Sunday Scrapbag

Reading: Oh, several things. In the Office of Readings (Liturgy of the Hours), lately I've been substituting the prescribed second readings with passages from Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI's encyclical Spe Salvi. I'm ashamed to say that this will be the first papal encyclical I will have read straight through, all the way through. Always before, I've only read excerpts of various encyclicals through the Liturgy of the Hours, or in articles and blogs.

     I'm also still reading bits and pieces of Robert Gibbings' books and have begun re-reading Elizabeth Taylor's The Sleeping Beauty which I read many years ago and have completely forgotten. I'm very bad about remembering the plots of books. So if I recommend a novel to someone and they ask me what it's about, I always say, "I forget—but I do remember I absolutely loved it."

     Also, I'm reading through all my journals in search of material for new poems. An enlightening experience.

Watching: I seem to have lost interest temporarily in movies. I own on DVD all the movies I like to watch (the most recent being Quartet, that lovely little film starring Maggie Smith and directed by Dustin Hoffmann). Sometimes (not often, admittedly) I regret having such limited tastes in film; were my tastes broader and more varied, I could watch and enjoy so many more things. But what I don't like in films is pretty much identical to what I don't like in books, which I wrote about in this post. 

     The cheesy part of me is psyched that the new season of Dancing with the Stars is in full swing. Can I just say that, though he seems like a very nice guy, I'm not sorry to see the football player go? I'm so tired of football players winning the DWTS mirror ball trophy! I haven't picked a favorite yet.

Writing: Lately, prose poems. I've written two posts in this past week alone about this new venture in Poetry Land (new for me, that is), this form that I used to despise as being fancified prose or free verse bound up in paragraph form. Now I see its merits as well as its many difficulties. But other than my prose poem experiments and this blog, I haven't been writing anything, not even my journal. Bad, bad girl!

Listening: To the wonderful Romanian pianist Clara Haskil (d. 1960). I tend to go through phases with pianists, concentrating on one for a few weeks, then going back to others before fixating on a "new" one. Haskil is my fixation at the moment. Her Mozart is impeccable in both style and technique. It's the kind of Mozart I myself always wanted to play, the kind I think is "true" Mozart. Poetic, profound, yet not over-sentimentalized as so many contemporary pianists are wont to do. Playful when playfulness is called for, but not overly so. Of course, she played many other composers brilliantly as well.

 

Considering: Cancelling my Tumblr account. I very much enjoy following art and photography blogs, and I enjoy following Catholic blogs on Tumblr. But I got a huge dose of disillusionment and disgust yesterday, when one of the Catholic blogs I follow got hacked and I found a number of pornographic posts on my dashboard. I realize hacking goes on everywhere, but Tumblr seems to be particularly susceptible. Plus which, there's no way (at least that I can find) to delete or hide posts you don't want to see on your dashboard; on Facebook, you can do this, which I really appreciate. When I saw those porn posts on my Tumblr dashboard, all I could do was "unfollow" that particular blogger until he realized he'd been hacked and cleaned out all those offensive images. But I think I will leave Tumblr altogether. I already follow a lot of Catholic blogs on Blogger and Wordpress anyway, and I follow many art and photography pages on Facebook.







Saturday Scrap-Bag

     "Scrap-Bag," "Whassup?", "Lately I've Been ... " —just how many titles can I come up with for these blog posts that are, in essence, about nothing in particular; posts I write when I really have nothing to write about? Well, this time I chose "Scrap-Bag," in reference to Louisa May Alcott's book Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag, which I have never read and probably never will. You may make of that reasoning what you will.

     Yesterday being grey and damp, it seemed a good day to have my hair cut. It is fortunate indeed that monastic life purged me of much of my former vanity, because my hairdresser basically butchered my hair. If this had happened fifteen years ago, I would have looked in the mirror, shrieked, and worn hats for the next three weeks. Now, I look in the mirror, shrug, and say, "Oh, well, it'll grow out."

     After the butchering, my mother and I went to good ol' Jim's coffeeshop for brunch. (Jim's is definitely the kind of place one would describe as "good ol'," without the "d." You get the picture.) I overheard snatches of conversation from a neighboring booth, between a waitress and her customer.

     Waitress: " ... go to their website ... listed by genre ... just click 'literature' ... yeah, Edgar Rice Burroughs? ... the whole series ... "

     Her customer was reading an obviously brand new hardbound book in dustjacket; the book was still stiff enough that he was obliged to hold it open with one hand while eating with the other. I wished I could see the book's title. One of the Tarzans, do you think?

     Somehow, this incident prompted me to think about what kind of book is most fitting, both physically and subject-wise, for airplane travel. Since I don't own an e-reader, the physical aspects of a book are important to me. Many years of plane trips have taught me that hardbound books don't fare well in a plane's environment; for some reason, the pressurized air in the plane's cabin causes the book's binding to warp. The longer the flight, the more severe the warpage. And it is very difficult to get the binding back to normal afterwards. Some people may not care about warpage, but I am not one of those people. So I opt for paperbacks when flying. As to subject matter, frankly I can't deal with anything too complex or intellectual. Light is best. Amusing definitely helps. Rereads are great, because they don't necessarily demand your full attention; they're "been there, done that."

     At the moment, I'm taking my sweet time reading Elizabeth Taylor's A Game of Hide and Seek.  This novel is considered by many to be her masterpiece, so I am savoring slowly. Besides, Taylor is not the kind of author one can skim through rapidly or casually; she requires respectful and thoughtful attention. If read too quickly, much of her subtlety, and much of the essential beauty of her craft, can fly right over your head, and you're left trying to hang on to plot—a vain attempt, that, since Taylor's novels have little plot. No, she forces you to sit back and savor, which I think is a very good thing in these hectic and stressful times.

     The other night, I watched the Richard Tucker Awards Gala on PBS. For the uninitiated, Richard Tucker was one of America's greatest operatic tenors. The prestigious annual competition in his name grants monetary career awards to singers "on the rise," and the Gala showcases the winners, past winners, and singers who are simply famous, in a concert of arias and scenes with the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. This year, the Gala concert was conducted by my former boss, Patrick Summers, and one of the featured singers is a graduate of the Houston Grand Opera Studio, Jamie Barton—so I felt obliged to watch. It was sort of amusing, because I found myself unfamiliar with several of the singers; not even their names rang a bell. Clearly, I've not been "keeping up." I am now very much out of the opera loop. Still, I loved hearing all that music, admiring most (not all) of the singing, and watching dear Patrick conduct. I miss him. Most importantly, I found myself listening to the singers without coaching them in my head! This is definitely progress!

     Well, those are all the scraps I have today. Maybe next time, I'll have a finished, cohesive quilt.