bewitching woolly-socks flick

When I put the tree up last weekend, I brought out my little library

of holiday films. I had forgotten Bell, Book and Candle had been

tucked away with the others. It's the 1958 romantic comedy based

on the hit Broadway play by John Van Druten. Jimmy Stewart and

Kim Novak are once again paired, after their success as a duo in

Hitchcock's Vertigo.

Set during the holidays, Novak plays a Greenwich Village witch, who

casts a love spell on the unsuspecting Stewart. Elsa Lanchester and

Jack Lemmon add lots of hilariously quirky humor to the cast.

Rumor has it, that this movie was the inspiration for the TV series

Bewitched. There are too many striking similarities, including

Lanchester's betrayal as a bumbling witchy aunt, of the Aunt Agatha

variety.

This is a stylish film with great mod sets, and Novak's fabulous

clothes. Although, not quite as elegant as Edith Head's creations for

Vertigo, they are still a joy to behold. There is one stunning black

evening dress which is so Madame X. My favorite is a deep red

velvet hooded cape, with a matching rosy red fur muff. Though out

the film, she wears tons of wonderful garnet jewelry. (Which reminds

me, it's the season for my favorite vintage Prague garnet earrings.)

There's lots of snowy shots of lovely old 1950's New York, including

a spare aerial shot of Central Park. Plus, to top it off, Novak owns a

shop dealing in African art, which is right up my alley. Yup, you

guessed it. This is most definitely a woolly-socks flick, so kick 'em up

and enjoy. You're going to want to add this one to your traditional

holiday collection.

And, it's impossible to mention garnets, any time of year, without

being reminded of this beautiful poem by Janet Frame .

.

.

In a Garnet World
.
.
In a garnet world
something troubles the rock
--a rash, an itching dazzle
that will not sleep or be soothed,
a night sky of stars without sky
or night; and stars that sting.
.
This rock once unseen
in its river of ice, is now sick.
A man climbing cloud-high
caught human sight of it
brought to it this blood-colored incurable
infection of light.

.

.

snow

Nature's tidying
up again,
with her blanket
of soft forgiveness.

Like Huck Finn,
she's white washed
my human fence
with her sacred vows
of chastity.

Flaws are hidden
for a night
in silent equality,
while pure delight
of holy communion

melts on my tongue,
and makes me giddy
in the sacraments
of winter.



willow, 2009

For more Theme Thursday participants click [HERE].

photo from tumblr.com

deckin' the halls

The Christmas tree is officially up at the manor. I spent most of

Sunday afternoon fluffing and tweaking. No pressies are wrapped

yet, though. Wrapping and stacking under the tree is one of my

tasks for this week. My first choice of tree would be a big fat live

one with all the wonderful natural scent and essence, but a few years

back we purchased a pre-lit artificial tree. I'll have to admit, it's quite

nice not having to untangle that ubiquitous massive knot of lights.

.

Besides, I go a little nutzoids and load it down with so much stuff,

you can't see the tree, anyway. I've been collecting vintage

ornaments for about 30 years, now. WT has brought back quite a

few unique ones from Eastern Europe. Last year, my uncle me some

wonderful old bulbs that adorned my dear grandmother's tree in

tiny Burlington, Indiana. These treasures feel right at home on my

manor tree.

.

I also have a stack of antique holiday postcards I traditionally tuck

among the branches. This year, it struck me how lovely some were

on the reverse, with the vintage stamps and quirky, festive hand

written messages. So, I placed several with the written side showing.

Since I'm all about correspondence, this made me incredibly happy.

I'm such a sappy romantic. My very favorite ornaments of all are a

few the kids made when they were small. Tears well up each time I

hang the tiny, sweet, tweedy mitten that belonged to my oldest son.

overheard at the manor

Phone Solicitor: Is this Willow?

WT: No. I da baby sittah.*

One of the on-going jokes at the manor is that WT is sometimes
mistaken for a female on the phone, which is so funny, because he
is such a big, burly guy and doesn't particularly have a "high-talker"
voice. Once, when our daughter was in grade school, she spent the
night with a friend.
.
The next morning the girl answered the phone.

"Hey, your grandma's on the phone!"

Picking up the phone and wondering why in the world Grandma was
calling her friend's house, all the way from Kansas...

"Grandma?? Oh, hi, Dad. It's you."

The kids would always bust up, when after ordering at the drive
through window, he would often get a "Thank you, Mam." At least
he's making the most of it these days, and having fun with those
pesky phone solicitors.

*(I think maybe he's watched "Rear Window" too many times.)

pen pals and flyleaves

Did anyone else enjoy the evening of pen pal flicks on Turner Classic
Movies last night? The opening film was one of my all time faves,
84, Charing Cross Road, the adaptation from the book by Helene
Hanff, a collection of witty and touching letters between a charmingly
sarcastic New Yorker and a straight laced, London book shop
proprietor, from the 1940's to the 1960's. What starts as Hanff's
quest for obscure classic books, develops into an intimate relationship,
in the form of correspondence, between Hanff and the book shop's
staff. The film combines two subjects I adore, books and letters.

The current blogging phenomenon has enriched the practice of pen
pals on so many levels. When we used to have to wait weeks for a
response, we instantly share thoughts and ideas with hundreds of
international friends. My life has certainly been brightened and
enriched by this amazing new form of multi-faceted pen palling.

This TCM presentation was a special treat, since my own DVD copy
happens to be a dreaded "pan-and-scanned" version, which I
absolutely abhor. (Please don't get me started on this subject.)
Anyway, the lovely widescreen presentation was crisp, colorful and
as the director intended.

The proprietorship of my dreams is that of Marks & Co., which is no
longer there, by the way, but is sadly replaced by a wine bar, and a
plaque marking the former shop. I can see myself contentedly
overseeing row upon row of books, tucked in this cozy nook of a shop,
filled with the scent of must, dust, age, and floors of wood.

There is a touching scene in which Hanff (played by the delightful
Anne Bancroft) receives a book of poetry in the mail from Frank Doel
(perfectly performed by Anthony Hopkins), in which Doel has
tenderly inscribed a message on the flyleaf.

Contrary to what I may have implied, by my disappointment in the
second hand copy of Charles Simic's Early Poems, being completely
hacked up by words being crossed out and notes written, not only in
the margins, but over the text, I actually do love to find endearing
inscriptions in the flyleaves of books. They are small personal
treasures left behind for us to enjoy. I must remember to inscribe
each gift book I give this Christmas.

Here is one particularly romantic treat, I found inscribed in the front
of a leather bound first edition of Renascence and Other Poems,
1917, by Edna St. Vincent Millay, last summer in my favorite second
hand bookshop, you know, the one with the creaky hardwood floors.

Life seeming only half-lived,

Futile, forlorn, forsaken,

Die swiftly into the moonlight,

Be born again in this pages,

Languid and lovely forever,

The idol of a dreaming youth,

His Lady of Satin and Silver.

.

Ray

June 1932

friends

Friends


Poppins friends are godsends
blown in by the wind,
just when the time is right.

Without any rhyme or reason,
they work their particular bit
of wit and magic

with spoonfuls of sugar,
to help the medicine go down.
They sail in like kites,

unload their carpet bags
of clever tricks and make things
right for a season,

until the jet stream changes.
Then overnight, they pop open
those umbrellas and drift away,
.
until another day.
Maybe never to return.
.
.
.

willow, 2009
.
.


image by Tyra at redbubble
.

(for answers to my "truth or fiction", check updated post, below)

truth or fiction

I've seen this going around the blogosphere and thought I'd give it a
whirl. The following is a list of ten things about myself, one of which
happens to be fiction. See if you can guess which one is stretching the
truth, but only a tad. Now, no fair telling, those of you who know me
personally. (I've added the answers below.)

1) In kindergarten, I loved to scare the other kids by flipping out my
plate of four front false teeth. My current teeth, however, are mine.

TRUE. I fell and knocked out my front teeth at age three; my retainer had teeth.

2) I drive a dark green 1996 Land Rover Discovery.

TRUE. I love how it plows through a foot of snow in a 150 foot driveway.

3) On hot summer days, I'm known to bathe outside in a horse
watering trough.

TRUE. No neighbors nearby. Lots of suds.

4) I was on NHK radio talk show in Japan.

TRUE. It was an interview many years ago.

5) I bite my nails.

TRUE. I know. I know. Nasty habit.

6) I'm related to Johnny Depp; we both share the same Cherokee
great-great grandmother.

UNPROVEN. Although, we DO both have Cherokee great-great grandmothers.

7) My youngest son weighed 10 pounds 3 ounces at birth.

TRUE. Not Cesarean. I don't recommend it.

8) I was in Warsaw, Poland exactly 20 years ago when the Berlin Wall
came down.

TRUE. I was traveling with WT on business. I'll never forget the euphoric aura.

9) I once owned my own catering business.

TRUE. I was heavily into catering in the mid '90s. Extremely hard work.

10) I'm pretty good amazing at shooting clay pigeons.

TRUE. Believe it or not, I'm a natural. Pull!!
.
.

Mr. Toast's Tea

I am writing to you from Aspen, where I am preparing for the long
anticipated Mr. Toast's first annual Christmas Tea. I have decided to
go with the "Anna Karenina" look this year, since I am all about
simple wintry Russian elegance. Thankfully, I am finally relishing the
lovely snow I have been waiting for all year. Oh, I do hope Mr. Toast
serves tea in those wonderful Russian podstakanniki tea glass holders.


Since I'm in the mood for all things Russian, my date for the evening
is none other than the dashing Omar Sharif, fresh off the set of the
Doctor Zhivago Christmas Eve dance scene. I know. I know. He's
not really Russian, but I'm calling him "Yuri", anyway. He has me
completely under his spell with those mesmerizing dark eyes. Stand
back all; he is mine for the evening. After Toast's Tea, the night will
still be young. Yuri's sleigh is parked outside, with my mink muff
warm, and plenty of the best Russian vodka waiting.
.

To check out all of the charming Mr. Toast's intriguing guests, as

well as sip some delicious mulled wine, and nibble fabulous food

click [HERE], Tuesday, December 1st.