Books Archives - A Lovely Inconsequence

A Worthy Woman

A Lovely Inconsequence — Fri, 06 Sep 2019 01:32:06 +0000

Don’t wish me happiness. I don’t expect to be happy all the time…Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor. I will need them all. ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh Many years ago, I had a long train commute to work everyday. During that time, I found a new biography on Charles A. Lindbergh on my library shelves and decided it was the perfect read for my daily ride. As I plunged into it, I noted that Lindbergh’s personality was similar to my ex-father-in-law’s – impulsive, daring, brilliant but obtuse. Before too long, I had read every book on Lindbergh including his own autobiography. I don’t pretend to be a Lindbergh expert by any stretch of the imagination but I do think I knew Lindbergh pretty well. And so, it was only natural that my interest moved over to his wife, Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I discovered quiet, acquiescent Anne was quite an unsung heroine – a worthy pilot in her own right and a prolific woman of letters and diaries, poems and prose. And she reminded me of myself: bookish, thoughtful, brooding and a bit shy. Being a young mother, I especially liked reading about her mothering years and still recall very well the sad diary entry just after her infant son was found murdered: “You’ve already been gone a hundred years”. How many of us have felt that way when we have lost a loved one? In my amateur opinion, I don’t think she ever recovered from the loss of her beloved first-born, as much as her husband irritably and repeatedly dismissed her grief early on. I never forgave Charles Lindbergh for that. But lucky for us, her experiences, sad and otherwise, fueled a remarkable body of work, including her bestseller, Gift from the Sea. Upon reading Anne Morrow Lindbergh, I found a writer piquantly in touch with a woman’s experience. Her quote above, tells me that with all her riches, notoriety, privileges, she was just an ordinary woman inside, feeling all the ordinary things women feel and experience – demanding husbands, loss, endless mothering, and the ever constant need to find time for oneself – to recover from life’s storms and reconnect with the soul within. She writes about it all…and I am better for having known her. Yes, quite a worthy woman… P.S.: Look for more worthy women I have known over the next few months and…who are your worthy women? P.P.S.: For other worthy woman, watch The Ladies in Black…delightful film – fresh, endearing, funny and worthy women, all. And you get to see Christmas 1959 during a hot Australian summer. I loved it and you will too.

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A Book’s Summer Lullaby

A Lovely Inconsequence — Wed, 21 Aug 2019 00:33:00 +0000

When I heard that Carly Simon had written a children’s book, I had to take a peek. My first impression, which was wrong, was that it wasn’t that special. At the time, I had already created a nice library for my young daughter and Simon’s book, Amy the Dancing Bear, seemed similar to other books we had. But then I saw the author on a talk show where she gushed about the day Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, who was then an editor at Doubleday, left a lovely breathy message on her voicemail stating that she thought the book was wonderful and that she would see that it was published. So I gave Amy the Dancing Bear a second glance… The book did resemble other books on my daughter’s shelves but I realized I had failed to experience the sweet rhythm in the story. I missed that Amy the Dancing Bear tells of the end of summer in the red woolen mittens that Mama Bear dreams of knitting in fall. I hadn’t noticed the lyrical thoughts that spill from both Amy and her mother, about an old watch that failed to tell time, a piano sonata, a Baked Alaska recipe, moonlit arabesques, and fluttering lightning bugs. There is even a flowing blue nightie, special pink silver polish, and a snowy organza apron. Looking more closely, I saw the trailing vines and hibiscus blossoms that encircle every page which seem to sway in unseen misty breezes from dark open windows. Their home is a magical tropical place where a mother bear and her charming daughter end their day in harmonious cantatas. The book’s prose is both poetic and real as I can almost imagine Carly saying the words to her own sleepless dancing daughter. Since Amy the Dancing Bear was published in 1989, it has become my favorite summer lullaby. I enjoy its expressive synergy on hot summer nights even though the book sometimes makes me want to throw back the sheets and race downstairs to polish some spoons or pour a cooling glass of iced tea like the chilled tumbler Mama Bear relaxes with as she awaits for drowsiness to capture her pirouetting child. (And the delightful image of Amy and her mother’s pizza supper is not to be overlooked). ~ Amy the Dancing Bear appears to be out of print now but some inexpensive copies can be found online and I bet almost every good library still has a copy.

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The Face Reflected

A Lovely Inconsequence — Wed, 22 Aug 2018 16:00:00 +0000

“Who sees the human face correctly? The mirror…or the artist”? ~ Picasso ~ And I would add, “or the one who loves you”? Mona has a secret in her smile. So do I. That is, if you could see my smile. Most of you don’t know what I look like…and all these years, I have rather liked it that way. You see, I believe I photograph terribly. To me, I am best experienced in person. That way, you can see the glint of my blond head in the sun and my skin in candlelight, inhale my subtle perfume, and let me smile my interested and welcoming smile at you. In nearly every picture of myself, now and even “back then”, I only see my flaws: skin takes on a pasty hue, a slightly lopsided goofy smile and my eyes – oh my eyes, which I have been told are the best part of me – are fast disappearing behind un-sculptured-by-a-knife lids. Or perhaps I really am not pretty. Or maybe I’m just terribly, terribly vain… It could also be the near-perfect beauty that is captured these days on social media. I mean, how do they do it??? And some are my age. A few years back, a young mother who was slightly larger than she wanted to be, made a statement about selfies and how she never wanted to be in any. Her post went viral and started a discussion because she also attested that she discovered that by avoiding the camera, she was actually denying her little daughter the chance to see her in years to come and most importantly, after she is gone. It struck home but still, you wouldn’t find me jumping in front of anybody’s selfie stick. I trundled along just fine, un-reproduced, holding my hands over my face whenever anyone came near me with a camera lens or doing a full-on body block with any opportunistic photographer. And then I really went to home plate…my daughter wanted some pictures of me holding her newborn – my first grandchild, in my arms. There was no way to get out of it and suddenly, I didn’t want to. What’s more, I felt my daughter should be free to take as many shots of me as she desired without my fussing about whether I had lipstick on, was wearing a decent outfit, or my hair was combed. But it was hard…I did it though – for my child and for my grandchild who will one day, no doubt, want to see pictures of her grandmother first holding her. She may also want to see me in some of my younger photographs and if that’s so, my hope is that she will notice the place from whence she came – in all those goofy lopsided grins and those now-fading but loving eyes. It is getting easier… And yet, I haven’t shared any photos with you. And you may want to know, that soon I must! The reason is that a book I contributed to is about to published and I am being ordered to submit a recent professional photo for the publisher, the blog, and for marketing material. The photographer has been called in. Can I ask for PhotoShop please? So as the rabbit in the children’s book The Velveteen Rabbit, is loved into existence, perhaps our true beauty comes alive in the eyes of those who cherish us the most. And maybe that’s the lens that really counts. Love gives us courage in so many ways… It would have been perfect to end this post with that lovely new photo of brave me but alas, you will have to wait. I don’t have my lipstick on just yet. But soon, readers, soon…

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Books for August

A Lovely Inconsequence — Sat, 04 Aug 2018 22:47:00 +0000

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer…like the highest seat of a ferris wheel where it pauses just before it turns. ~Tuck Everlasting And here we are at the very crest of the season, poised for our free-fall to autumn. August is perfect for slow living with lots of reading. Sometimes it’s even too hot to venture outside and therefore, I take advantage of couch potato-ing with books to set me up for the fall and keep me dreaming of summer days still to come. Here are some such reads: I’ll never forget an afternoon at the bookshop back in 2002. I had just paid for a magazine when I woman whizzed by me with an engaged and satisfied smile on her lips. Unable to hide her joy, she said, “Look what I just bought my daughter!” She unslipped from her paper bag, a lovely tome called A Time to Blossom. As I had made acquaintances with Tovah Martin’s endearing book about mothers, daughters and gardens, I suddenly found myself sharing the excitement of a lovely book with a stranger. “I have a daughter who will love this and it will be a wonderful birthday present for her!,” she said. I couldn’t have been more pleased for her. A Time to Blossom covers all four seasons with garden style, crafts and remembrances of times past to share with the young girls in one’s life. When I first encountered the book, my daughter was not of an age to begin gardening with me but she always loved flowers and make-believe so we poured over it together although the book remained with me when she left home. It’s one I tour through each August for the section of dahlias, the shameless and colorful blooms of August that remind us that summer is still with us. At least for now… Proust’s Duchess by Caroline Weber, is a bit scholarly but I am working my way through it with pleasure. More on Proust in an upcoming post, but the book had me at “she turned a simple morning walk …into a poem of elegance, the finest adornment, the rarest flower under the sun”. I can’t put it down. Not for one moment. This triple biography of the women who most inspired Proust is written against an historical background but I am most interested in the intriguing female collective that led to Proust’s notion of involuntary memory – those brightly lit “aha” moments that jettison us back to our pasts unexpectedly. A new book that is mesmerizing me is The Landscapes of Anne of Green Gables: The Enchanting Island that Inspired L.M. Montgomery. Filled with captivating photographs and illustrations of the real places immortalized in Montgomery’s novels, especially Anne of Green Gables, the book has me mentally preparing my retirement sojourn to Prince Edward Island to visit my grandfather’s homestead along with Green Gables. My book will guide me as I discover with new eyes, the Lake of Shining Waters and Lover’s Lane. And who doesn’t think of Anne with an “e” when the season’s pages turn to heartbreaking sunsets and changing colors that signal our time in the sun is coming to an end? Finally, I didn’t want to like Ageless Beauty the French Way by Clémence von Mueffling. I have plenty of French beauty books and feel I am saturated in my knowledge of what makes the Frenchwomen so self-assured and beautiful. But the book was sent to me and so I delved in. A few things – first, the advice of von Mueffling’s grandmother Regine Debrise, an 86 year old, addicted-to-red-lipstick former model who was often photographed by Irving Penn in the 1940’s and 50’s. I also appreciated that the book labelled and included my age box (maturité) in its advice so I didn’t feel that I was reading a beauty advice book just for millenials. My favorite thing about the book is von Mueffling’s advice to shift my attitude about skincare from a unwelcome late-night task to an act of self-love. By spending the time to look after our skin using age-specific formulations and with the guidance of three generations (von Mueffling’s beauty editor mother chimes in), we can turn our nightly routine into a pampering and welcome interlude before bed. I’m game…and what better way to say farewell to summer than to improve our skin and put our best face forward for the next season? More soon…

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Just Before Bed

A Lovely Inconsequence — Wed, 28 Feb 2018 03:43:00 +0000

Long ago, I tripped upon a book while browsing in a bookshop on a dark wet December night. I was lucky my best babysitter was available to give me two blissful hours alone during the Christmas rush. I headed straight to the local bookstore for a good browse. As always, I started with my favorite sections: Children’s, Culinary, New Non-Fiction. I never seek out Self-Help but somehow noticed a simple shrimp-colored book on an endcap in that very section. The title distinguished itself as much as the color because the words sounded like a prayer. I began to thumb through it and although I knew in a few minutes it would be coming home with me, I had no idea it would change the way I look at life. The pretty volume was a hit and not just with me. It was hit with the world too, spending months and months on the bestseller list. And I do believe that its authoress is a soothsayer for our times no matter what’s happened to her in the intervening years. It is still at the top of my bedside heap. – the book I reach for in tears and sorrow, laughter and blessings. It’s my go-to peace and quiet, my permission slip to take care of myself…my phone-home when I don’t know where I’ve been. I loved the book so much that within a week I jetted off a note to the author. That love letter netted me a seat on the most famous TV panel that ever existed. But that’s quite a story in itself… Since then, copy-cats have come and gone but my shrimp-colored book is still just an arm’s length away every evening. I’ve read it so many times that I know exactly how to find what I need – a warming quote, solace when I’m anxious or inspiration for living by my own lights in a world that tries to extinguish our glow with appalling regularity. The author has written other books since her blockbuster but none satisfies like her major work. And I don’t care if it’s sacrilege to say it’s a bible to me for it is a woman’s guide for living in modern times. It’s a place of comfort and camaraderie too and at very least, a friendly soothing pep talk before sleep. It’s always on my side and I don’t mean just literally. Hope in a book. Just before bed. Note: Thank you to Judy for the most sublime image to illustrate this post with.

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Help from the Shelf

A Lovely Inconsequence — Thu, 16 Mar 2017 01:19:00 +0000

Long ago, I clipped a quote from an article about Joan Didion. She told the journalist that when she was small and upset by something that happened in school, her parents would tell her to “go to literature” for help. They believed she would find answers in the classics. When I am unsettled, I also go to my shelves looking for, if not answers, comfort. My books remind me who I am, where I’ve been, and where I need to go. Like old friends, my library is familiar and friendly. Sometimes just gazing at an image in one of my books takes me back to a version of myself that I may have forgotten. I am reminded that the person who looked upon that image, sometimes many years ago, still exists within. And if I can tap into her, I can tap into renewed strength. I have favorite literature that offers me all kinds of inspiration but I thought I would give you some of the non-fiction books that I reach for in times of trouble. So, straight from my shelf: Linda Dannenberg’s The Paris Way of Beauty will always be my favorite beauty book. I purchased my copy in 1979 and as a young single working women, I learned how to care for myself and organize my beauty routine using its tried-and-true French methods. I still employ the Recipe for a Basic Makeup outlined in the book and the diet advice has stood the test of time. I still get a thrill when I crack it open and a shy but chic young woman meets me between the pages. Romancing the Ordinary by Sarah Ban Breathnach is not unlike her blockbuster Simple Abundance but it is more concrete in its approach. I love both of Sarah’s books but Romancing the Ordinary speaks to my soul. Reading a few chapters before bed is like a beloved great aunt tucking me in as she murmurs, “There, there dear”. In times of stress or pain, Romancing the Ordinary provides the quiet comfort I crave. When I need a good cry about life’s heartbreaking tenderness, I reach for Nancy Lindemeyer’s Jenny Walton’s Packing for a Woman’s Journey. Nancy’s stories, drawn from her childhood to young womanhood are so poignantly written that it is one of the only books that can make me sob out loud. Her stirring essays about the grandmother who adopted her as a small child, tug at my heartstrings like a plaintive violin. I had the pleasure of having lunch with Nancy once and she told me that the only way to write the stories was to relive each one. It shows. My Father by Judy Collins is illustrated by my favorite children’s book artist, Jane Dyer. The story is about a daughter of a coal miner whose life is made radiant by her father’s dreams for her. Dyer’s colorful and gently realistic interpretations of what should have been a stark childhood come alive off the page. This book is perfect for a weary grown-up’s lullaby. I love the art of the Impressionists and so another book I turn to regularly aligns fashion with my favorite art movement. Dior Impressions: the Inspiration and Influence of Impressionism at the House of Dior is a beautiful volume that explores the relationship between Dior’s designs and 19th century artists use of light, nature and color. Many of Dior’s dresses appear to step right from the gilded frame. The text is engaging and the book is so spring-like, I can almost smell verdant grasses when I open it. Mesmerizing.

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Bright April (or Fringed Placemats)

A Lovely Inconsequence — Mon, 14 Nov 2016 00:24:00 +0000

“It’s a book about Girl Scouts”, said the book dealer as I lightly turned the pages of Bright April, a children’s book by Marguerite de Angeli. “Actually, it’s a book about diversity”, I quietly responded. I am well-acquainted with Bright April as it is a story I read often to my daughter when she was small. I spent a lot of time selecting books for my child’s personal library. If even one illustration seemed “off” to me, the book went back on the bookseller’s shelf. But Marguerite de Angeli’s books filled up prime bookshelf real estate in my daughter’s bedroom and she left them here for me. For the time being. Bright April had me at the fringed placemats in the illustration above, so enchanted was I with the details of the picture. De Angeli’s work is so vivid and cheerful and her stories are often about things dear to my heart – like home. But in Bright April, she tackles a serious issue and she does it gently and with honesty. Admittedly, the book is just a bit politically incorrect – but there is only one line I would alter for today’s audience. I did purchase the bookdealer’s edition – it is in much better shape than the one I have at home. The spine and the boards of my copy have frayed and broken apart and are only held together now by strings. But when I brought the new book home I found not one but two copies of Bright April on my shelves. One was the 1945 edition that was falling apart and the other one, had a stamp on the inside cover from a church I regularly attended when my daughter was still a pre-schooler. Suddenly, I remembered I borrowed the book from the church’s library and did not return it in the flurry of moving to a new state. Right now, my old copy is at the bookbinder’s being repaired – I discovered from the bookseller that it’s a first edition and therefore, should be preserved. When I collect it, I plan on sending it to the church as a gift along with their missing copy. It will be dispatched with a note of apology. Mine, I will keep on my nightstand to dip into for pure beauty and for the comfort of a bedtime story. It will also remind me to resume my lifelong search for fringed placemats. ~ More beauty from Marguerite de Angeli:

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Something about Heroes

A Lovely Inconsequence — Sun, 13 Sep 2015 16:00:00 +0000

This handsome chap is a friend’s grandfather. His picture received a lot of attention on my Instagram account. Knowing how much I love old photographs, even those of people I don’t know, my friend regularly drops vintage pictures into my greedy hands. His grandfather reminds me of the Arrow Shirt and Collar man, although he doesn’t have the angular planes to his face that the traditional Arrow illustrations do (see below). Instead, his allure, although masculine, has the softness of a hero in a Grace Livingston Hill novel. Hill’s champions are always strong men with gentle cores that never drift from right decision in everything they do. They are usually wealthy but conduct themselves with uncompromising integrity in business as well as – and especially in, love. Often, the hero in a Grace Livingston Hill novel spots a woman who is lovely in being but downtrodden in life. He becomes her sympathizer first, quietly on the sidelines, and then her protector and defender. Usually a marriage takes place at the end. Hill’s stories are of course, fiction. Jane Austen subscribed to the same formula and once wrote, “My ladies shall have all they desire, but only after a bit of trouble”. Austen’s novels end with voluptuously satisfying weddings. I love happy endings and I love the good strong men who make all my literary happy endings possible. They keep me searching for goodness, chivalry and kindness in our upside-down world. And they give me hope. Our good-looking fellow became the town dentist who often took no money for his services. I also have a picture of him in his dental office about 1940, and although the place looks like a truly fearsome torture chamber, he is still remembered and kindly so, 70 years later. Astonishing. Handsome benevolence – a winning combination for heroes, in novels and in life. The dentist…far left.

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Summer Skies and Lullabies

A Lovely Inconsequence — Sat, 25 Jul 2015 15:12:00 +0000

As we await the delivery of wedding photographs, we are reminiscing about our happy day. Sunday morning dawned with smokey fog but by noon, the skies peeled back to reveal a lovely Wedgewood blue – the color that transforms objects into something heavenly, as if one has put on rose-colored glasses. More than once, I felt a catch in my throat – and a longing for something …more time…more lullabies…a little girl and her dolly…and for other lives no longer overlap ours. I also had the sensation of being carried around on a cushioned bed of serenity and happiness. It was my daughter’s wedding day! I remember the rows of white chairs as we strolled down the aisle of our cloistered grotto. The hydrangeas bowed their heavy heads and the hibiscus danced a shimmy at the whispering sea breezes. My daughter’s ivory dress suddenly seemed so bright and fresh in the sunlight, the meaning of it so clear…her perfection, her youth, her joy…and all her hopes for the future represented in the chiffon flower, the encrusted pearls, the simple net veil. Her golden locks were smoothed out and shiny, skin perfect. At the simple altar, rosebud lips – the same ones I fretted over so worriedly in a hospital isolate so many years ago – whispered “I love you forever, Mom”. She released my arm with a squeeze and I took my place. The ceremony was simple and hushed and over way too fast – a promise, a ring, a kiss…no drama or hype – no fuss – so very like her. I watched them pass by to “Here Comes the Sun” but at the end of the aisle, they stopped and waited for me. Together we three wrapped our arms about each other and smiled into sets of brimming eyes. And then, my new son murmured something only I heard: “She’s safe… you don’t have to worry anymore”. Oh young man, if you but only knew… The flashbacks have stopped at last. I am clearing out her room and spreading out my life. When I went to bed that first night there was a card nestled beside my pillow. On one side was her love letter and on the other, the instructions for changing the time on my clock radio – something I never got the hang of. More beauty, fashion, books, art, and life posts coming up…back to my usual musings soon!

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Just Beyond the Page

A Lovely Inconsequence — Sun, 04 Jan 2015 15:47:00 +0000

This is Jean-Honoré Fragonard’s painting, A Young Girl Reading, 1770. The reader is enraptured with her book but her mind is soaring with vivid imaginings born on the pages. I see her as a lass on the brink of womanhood who is about to leave a life of quiet domesticity for a world she has thus far, only read about. My dear sister bought me a blank notebook with the painting’s image on the cover. The pretty pages are lined and gold-tipped and perfect for jotting down ideas and quotes. I will take her with me as I head back to work tomorrow after one of the most peaceful vacations I’ve ever had. I made a point of staying home a lot and immersed myself in reading – real escapism in the form of Grace Livingston Hill novels. Critics of Livingston Hill reject the spiritual rhetoric the author interjects in her stories. But I actually found it comforting, especially after having a particularly spiteful December at the office. Livingston Hill also includes lots of fashion descriptions and domestic details in her books and I latched onto those too, especially the homey fine points. The Substitute Guest, The Gold Shoe, and Astra all put me into a wintery nesting mood, helped along by the prettiest little dining room chandelier my future son-in-law gave me on Christmas Eve. As fun as puttering about my home was, I also had a mind to the future. I am writing a book and must find a way to wend that work around my day job. A newspaper gig I’ve had for three years has ended and new freelance work is yet on the horizon. I do still love coming here for naturalness and a bit of creativity. It’s where I write most authentically. Like Fragonard’s reading miss, I have imaginings about my new year that bob just beyond the pages of the books I read this week. And as I head back through the familiar doors of my job tomorrow morning, my golden notebook will accompany me to capture buoyant dreams for home, work, and love in the new year. ~ Here are some Grace Livingston Hill highlights from this week: “It takes a canny soul to read her own heart.” “The very chime of the cathedral clock in some dim recess (of the house) seemed like fairy bells.” “They just live in it, like sunshine!” “The girl saw a sprigged china bowl, the steaming fragrance of whose contents made her know suddenly that she was hungry. There was a plate of delicately browned buttered toast, a tiny mound of ruby jelly, some crisp hearts of celery, and the cup of tea.” “He stocked up his refrigerator with all the delicacies he could think of for midnight suppers and quiet meals by themselves.” “This home even the brief glimpse he had, showed that there was still beauty and love and good fellowship left upon the earth, still a real spirit of Christmas to be found if one looked in the right place for it.”

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