Contrary to what some folks wish, lists are here to stay

 

 

                A while back, I was drummed out (it felt like—I left the group because of it) of a writers’ group because I was submitting various chapters of lists—given names, surnames, places, cemeteries, new names for churches, unknown words and phrases and the like.

                The late Ann Talley Kinnaird of Hot Springs didn’t like lists, either, she told me once on a critique. To try to prove that lists were a common occurrence, I began keeping a folder called (what else?) “Lists.” I still have it somewhere. But Ann probably doesn’t care about lists any longer where she is now. She’s probably kibitzing with St. Peter. Maybe even God. And laughing.

                All this to say, that after the experience with the writers’ group, I began seeking—and finding—myriad volumes of lists. They included The Nostalgia Quiz Book, The Big Book of American Trivia, Presidential Trivia, The Trivia Encyclopedia and The Classical Music Quiz Book.

                I’ve used materials from most of these titles in past columns. The newest book, which I would have gladly flaunted in Mrs. Kinnaird’s face is a The Book of Lists by a brother-sister team, Wallechinsky and Wallace, children of Irving Wallace. Their first compilation was in 1977 and they “were just having fun.” This volume of three-hundred-twenty lists, they say, will “entertain, inform, challenge, stimulate, and astonish you.”

                Really, that’s all I wanted to do with my original Compendium of Journal Jottings. I caved, gave up and began inserting some of my work into my website, http://www.PatLaster.com. I still have a lot of material to add.

                So let’s see, do you want to be entertained, informed, challenged, stimulated or astonished? Hmm. Not knowing exactly what readers want these days (I don’t do movies or TV or radio), I guess I’ll have to decide for you.

                Do you want to know eleven men who cried in public? I thought so. Jeff Blatnick, wrestler; David, warrior king; Lou Gehrig, baseball player; Jesus Christ, religious leader (sic); Bill Clinton, U.S. president; Dexter Manley, football player; Edmund Muskie, U.S. senator; Richard Nixon, U.S. president; Mike Schmidt, baseball player; Jimmy Swaggart, evangelist and Patrick Swayze, actor.

                Not very entertaining, you say? Of course, in the book, each reason for tears was given, most with quotes.

                How about phobias of 15 famous people (without the term for the fear)? Augustus Caesar (Roman emperor)—fear of sitting in the dark; Howard Hughes (millionaire businessman)—fear of public places and germs; Elizabeth I (British queen)—fear of roses; Sigmund Freud (father of psychoanalysis)—fear of train travel; Richie Valens (singer)—fear of airplanes. He died in a plane crash; Marilyn Monroe (actress)—fear of public places; Sid Caesar (comedian)—fear of haircuts; John Cheever (novelist)—fear of crossing bridges; Natalie Wood (actress)—fear of water. She died by drowning. And Alan Ladd (actor)—fear of birds. [I omitted five.]

                Only one more: “Six ways Cats Talk with Their Tails.” A vertical tail? He likes you—maybe; soft curves? He’s interested; a lowered tail? He’s not taking any chances; a twitching tip? The cat is miffed; a wagging tail? He’s weighing his options, and an arched, bristled tail? He’s all set to duke it out. [Each entry has a second explanatory sentence.]

                Now don’t tell me there’s not a place in our bookstores and book shelves for tomes of trivia like that.

Slowly but surely all the books and glassware will find their places

East flower bed, Garland Co. library - PL

 

 

                I thought I lived in a safe neighborhood, but in a Saline Courier “Dispatch” article last week, a woman on my road reported that “an individual” shot an arrow through her bedroom window. (Could that be why I awoke at 3 a. m. and couldn’t go back to sleep without a “tranquilizer”?)

                I once had a screen pierced by an arrow, but it was a toy arrow shot by 6-year-old Billy, who didn’t know any better at the time.

                Last Saturday was 53 years to the date that my first son was born. I’d never have dreamed that on that anniversary, I would write a thousand words on Chapter 46 of my second novel. One person would call this news “self-promoting,” but if I don’t self- promote—also known as “tooting my own horn,” who will?

                 After emptying the three front rooms of everything for the floors to be refinished, I am slowly but surely washing all the windows—inside and out—plus brushing off the ancient screens. Already, two windows sport the cobalt blue pieces—all washed and sparkling—that prompted the name, The Blue Room.

                Slowly but surely, I’m going through all the manila folders in the four drawers of the filing cabinets. Do I really need to keep my college transcripts and contracts? My teacher evaluations? My aforementioned son said he didn’t see why I should.

                Slowly but surely, I’m taking each book in hand, deciding if I really want/need to read it, and if so, typing in the particulars and returning it to a shelf. Libraries can always use my give-aways in their used book sales (Saline County) or their used-book room (Garland County). Billy retrieved Kafka's The Trial and Lois Lowry's The Giver from the latest sack of give-aways, but left them behind when he went back “home” to Arkadelphia. I placed them in the bookshelf in his old-but-new room (new carpet, curtains and bed linens).

 I just looked at The Arrangement by E. Kazan that I bought 18 years ago and still haven’t read. After looking up the reviews on Amazon, I decided to give it away. Maybe someone else will read what one person describes as the “best-selling novel of 1967.”

                Slowly but surely, I’m washing all the crystal and Cape Cod glass before returning the collections to the china cabinets. I plugged in the light in Mom’s humongous cabinet, a light that she could never use. There was no plug close to it until I had the electrician install one when he rewired the entire house.

                I placed my wedding china (1960-vintage Franciscan, a whopping $4.00 for a dinner plate) in the top shelf to enjoy with the light on. Before this, most of it lay hidden behind a lower door.

                And in between those tasks, I finished Chapter 46 in the sequel to A Journey of Choice (BTW, I still have plenty of books to sell), worked on three prose pieces for a contest due the 25^th and finished and submitted the latest newspaper column.

                I believe I'll have a nap.



Where is a dustpan when you need it?

floor refinishing in progress - PL

 

Picture this. . . No, you had to be there.
 

Justin the main floor refinisher, asked to borrow a dust pan, saying his was 'somewhere in that messy van out there.' I have two and had recently used one. But could I put my hand on it? No. I gave him a small one without its crumb brush. "Sorry," I said. "They're around here somewhere."

    

Guess where I found it? Perfectly camouflaged on top of the dirty dishes piled in one side of the sink. Duh! If it had been a snake...

 

Best-Friend-Forever asked via email, "Are things still topsy-turvy at your house?" The only truthful answer was "Yes." The piano was lifted (not rolled--the dining room floor finish hasn't had time to 'cure'--it takes a month) into the dining room. One sofa was carried to the back porch and placed on the library table. The loveseat was carried to a back bedroom. The space heater was in my bedroom. And four bookcases were on the front porch.

 

The living room and office were closed off with plastic sheeting instead of the old French doors that used to hang there. Justin and Travis worked Thursday and Friday, then came back on Saturday morning to apply the stain and one coat of sealer.

 

"Can we leave one of the ACs on to speed up the drying," one of them asked. They were shadows through the sheeting, but I learned to tell them apart by the timbre of their voices.

 

"We'll be back Monday to put the last coat on, then Tuesday, we'll move the furniture back."

 

But what about Sunday? I'd not thought ahead when stashing stuff in my bedroom. My closet was hemmed in. My blouses were imprisoned. Thus began a delicate dance. Well--forget 'delicate.' I manhandled the space heater lightly--the new carpet, remember? Then I wiggled through a small space and pushed a cart full of file folders away. Before I knew it, the folders full of poetry and short-story stuff came spilling out--until I used my knees and arms to push back the assault and stabilize it.

 

Moving the rocking chair (one of several Laster artifacts) was easy. Voila! By stretching mightily, I pulled off the hanger with the shell and shirt I wanted.

 

Monday morning, Justin showed up, looked around then said through the sheeting, "Ms. Pat, we've got an issue."

 

"What?"

 

"The sealer's not dry yet." He pulled down the sheeting.

 

"Even after two days and the ACs running?"

 

He nodded, and showed me how he could tell. So we were a day behind schedule. Turned out, humidity from afternoon showers was the culprit.

 

I supposed I could get along one more day in this topsy-turvy world. I did and today--Thursday--I'm still amazed at what old floors can look like with a little sanding, filling in the crevices, staining, sealing (drying) then adding another coat of sealer and top coating. I am loathe to put the other furniture back. It will hide the glory and shine of the floor.

 

Now to search for that other dustpan.

 



Finally, the front two rooms are empty. Whew!

What I had to clean off before the floor refinishers came-PL

 
Today,Travis and Justin are back (after the holiday weekend and doing another job) and ready to begin refinishing hardwood floors in the living room and sunroom/office. Mostly Justin.
 

Starting on July 4, with five days to clear these two rooms of furniture, I went through another Xerox box-lid full of clippings from ’98 and ’99. (My recycling bin included a sheaf of discarded, yellowed, stapled articles on places and people in Arkansas around the mid-‘30s)
 

Instead of writing “sequel” on what I clip today, “story” was written on those. That was before I had the chutzpah and leading to call my story a novel.
 

I got to thinking: was all this early effort/thought/hope/anticipation/preparation for nothing? Now that I’m throwing all of it away? I have to think positively and say, no, it was seeding for the possibilities.
 

I kept columns from John Robert Starr, Mike Royoko, Erma Bombeck, Charles Allbright and Frank Fellone; an occasional day’s comics: Peanuts, Snuffy Smith, Baby Blues, Mother Goose & Grimm, Kudzu, Marvin, Jump Start, Frank and Ernest and Cathy.
 

I even found a chapter intended to be included in A Journey of Choice that I might fit into the sequel.
 

To lighten the load, I went through all the drawers of the two desks, a buffet-used-for-writing-stuff, filing cabinets, book cases, tossing as I went, then taking one armload of keepers at a time--to some empty spot.
 

July 6 - At Sunday’s ending, I’d made progress, but still had a lot to do. Grandson Billy thought he’d come home later then go clothes shopping tomorrow, but he called and after working all day and said he was too tired. Fortunately, he doesn’t drive when he’s tired. But could I please send him some money for new clothes and shoes? He was to interview for a job at DeGray Lodge on Tuesday. Certainly, and I sent along his current driver’s insurance cards at the same time. Though he lives in Arkadelphia, his mail comes here.
 

July 7 -  Monday. Daughter Annamarie and granddaughter Emma came over—the former to mow (we trade off favors) and the latter to help in any way possible. Emma filled and hung the bird feeders, then updated the unused solar lights. After discovering the eerie blue light on the back porch was those lights,  I placed them in flower containers.
 

We moved two pieces of heavy furniture--Granddaddy Noah's hand-built library table and a TALL bookcase. Thanks to Dennis Patton’s dollies, the tasks were a tad easier. After the two left—and a nap—I continued to cart magazine holders full of journals into the back bedroom.
 

Before that day was over, I had cleaned out the office—except for the vining epesia in the south window.
 

July 8 - Tuesday. I worked in the living room. Bookcases had to be emptied (You shoul
d see the kitchen anteroom, the hallway and the back bedrooms), chairs and lamp tables moved.

 

July 9 - Wednesday. My birthday, so nothing much got done. But, oh, I had a wonderful day.
 

 

Today, I stand in front of the buffet shown in the picture but shorn of all the stuff on it. Like Hemingway was said to have done, I typed standing up, my current paperwork, calendar, books to review, etc. at my fingertips. Who knows, I may like this arrangement.

 

 

 



Trivia took too long to find. Here's a surprise essay instead

 

 

--Independence Day trivia: Name three US presidents who died on July 4. Two of them died on the same day in what year?

--What Vermont-born president was a real “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” having been born on the Fourth of July?

While “moving” stuff for the carpet layers, I discovered something I thought would be perfect for this week. It was written by someone who shall remain nameless, although I did get the author’s permission to use it. It was a high school assignment and garnered an “A/90,” which for this person who claims not to like to write, I thought was excellent.

                                                 MY DREAM FOR AMERICA

“America is such a wonderful place where people can come from all around the world to live, find work, and sometimes to just have fun. But I think that some things could improve just a little bit. We could use a little more peace. There could be more food for the starving families…, and we could stand to give just a little more money to the poor people.

“Whenever I talk about peace I don’t mean it as just not having war, I mean it as no murder, violence, burglary, and anything else like that; peace means love, harmony, happiness, caring, joy and nurturing. When America and the world has a little more peace, then it will be good for everyone. Also, if we want peace with the world, we must learn how not to fight instead of how to fight. [Here, the teacher wrote ‘good.’]

“Hunger in the world is a very important thing to fight. Did you know that when you eat, about ten children go without food? Thousands of people across America are starving because they cannot afford food for their families. I blame this on the fact that jobs [‘are’] becoming harder to find, and money is becoming harder to obtain. If I [‘were’] able to change this I would. I would help all the people find the jobs they need to make a living. That is one way to make America a better place.

“The last issue I want to bring up is the way lots of people are homeless, starving, [‘or’] without jobs, and that reason is poverty. Poverty has affected many people in America. It is causing people to starve because they don’t have enough money. It’s making people sick because they can’t afford to go to the doctor, and it is leaving people homeless. Poverty [‘my friend’] is basically a disease to America, a disease that we need to find a cure for. Please, please help us find that cure.

“So, in conclusion, [‘my friend’] America has its ups and its downs, and in my mind I think we need to fix the downs. Even though America is fun and an adventure to all, [‘please’] please help us make it an even better place than it already is today. Thank you for listening to my ideas.”

Amen and amen.  Have a happy Independence Day tomorrow.