Vicki Lane's Blog, page 61

Springing

                                                                                  

Catcher in the Rye-- Sixty-some Years Later

                                                                   

It's been a while since I re-read Catcher, and, not surprisingly, the years have made a difference. I first encountered the book when I was a seventeen-year-old freshman in college, and I was totally hooked. I still find Holden and his goofy sincerity quite endearing. His professed hatred of phonies (almost everyone/old guys who pick their noses/young guys who pick their pimples/and a myriad of other denizens of his prep school/NYC upper middleclass world always see-saws with his innate empathy for almost everyone. 
"About all I know is, I sort of miss everybody I told about. Even old Stradlater and Ackley, for instance, I even think I miss that goddam Maurice. It's funny. Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."
As I re-read, I wondered how today's young people would react to Holden. Catcher is sometimes seen as a classic and required reading (possible the kiss of death) or it's banned.
Back in the Sixties, my mother-in-law and some of her friends got their panties in a wad because Catcher was assigned reading at University of South Florida (where said book critics were advisors to a sorority.) Had they read the book? No, not really, just the few pages toward the end where the f-word appears.
Never mind that the use of the word is because Holden is trying to wipe it off a school wall before any little kids see it.
Of course, we argued this point with my MIL. Didn't matter. She was convinced that she was saving the sorority girls from having to read the word.
(My MIL also had strong views about interracial marriage because, as she told us, 'Cardinals don't marry Bluejays.' )
 Some people, it's a waste of time to argue with.
But I digress.
I still would like to know if younger people read this book and what their reactions are. It's pretty much a period piece now, if not actual historical fiction. 
(Back in 2010 I blogged about Catcher and other books that had been important to me in my late teens. That post is HERE.)

In Progress

                                                                           

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I've always loved this conglomeration of rooflines at the Boyd place down the road. So finally, I decided to have a go at painting them.
This is in progress- a few shadows are missing, and some colors need deepening. Actually, I may scrap it and try again--trying to be more precise. a lot of the edges aren't as clean as I'd like.
I left out the red truck in the picture below because the rooflines were what I wanted to concentrate on. And I left out that white rectangle behind the house--it's another roof of another building but doesn't really read as such. 
This is very much a learning exercise, and an enjoyable one. 

Wordless Walk

 

Miss Birdie and Dor'thy Go to Water

                                                                               

(From The Day of Small Things)

They was a time when I had baddreams . . . dreams of Old Spearfinger standing by my bed and I would wakecrying and shivering and crawl in bed with Granny Beck for her to hold me andcomfort me with her soft words. But when I got to crying out in my sleep twoand three times every night, Granny said that we must get rid of the bad dreamsfor once and all. That was when she showed me what the Cherokees called Goingto Water.

            Andbecause I fear what will happen if Dorothy dreams that one last dream, I decideto break my promise to Luther.

                        “Dorothy,”I say, “let’s you and me drive down to the river. I believe that I can stopthose dreams.”

***

“This here  is something my granny did for me when I waslittle and had real bad dreams,” I tell Dorothy as we are driving along thedirt road that runs from the bridge back up to the burying-place.

“It seems to me,”I say, trying to convince both of us that I am right in what I purpose to do,“it seems to me that if your prayers and your Bible ain’t helping against thisCherokee witch that has got into your dreams, then maybe a Cherokee spell will dothe trick. Do you have a handkerchief or some such with you?”

            Shelooks at me, kind of doubting, but I know that she is past arguing. “I have abandana there in the glove compartment,” she says, pointing to it. “A blueone.”

            ‘That’lldo just fine,” I tell her. “Now here at this wide place in the road, you canpull over and park. The riverbank ain’t too growed up and it’s easy to get tothe water long about here.”

            Shepulls over, cuts off the engine, and starts to get out but I say, “Now Dor’thy,I’m trying to remember the words my Granny said more than seventy years ago. Sowhile I’m working this charm, I don’t want you to speak for fear I’ll getbumfuzzled and not be able to finish, do you understand?”

            Dorothyis wide-eyed but she presses her lips tight together and nods, then reachesover and pulls a folded blue bandana out of the glove compartment, She offersit to me but I tell her to hold on to it. And so we make our way to the water,just as Granny and I did so many years ago.

                        Meand Granny couldn’t get all the way down to the river, though she said that itwould have been better. It was hard enough for her to hobble out the back wayand to the little branch that bordered the field back of the house. But it hadbeen a wet April and there was water enough . . .

                        “Now,Dorothy,” I say when we have reached the river’s edge and the water is lappingaround the toes of our shoes. “You hold the bandana in your right hand andclose your eyes. I’m going to dash some water over your head. When I’ve done itseven times, then you open your eyes and throw the bandana in the river. Whenit goes to floating away, I’ll say the charm that’ll end the bad dreams.”         

            Shenods and squinches her eyes shut. I lean on my stick and bend over to catchsome water in the jelly jar I have brought for the purpose. It ain’t much butit is enough that Dorothy jumps when I pour it on her head and it dribbles downher face.

            “No,leave it be.” I catch her hand as she is bringing the bandana to her face. “Letit work to wash away the bad memories and the fear the dreams has put into yourmind.”

            Iwonder what Dorothy would think was I to tell her how the Injuns used to dothis spell. If we did it the old way, she would take off  every whipstitch of her clothes but her shirtand then she would wade out and dip herself all the way under seven times. Then she would take off the shirt and letit float away.

            Itmakes me smile to picture what folks would think was someone to pass by and seetwo old women, one standing naked in the river. Even as we are, I’m just asglad don’t no one travel this way but very seldom.  

Flora

 

Spring Beauties

I've long loved the cluster of roof lines at the Boyd place down the road. When the sun is on them, they look like something one of the Wyeths might have painted. 

It looks like the weeping cherry got nipped by the freezing temperatures a few nights ago. But the Oriental magnolia seems to be holding on.
As does the little red-leafed peach by the pond house. 
Such a beautiful season!

 

Bingo!

Another wait on the chilly porch yesterday morning and this time, I got the equinoctial sunrise I'd been hoping for. 

Clear sky, mostly . . .

And here comes the Sun!

 

Hidden Figures

                                                                            

I was experimenting with watercolors--especially with adding texture by dropping salt or drops of alcohol onto the wet paint, when these critters emerged.                                                                                    

Kinda like cloud-gazing . . . or perhaps a Rorscach test.

                                                                               

The Great Wheel Turns

For the past two mornings, I've sat on the porch waiting for the sun to show itself in the center of the horizon.

There's a nice glow in the expected spot.

A promising beginning--but before the sun actually peeked over the Blue Ridge--down came the clouds.