Oh, for the tart wit of the Algonquin Round Table   

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Whatever happened to the art of witty retorts? For that matter, the cozy gathering places of sophisticated regulars in urban centers, where at least one of the participants slyly made note of the ongoings?

Does this have anyone else evoking a picture of the New Yorker crowd at their daily luncheons at Manhattan’s Algonquin Hotel, where Noel Coward, Harpo Marx, and Dorothy Parker, among others, held forth. I’m surprised to see that cartoonist James Thurber wasn’t among them, especially since he resided in the hotel, nor was Cole Porter diddling away at a piano. Well, Thurber didn’t enjoy their penchant for practical jokes.

Still, on other occasions, the Algonks delighted in charades and the “I can give you a sentence” game, which spawned Parker’s memorable sentence using the word horticulture: “You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think.”

I’m assuming you groaned there.

Now, let’s consider ten more caustic wisecracks from Dorothy herself:

  1. “Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.”
  2. “If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.”
  3. “The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.”
  4. “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice.”
  5. “I don’t know much about being a millionaire, but I’ll bet I’d be darling at it.”
  6. “Tell him I was too fucking busy – or vice versa.”
  7. “Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common.”
  8. “Brevity is the soul of lingerie,” along with, “I require three things in a man: he must be handsome, ruthless, and stupid.”
  9. “I hate writing, I love having written.”
  10. “That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.”

Let’s not overlook her classic verse:

I like to have a martini,
Two at the very most.
After three I’m under the table,
after four I’m under my host.

What do you think about doors?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Most of us, I suspect, seldom think about them at all – they’re just there, open-or-shut as we move on to something else or perhaps seek some privacy. Oh, sometimes they stick or squeak or the knob needs tightening, but for the most part we rarely even see them. As for simply walking into one, BLAM! Sometimes it’s not a joke or only a black eye.

As perspective, when our renovation project began, I was occupying a bedroom that had no door. Ours is an old house, after all, and the back parlor, as we also call the room, sat off the kitchen and our tiny bathroom. At least the bathroom had a door, though it didn’t close fully. As a matter of fact, few of the indoor doors in our house closed fully and the exterior ones were equally suspect.

Adam, our amazing contractor, raised another question about which way each of our upcoming doors would open. I assumed, erroneously, that they would be situated to minimize obstruction of open space. Instead, it seems that doors conventionally open with the right hand. Not the left. From either side, at that. Try it and let me know if I’m wrong.

The discussion thickened, no pun intended, when one of the coconspirators in this renovation declared she wouldn’t have hollow-core doors in the house, not even the bedrooms. My leaning for two of the upstairs bedrooms had been for Japanese-style curtains and for leaving the laundry room open. But then considerations of noise, privacy, and smoke-and-fire emergencies overruled me. A bathroom, of course, needs a solid closure, period. Would ours upstairs have a frosted window, like the one downstairs? As you see, this can get complicated. Those popular flip-this house cable TV programs are so lacking.

But back to topic.

The other coconspirator proposed picking up antique doors salvaged from other renovation projects, and we decided to go that route. They didn’t even have to match, did they?

~*~

Still ahead was what to do with the two exterior doors downstairs.

They were leaky, as far as bad weather went, warped, and rotting. The front door presents a neighborhood impression as well as the challenge of upholding the town’s historical character. Its storm door had already fallen away, due to frame warping.

To see some examples of exterior doors of Eastport homes, take a look at the Doors Fit for a Cape photo album at Thistle Finch editions.

A baroque twist runs through my distilled expression

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Samuel Johnson and his baroque literary constructions gave a big push to my writing ambitions after high school. Let me just say I’ve loved the clarity of Mozart from my adolescence on, and Bach and Handel have risen in my estimation in the years since. The brash English master fell right into that, though I now see again just how irreverent he was, despite all of his professed orthodoxy.

What it means it that I’m comfortable reading and writing certain kinds of complex sentences that are foreign to modern readers. Perhaps I should apologize? At least it’s not the only way I put sentences in line. Still, there’s a richness that’s missing in Hemingway and his progeny.

And here I am, drilled in the newspaper journalism Papa Ernie claimed was his inspiration. Think again. (Ernie? Makes me think of Pyle, and his big desk at the Indiana Daily Student, where I once collaborated.)

But then there’s Nicholson Baker’s effortless spinning of sentences of 250 to 300 words spanning a full book page. What wonder!

My wife has noted the dichotomy between my fondness for many Old Ways and the rule-breaking, experimental edge of so much of my writing and thinking. She can point, for instance, to my fascination with the fiery writings of early Quakers in the mid-1660s placed in contrast to wild hippie extremes.

Are they really that different, though? I feel they enrich and deepen each other.

Well, to go back to the late ‘60s, let me share a personals ad I placed in the Purdue Exponent, which charged by the word.

~*~

ANNOUNCING

Dr. Samuel Johnson’s first eventful super cosmic transcendental celestial love in, incorporating the essence of mystical human enigmatic & existential psychic understanding & zodialogical causes of karmic experiences in the metaphysical process.

Syllogistic examination of cerebral chemo electrical phenomena are hitherto banished to the outermost polarities of unconscious stimulation for the duration of the aforesaid soiree.

All persons, souls, and spirits seeking admittance to the heurese beuverie must present evidence of psychological and physical preparedness & predispositions for the event. Mind blowing, seclusivenessly introverted behavior, and abstinence from mind-liberating drugs, drink, or sex, will be considered detrimental to the well-being of the sociological matrix selected for hedonistic propensities &, to avoid contamination & empoisonment of the purity of the greater society therein gathered, will be cause for expulsion.

Adoption & encasement in persona & masquerade are desired for the happening; the playwright hereby assumes no further responsibility for the roles assumed by the characters. Coming soon at your local neighborhood hanging, where all else be suspended for the duration.

RSVP

~*~

In case you’re wondering, she wasn’t impressed.

I have come a long way since then, in more ways than one.

My, that is embarrassing.

That said, you can find my novels in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. They’re also available in paper and Kindle at Amazon, or you can ask your local library to obtain them.

If you’re speaking of dances, for me, it’s New England 

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

My definition: contra, English country, squares, and rounds, or folk rather than ballroom or rock – though a tango fascinates, I do the Swedish  hambo, when a partner appears at one of our contradances.

~*~

This note came from before I discovered the line dances at Dover’s annual Greek Festival and then the “secret” of dancing them. The event took place every Labor Day weekend, though I did come to find other opportunities to dance in Greek circles.

All of them to date, though, have been in New England.

A few personal breakthrough moments

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Can you name ten in your own life? For me:

  1. When diagramming sentences began to make sense back in high school. I can’t imagine writing or editing without it.
  2. Submitting my first letter to the editor. It led to a job offer and opened my career in journalism.
  3. My first course with Vincent Ostrom. It may have been political science, but more than that, it was training in practicing as an ongoing scholar and problem-solver.
  4. Taking up yoga. Well, it led step-by-step to becoming Quaker, too.
  5. Moving to Yakima and, a bit later, on to Baltimore. One introduced the Pacific Northwest mountains I came love so much as well as a desert; the latter came after a long, difficult, dry spell in-between.
  6. Yielding to Christ. You may have noticed my take is highly unorthodox, despite my encounters with Greek Orthodoxy later.
  7. And then New England, where I’ve felt most at home.
  8. Undertaking psychotherapy. Actually, it was a twist of my ongoing mysticism and ongoing search for true love.
  9. Remarriage with children. This one’s been more of a long retraining. Talk about OJT?
  10. Book publications. A kind of affirmation, even in obscurity

Miscellany, one way or another

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Who am I, really? What do I want to be remembered for?

Raccoon as a Trickster, a local Native twist.

Why be clever?

“The distance I felt came not from the country or the people; it came from within me. I was as distant from myself as a hawk from the moon.”— narrator in James Welch’s Winter in the Blood set in Montana

A viral carousel.

Quaker by degrees. Turn up the heat?

Quaker vagabonds were Dharma bums, too. The itinerant ministry proffers its own humor.

Things I learned in two years of college French? Le is pronounced luh.

As a youth, I admired crystals grown from supersaturated solutions. Deep blue copper sulfate was my favorite.

I never expected a film literature course under Harry Geduld would influence my poetry as much as my college writing class under poet Dick Allen. But it did: the clash of thesis and antithesis producing an unanticipated synthesis in reaction, especially.

When I first began reading contemporary poetry (for pleasure, independent of classroom assignment), he sensed that often the poem existed as a single line or two, with the rest of the work as window dressing. Now I read the Psalms much the same way, for the poem within the poem, or at least the nugget your or I as the psalmist is to wrestle with on this occasion. Psalm 81, for instance, has both “voice in thunder” and “honey from rock.”

I’m past the bitterness, the years – all the lost potential.