Friday, October 31, 2003

Choose between the exercise of power and the need to be understood.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

Dear S:

A quick, from the hip reply:

Many writers kill themselves without being a part of any oppressed minority. I give you Ernest Hemingway, for one.

I read Mrs. Heilbron's obituary in the Times and was impressed by her life. I don't know why she felt it necessary to kill herself. Was she sick, or was she afflicted by writer's block? Did she feel that she had written all she could write and that there were no more words left in her pen? Had someone left her alone after a long term relationship?

My Dad had a friend, Murray Getz, who was retired from the Searl Pharmaceutical Company where he had been Sales Manager. He was in good health, and married to a good looking woman with a very sensual deep voice. He was tall, handsome, and apparently very strong. Dad said his only failing was that he sometimes drew to make inside straights.

Perhaps the loss of his job, or his wife's very deep voice drove him to the edge of the subway platform. But it wasn't being a member of an oppressed minority, and it wasn't because the Dodgers moved to California.

He leaped in front of a Number 5 train at the Jay Street Station in Downtown Brooklyn.

Several years I read a book called "Suicide" by A. Alvarez, an English critic. Although the book was over 200 pages he came to no conclusions regarding motives for suicide.

I shall order Ms Heilbron's book, and am ready to enter into any discussion that you may lead.

Note to a group of friends from SS: My first response is above.

Three weeks ago Carolyn Heilbron a women I had met on a couple of informal
occasions killed herself. She was in her 70's not ill or obviously effected by
major depression. She was an academic and retired as a professor of Lit
at Columbia University. She wrote books on literary subjects with a feminist
view point as well as detective novels under the pseudonym of Amanda Cross

I picked up a copy of her book "Writing a Women's Life" and I have been struck
with the fact that even though I have tried to understand the oppression of
women in our world that I still need education and enlightenment. This I feel
is a need that you all share.

I suggest we read this short(140)page book and discuss among ourselves and
maybe others. Sylvia Plath, Virginia wolf?

ss

Monday, October 27, 2003

The Wedding Ring

As you may know a time came a few years ago ago, when Maria asked that I wear a ring to symbolize ...

My father never wore a ring; I used one, hastily purchased on Greenwich Street, at the ceremony that tied us together in June of 1963, in Riverside Church, the Reverend Pablo Colon, presiding. What happened to that ring I cannot tell. It is gone for a long time, many years, perhaps stolen by a burglar at our home in Great Neck. Or lost, forgotten on a sink somewhere. I don't know. At the time I did not feel comfortable wearing it, and never replaced it.


Many years later, Maria asked that I wear one, just after our reconciliation feeling somewhat under pressure, and guilty too, I agreed, and immediately went to find one. I tried a few on, but I couldn't bring myself to go through with a purchase. So a year has elapsed, perhaps more.

A few days ago I visited a few nearby jewelry stores; my finger was measured -- ring size 11 1/2. A few rings were tried on, none suited me, most were too wide, one too narrow, finally it seemed that whenever I liked one the store would fail to have in stock a size 11 1/2

I tried a few pawnshops, but not one had a suitable ring, though the thought crossed my mind that in a pawn shop each ring must have had a more interesting story to tell than any new one that I might buy.

So this morning, once again, I went ring-hunting and found what I sought. A size 11 ½ of medium width, 18K.

And I wear it now -- as I type.

I wanted to surprise Maria by wearing the ring without telling her that I had purchased it. As I placed it on my finger, the salesman smiled and asked whether my haste to wear it outside indicated a shotgun wedding of some kind, but I explained to him that I had been married for forty years and that the purchase (and my wearing) of the ring was a present for my wife.

He suggested that buying her a present would be more appropriate. Well, I had no time to explain my convoluted thinking so I left the store, the ring on my finger and burning into it.

I walked away, finger ringed, now searching for Maria.

She called me on my cellphone and we agreed to meet at another store in the Mall. We met and I waited for Maria to notice the ring.

At first she failed to notice it, as I had purchased a silken robe for her from VictoriaƂ’s Secret, and she was busy looking at the robe. My secret was betrayed by a bulge in my pocket where I had placed the ring box. She saw and asked what was in my pocket. -- Still not seeing what was on my finger.

"My cell phone," I lied. She detected the lie quickly as I had the cellphone in my hand.

"Let me see it," she demanded. Sheepishly I pulled the box out and she saw the Tiffany box.

"Look, I bought a ring," I announced.

She complained that I didn't bring her with me when I bought it. It was too small. Of course I bought in Tiffany's so it had to cost too much.

I wanted to surprise her and I thought that she would be very happy when she saw the ring. Well, no good deed goes unpunished.

Saturday, October 25, 2003

Back from NYC and a job interview. Let's cross our fingers.

Reading The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll. Alvaro Mutis. A Columbian now living in Mexico. Friend of Carlos Fuentes and about his age.

I can see that this is an important novel and I shall be reporting to you about it shortly.

Friday, October 17, 2003

.
.
.Too often social reform is conflated with socialism.

Liberalism is not socialism;

progress does not mean revolution.

Take note republican demagogues.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

October 16, 2003

Posted by Micha Ghertner

Marilyn vos Savant, holds the world record for "highest recorded IQ," ,


What I am interested in is Marylyn Savant's name. Imagine, she is the world's smartest person (or has the highest recorded IQ) and is named "Savant."
Unexplainable to me.

Freedom of choice... unless you're a doctor.

I am not "pro-choice" but what follows is very suspect.

Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and NARAL all oppose a bill permitting doctors and hospitals to refrain from performing abortions.

Apparently, Alaska forbids doctors/hospitals from abstaining from abortion for conscience reasons. How on earth do they enforce this? A better question is directed to the rank and file pro-choicers out there: how do your consciences allow this? How do you still support NARAL, Planned Parenthood, NOW, etc. when they are:


against parental notification for minors wishing abortion

against outlawing partial birth abortion

in favor of forcing doctors who believe abortion is reprehensible to perform them

against regulations of abortion that are mandated for procedures that are much, much safer.

Monday, October 13, 2003

I saw Pygmalion (1938) on television the other day. I discovered that Rex Harrison stole (in the sense that actors steal) much of Professor Higgins from Leslie Howard.

Shaw's socialism very apparent in the dialog. Better than My Fair Lady--which ain't bad either...

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

Jan 1, 2003 -- old notes found in old books

Decorating
Maria and I are setting up the apartment--its slow going, especially as we have very different ideas--I am for buying the best, using a decorator if necessary, as I feel this is probably our last place and we should make it as beautiful and good as we can. She is Miss Frugal (thank God for that, otherwise we would have run out of money long ago, I must admit) But aside from cost our tastes are very different too. She is very beige, very bland, very traditional, I am for something, anything, knockout, that will still stand the test of living with it for twenty years. I could go for very modern, or very traditional, but give me something with a definite style. I saw, for instance, a portrait in Connecticut of an 18th century boy, frowning, dressed as a girl, for some reason. Striking, unusual, well painted. I crave it. Maria: "bizarre, I can't live with it."

We have had our only arguments since I returned, over furniture and so I am giving up. I am turning over the entire furniture selection to her, as there is no compromise--and it probably my inability to compromise that is at fault. I am very critical, and see crap for what it is. She doesn't. So, I am letting it go.....

Monday, October 06, 2003

:
:
The Pain Kept Within

The pain kept within: is it a strength? Or a weakness?
:
:
Hidden feelings

Hidden feelings can destroy relationships.

................So Gross said, "Pull the scab away, expose the wound. " Gross 1959.
:
:

Photography

"If pictures have anything to say it's this: I was here, I existed. I was young and happy and someone cared enough about me to take my picture."


One Hour Photo, Robin Williams
center>
The Oracle Advises...

taking a new job

Ask the Oracle a Question

Sunday, October 05, 2003

Question for my two readers on the poem below.: I published this poem, by A.R. Ammons, on Sept 17th, a month or so ago. I have wondered about the last lines:

"...When
You left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away."

In the context of the poem how does these last four lines fit? Is the author saying that when "you came" your brought depression and when you left the desolation disappeared? I first read it as a love poem, one that said that when "you came" life lit up and everything attained meaning.

Let me hear your ideas on the poem...Thanks.

gratwicker@aol.com


Everything

You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood or sat,
this way or that. When
you left, the area around here rose,
A tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.

A. R. Ammons

Saturday, October 04, 2003

:
:
:Destry Rides Again 1939

"Women always look their best in the peace and quiet that follows violence."

Destry (James Stewart)

Friday, October 03, 2003

a fine and quiet place

The ship is over a thousand feet long and has sixteen decks open to the public and a few more under the public ones, in the ships belly. We were on Deck Two--it took me two or three days to stop calling it "the second floor." On these ships traveling on Deck Two is akin to traveling steerage but we were by ourselves in a cabin. It had a large round window, not really a porthole, there was no shiney brass hardware on it, and it couldn't be opened.

A chambermaid was assigned to make sure that the cabin was kept shipshape probably because Royal Carribean's agents on the pier had spotted me as the type who would toss my underwear on the floor. They were not so perceptive when it came to Maria, however, as she is quick to spot a mess in the making and then quick to make sure that the underwear in question is put in its proper place.

Between the two, chambermaid and spouse, our cabin was always ready for the Captain's inspection.

Our cabin was tiny, though the furnishings of the space were so well designed that it was comfortable. There was a closet, dresser, vanity-desk with lighted mirror, wall safe, television, a small refrigerator and several extra drawers all in one prefabricated piece made of a light colored beechwood on one wall.

A double bed was placed under the 30" inch in diameter porthole. The bed could have been split into twins. On each side of the bed were small night tables. The space under the bed was used to kleep our luggage and two flourescent red life preservers.

Opposite the prefabricated wall unit the other wall had a comfortable couch, that I imagine might have been a pull out sleeper. A glass topped coffee table was placed in front.

The bath unit, also prefabricated from the same beechwood and one of the newer ceramic-plastic materials, consisted of a stall shower with a fine stainless steel spray unit; and a sink and countertop, medicine chest, and more lighted mirrors.

Although we were only a deck or two away from the engines, we could neither hear them nor could we feel their vibration at all.

No complaints at all about the room. Steerage, on the Royal Caribean, at least, is a fine and quiet way to go.

mek