Better Living Through Literature

I’ve been thinking about how much sewing I’ve been doing lately, and I tried to remember what I used to do with my time before. And I remembered that I used to read. Growing up, I would read to the exclusion of everything else, read instead of playing with my brother, read at night until I would hear my mother shout-whisper “Go to bed!” from across the hall. I remembered all that, and I couldn’t remember the last new book I had read from start to finish.

So I picked up some Cormac McCarthy, thinking I should start with something good, and he’s so good he’s made me despair of having any goals. But The Crossing is as bleak and sad as it is well-written. I would read a paragraph and have to pause to absorb both how astonishing the prose was and how god-awfully depressing the events were. At that rate, I realized it would take me years to read it. And it was a library book.

So on Monday I returned The Crossing and picked out the exact opposite: a science fiction book about crystal miners in outer space, and (cringe) a Judith Krantz book. Something also made me get a Dashiell Hammett detective novel. By Wednesday morning, I had read both the outer space crystal book and the Judith Krantz. I had stayed up nearly all night both nights, not because I liked the books, oh no, but because I am incapable of not seeing what happens next. (That sentence explains a lot of my personal life over the years.) (And that is also why I will happily re-read books–I’m able to put them down.)

Anyway, due to lack of sleep and the literary equivalent of sugar-coated speed, I felt like I had a book hangover. I was dubious about reading anything more than the cooking time on the linguine box last night, but I peeked at the first page of the detective novel. (The Dain Curse), which begins, “It was a diamond all right, shining in the grass half a dozen feet from the blue brick wall.” I kept reading. I didn’t hate myself for not being able to stop and sleep. I didn’t hate Hammett for lacking things like characterization, or vocabulary, or a point, becaus he had all those things. (Along with about twelve bodies, three suspects, and a pretty young morphine addict.) It was delightful. I went to bed happy–and yes, I finished it.

This was posted on the Dress a Day blog this week, and I agree with it completely. (Dress a Day is really great–not only do you get vintage patterns and lots of talk about sewing, she uses words like “aleatory”.)

My take is that people who wear clothes on airplanes that are better suited to washing a series of strangers’ cars at $5/pop have essentially given up all hope that they will ever be the recipient of happy chance. They’ve decided serendipity is not for them, so they’ve forsaken the notion that perhaps one day they may need to make a good first impression on a stranger. (They’ve also decided that they don’t ever need to be upgraded to business class, never mind first.)

Last night I saw clothes that said “I model for Frederick’s of Hollywood, Lamé Division” and clothes that said “my favorite Saturday morning cartoon and a bowl of chocolate-frosted sugar bombs are what I REALLY need right now. ” None of those clothes said “Take me seriously, please.”

I’m not against comfort — but there’s a line between ‘comfortable’ and ‘raggedy-ass lazy’ and the airport is not the place to cross that line. An airplane is a confined space, and, like any confined space, demands MORE civility and regard for others, not less.

The loudly striped orange fabric from last Tuesday’s roundup turned into this dress. It didn’t get any quieter, either. I used a reproduction pattern from 1952 and nearly five yards of fabric. The skirt is a full bias circle, meaning if I twirled in it, it would flare out into a perfect circle. (Not that I’ve tried it or anything.) It reminds me of Lucy on vacation with Ricky in Florida, or of what a housewife would wear for her Wednesday errands.

And here’s a little cardigan I finished a couple of weeks ago. It’s like something the housewife would change into when the errands were done and dinner was ready and “the Mister” was due to arrive home any minute. And while that scenario made my skin crawl a little, I like the cardigan.

1. This was me this morning. Spots and everything.

2. Ray Bradbury writes a story a week. Why don’t I do that? I stay up late enough to write a story a night.

3. Tomorrow: A project roundup, including some knitting I never photographed and some dresses. (Yet it took me ten minutes to find something to wear this morning. Why?! I’ve been making things to wear for three months now.)

So today is the longest day of the year, a day that I’ve always wanted to celebrate–because it means no snow for a few months–but that I always end up feeling sad about–because it’s all downhill from the longest day of the year.

But I’ve been going to the Gallivan Center at lunch for a couple of weeks now, and while that doesn’t make me more reconciled to the inevitable shortening of days again, the Mark Strand poem carved above the stream-fountain thing there does.

Visions of the end may secretly seduce
our thoughts like water sinking
into water, air drifting into air;
clouds may form, when least expected,
darkening the glass of self,
canceling resemblances to what we are.
Even here, while summer sunlight
falling through the golden
folds of afternoon
brightens up the air, we mark
our progress by how much
we leave behind. And yet,
this vanishing is burnished
by a slow, melodious light,
as if our passage here
were beautiful because
no turning back is possible.
It is our knowledge of the end
that speaks for us, that has us weave,
as slowly as we can, an elegy
to all our walks. It is our way
of bending to the world’s will
and giving thanks.

“..as if our passage here were beautiful because no turning back is possible.” Yes, that makes me feel better about the Solstice. (I bet it makes the construction crew cleaning out the stream-fountain thing and the homeless guy watching them feel better, too.)

And as a bonus: my tomatoes. They’re pretty summery.

Last night at the airport, I saw people in the “park and wait” pick-up lot parked and waiting in their cars—with the windows up and the air conditioning on. I’m afraid humanity is going to stupid itself to death.Yep.

The cotton lawn got sewn up into a Smock-Like Blouse (SLB) and finished Sunday, and I’m really pleased with it. Not only is the fabric nice and light, the print somehow reminds me of a circus. Send in the clowns! In their SLBs! Wait, they’re already here!

This project went together well–I got the zipper right on the first try, didn’t have to unpick anything, and even the gathers look nice.Gathers! Thrilling!

Here’s another SLB. It’s been finished for over a week, but I never got around to a picture until Friday, when I wore it going out. (Not shown: matching red shoes. I tell you, the movie theaters on 3300 South had never seen such shoes.)

Here’s a pocket detail–remember, that’s hand embroidery. I might need a hobby away from my hobby.
Finally, this is the next project (because if I don’t have a project I go straight to the crack cocaine) which is going to be a full-skirted 50’s sun dress. I considered gingham, then decided I would look as if I were wearing a tablecloth. So I went with “circus tent” instead: Trust me, it’s even more orange and striped in person. It’s either going to work very, very, well, or not at all.

I had never heard all the lyrics to “Blue Moon,” because people stop singing it after “..you saw me standing alone.” Two different people did that Sunday, and then I heard the entire song on KRCL last night. (Sunday nights from 10:30 until 1:00 they play Big Band music.) And it’s such a charming song! It’s my new theme song!

Blue moon
You saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own

Blue moon
You know just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer for
Someone I really could care for

And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will hold
I heard somebody whisper “please adore me”
And when I looked to the moon it turned to gold

Blue moon
Now I’m no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own

Awwww….

1. Go to the Deseret Peak Demolition Derby in Tooele tomorrow. (Fireworks! Cash! Prizes!) Starts at 5:00, tickets are $5.00. They have beer there, too, but if you’re drinking it you can’t sit in the family section. I highly recommend this one.

2. Hell, if you can go to the first demolition derby of the season, why would you want do anything else?

3. Watch out for Godzilla:

Really, aren’t we all waiting for coconuts? I know I am.