kind of humiliation, of shaming. 

So I not only appreciate this civilized response, I'm deeply relieved. My fear (and so, my relief) are irrational of course, because one of the reasons I risked writing PH in the first place is because I knew they are well-meaning and reasonable people.

But still, my frightened self feared they'd write back and tell me I was a social malingerer.
 Finally, I came home from working at the thrift store and my pal who owns the house (she & her family live here, and Marz and I live in half of the upstairs), my pal was tearing up the stair-runner carpet.

The daughter of the house has a dog that dribbles, and they just moved out, so my pal is on a roll with refreshing the place. And with Marz out of town, I'm on a similar roll.

So, we pulled up the truly disgusting carpet together.

< The wood underneath is beat-up, but you can see it looks nice anyway.

I feel refreshed.


Aaargh, why does Blogger sometimes publish a post alone on the page, like this one?
You have to click "older posts" if you want to see the ones before this, instead of them just flowing on down the page...

Also, Blogger has started to put ads in the comments box, in place of Word Verification numbers. So I'm taking WV off, though I hate to see all the spam that will make it through the filters.
Luckily you won't have to see it though---it almost all goes into a spam folder.