Monday Night, 20 December

1) Maybe twice a year I have professionals clean my house, because we all know how much I enjoy housekeeping. After some scheduling issues and a flat tire, this morning was the morning. I opened the windows, masked up, and mostly confined myself to my room for two hours. Afterwards I could enjoy that new house smell.

Madonna and a rather pugnacious-looking Child.

2) In the afternoon I met two friends at the Gardner Museum to see the special exhibition I’d read about and completely forgotten, Titian: Women, Myth, & Power. My previous two or three visits to the Gardner during the pandemic have been spacious and leisurely, but not this time. It was far too crowded for a pandemic. I don’t know if it’s because it’s the start of Christmas Week, Blithe Unawareness of Omicron, Titian mania, all of the above, or something else, but the entire place felt jammed, including the restaurant.

The reason for the season.

2a) The Titian show is marvelous. The six “poesie” paintings are hung in pairs on three walls, and the fourth is hung with portraits of Philip II (who owned them) and his bride Queen Mary I of England — Bloody Mary Herself. "The Rape of Europa and the portrait of Mary were acquired by Mrs. Gardner — hence the exhibition’s stopping here. You can see all the paintings here. It’s really something to see these works of art hung as a set, but there were so many people in there I felt constantly on guard. Because we all know that, besides housekeeping, I just love standing in the way.

2b) The museum, as always, was dressed in its best with flowers of Christmas reds and greens in the courtyard. Somehow the colors in the galleries seemed brighter, too. And getting to go through with rarely-seen friends and exchange new insights and old banter refreshed my spirit.

I wish I could have picked up a few rolls of this in the gift shop.

3) With the Christmas tree in my room, this evening I turned on the tree lights and had my cocktail hour sitting on the bed. It will not surprise you that I woke from an impromptu nap after almost two hours. And it was beautiful! In the words of the late Edith Piaf, je ne regrette rien.

I quite like my tree this year.

Tuesday Afternoon, 14 December

1) Packages in, packages out. No sooner had I mailed two boxes of gifts to the family than the Nice Delivery Service dropped off two boxes of gifts from the family to me — including one from Oldest Nephew Who Must Not Be Tagged. What a nice surprise! They are now under my tree waiting for Christmas.

1a) The very first Christmas gift I received from Oldest Nephew Who Must Not Be Tagged was a red pillow in the shape of a book about the Nutcracker. I just took it out last weekend; I love having it.

2) The Nice Neighborhood Handyman came by for a second coat of spackle or whatever it is around where the ceiling lights will go. After a third coat and a bit of sanding tomorrow, I’ll be completely ready for the return of the electrician. The thought of my beautiful new lights (stained glass for parlor and dining room, a frosted glass globe for the study) is not actually sustaining through the disorder that now stretches into every room of my house.

3) Nor is the national news, which is bringing on more despair than anything else. Realizing, too, that I’ve barely been outside since Thanksgiving (!) — I said to the handyman this morning that I’m unfortunately getting an early start on my Old Man Lifestyle, which is bad — and that I needed to clear my head, I forced myself out of the house for a good walk through the cemetery. Just what I needed.

Reverend Grant, with his parents and brothers.

3a) Not least because a couple good role models are there: William Lloyd Garrison and Rev. Percy Stickney Grant. Today especially it was important to call on them, pay my respects, and pray to have the strength to follow their example.

Mr. Garrison and his wife.

Sunday Afternoon, 12 December -- Christmas Domesticity

1) Though I cannot be said to work at dervish speed, I have been a Domestic Dervish this weekend. Tasks at the levels of both Basic and Christmas Domesticity have been unlocked. It will not surprise you to know that I am ready for my nap now.

2) Saturday I was at last able to load up on Christmas stamps, extra wrapping paper, and chocolates for the Advent calendar along with my usual neighborhood errands. Of course the only problem with chocolates is that, once the Advent calendar is loaded, there’s still all those other chocolates just lying around there without a little door you can only open on a specific day between you and them. Lord, give me strength!

3) Saturday also saw my first attempt at a pear upside-down cake. My sister sent me a dozen beautiful pears for Christmas, and I didn’t want any of them to go to waste; I could use up four of ‘em in a cake! The results proved that a) I am just not that Perfect Gay who does everything right out of Martha Stewart,* and b) SPLAT! Stil, it’s tasty.

SPLAT!

3a) Next time I’ll ladle out some of the syrup before adding the batter, and will spoon the batter more evenly over the surface. I will also not forget to sprinkle the minced candied ginger over the pears before spooning on the batter. Oopsie.

4) Man plans, God laughs, and contractors just say “Actually, you need to . . . . “ At long last I expected new ceiling fixtures to be installed in the parlor, dining room, and study. I got quite a shock earlier in the week when, after cutting holes in the ceilng for the necessary box thingy and wiring and whatnot, the electrician said to me “And I’ll be back after your plaster guy repairs the ceiling.” What, what?! I have been waiting to put up my Christmas tree until these fixtures were installed! (I projected more calm than that sentence implies in our discussion, I promise.)

4a) The neighborhood handyman is coming over tomorrow or Tuesday to take care of the ceilings. In the meantime, my ceilings are adorned with naked bulbs, brown paper, and painter’s tape.

5) Even so, I just had to put up my Christmas tree right now, and the solution was to do so in my room. I’m not sure I’ve had a Christmas tree in my bedroom since childhood (maybe once in graduate school), but it went up Saturday and I’m delighted with it.

6) Today, after producing my column, I put my nose to the Christmas grindstone and completed my shopping and wrapping for the family, all to the background of 1952’s Macao, an improbable crime drama with busty Robert Mitchum, bustier Jane Russell, the remarkable William Bendix, and Gloria Grahame (!) as a casino moll. Her gangster lover sees her trying on a diamond bracelet and says “You don’t want to bother with that cheap stuff” and she looks him dead in the eye and replies “What a way to be cheap.”

7) Yes, I’ve also been watching Alastair Sim in A Christmas Carol, and also The Lion in Winter. And soon it will be the time for The Thin Man and Sunset Boulevard!

*That woman!

Sunday Night, 5 December

1) Now that Repeal Day is over (and it was lovely, thanks to everyone who participated), I can actually look at the last three weeks of the year and what needs to happen: a) electricians coming to install ceiling fixtures in three rooms, b) Christmas, c) administrivia, and d) continued Marie Kondo. Just the thought of all that makes me want to go right back to bed and stay there.

2) Friday, after some delay, I finally received a box of oysters and a shucking knife that I’d been expecting. I’ve never shucked an oyster before, but of course I remember Santa Battaglia in A Confederacy of Dunces talking about her grammaw “shuckin’ dem ersters” in the French Quarter. I didn’t think it’d be a walk in the park, but I also didn’t expect to pierce my thumb on my first attempt. Long story short: cheese and crackers for hors d’oeuvres. I may have to find some stones to break them against my chest, like the otters.

3) Apparently today is Otto Preminger’s birthday, so I put on Forever Amber, and now I’m watching Laura. Both absolute classics.

Clifton Webb as Waldo Lydecker and Dana Andrews as Mark MacPherson in Laura.

Early Tuesday Morning, 30 November

1) Sometimes, wisdom comes along when you really need it. Today I have to start a difficult discussion, and how to engage diplomatically and unapologetically and specifically has been gnawing at me. This morning, I picked up Baltasar Gracián’s The Art of Worldly Wisdom for the first time in awhile for devotional, and wouldn’t you know it, number 245 held part of the answer for me: “Consider it an honor to be criticized, especially by those who speak ill of good people. You should be pained when your things please everyone; it is a sign that they are not good, for perfection belongs only to a few.”

1a) I show up on both sides of this coin. While I have to share criticism today, I have certainly had readers call me to account if they disagree with Etiquetteer.

2) I haven’t left this house since Thursday morning, and all of a sudden I have a lunch with my brother-in-law’s niece visiting from the West Coast. How exciting!

3) The pleasure of seeing items turn up on my calendar is mitigated by Omicron. It confirms that I made the right call in keeping Repeal Day this Friday evening on Zoom and not in person.

3a) And you can still get tickets here.

Monday Afternoon, 29 November -- Lingering Thoughts About Sondheim

1) After the death of Sondheim I felt compelled to do an internet search for A Little Night Music. Heaven knows why . . . probably because my friend Chris got me tickets to see the Huntington’s amazing production a few years ago. So I was shocked to discover that Lesley-Anne Down (!) from Upstairs Downstairs had been in a movie version with no less than Elizabeth Taylor Herself and Diana Rigg! Not to mention Hermione Gingold reprising her role from the original Broadway cast.

Diana Rigg and Lesley-Anne Down.

1a) So that was interesting, mostly for Diana Rigg. I very much prefer the 1990 “Live from Lincoln Center” broadcast of the New York City Opera’s version with Sally Ann Howes and Regina Resnik.

2) But aside from all that, this line from “Love Takes Time” keeps coming back to me: “And Love is a lecture on how to correct your mistakes.” Love is often perceived as romantic, intense, parental, uxorious . . . but lecturing? Could that be considered a branch of compassion? This lyric keeps appearing and reappearing in my thoughts — it completely drove a long and involved dream out of my head before I could even reach the bedroom door — and I feel like I have the key to a great emotional insight here . . . but I can’t find the lock.

3) My first personal encounter with any Sondheim was at Interlochen, singing “You’re Gonna Love Tomorrow” from Follies with Katie, Drew, and Laura the night before we graduated as part of a big, final Broadway Night overseen by the remarkable Mrs. Jones. I did not appreciate at that point in my life how great that song, or that musical, really was. Some things are only gained by experience.

Saturday Evening, 27 November

1) There’s nothing like the potential of houseguests to goad domestic action. With a friend possibly staying here overnight at the end of the week, I knew I could put off no longer beginning Marie Kondo in the study/guest room. The day bed has been heaped with stuff for months, absolutely unwelcoming for company. I knew I had to take action today.

2) Mostly, that meant putting boxes of items Marie Kondo would class as “sentimental” back in the closet, photographs and letters and notebooks, etc. But I began by tossing out a lot of unnecessary papers and other trash, and setting aside a box of Items of Interest for another yard sale.

2a) Two of the more difficult items were framed photographs of my parents, Christmas gifts from years ago, their photos for the church directory. I love my parents (may they rest in peace) but . . . I have never really liked these photos of them. Mother was trying out different hairstyles in each that, ultimately, didn’t really suit her (which is why she chose to return to her classic look), and there are other pictures of Daddy that make him look livelier than these. But . . . they’re my parents, and these pictures are framed so nicely (even if one of them isn’t really to my taste). After a fraught moment I mustered up the courage to thank them both and put them gently into the trash. Still . . .

2b) In a less fraught vein, I went through a large scrapbook that must have come from Arthur Friedman (may he rest in peace), full of 8x10 glossies and magazine covers of movie and Broadway performers. There were about half a dozen from Death in Venice starring Dirk Bogarde, but the scraps were not organized with any rhyme or reason. I retained (as carefully as possible) several of the glossies; some of them might be considered collector’s items on ye Ybay.

2b.i) I met Arthur in 1988 or 1989 through my grad school roommate Tom. Arthur, while irascible, could also be very endearing, and he was very generous to me in invitations to the theatre. He taught me, among other things, that when you’re sitting in the front row at a theatre you must never turn your attention away from the stage, even to look at the program. When one is young, there is so much to learn . . .

2c) I also read through a letter Mother wrote me on November 24, 1985, on red paper that she said she wouldn’t buy again because it was too dark. Aside from news of her cousins and clippings about Edwin Edwards’s latest trial, she wrote about attending the funeral of Elnora, who had been Granny’s maid (and Aunt Kate’s, and cousin Audrey’s) all through my childhood. Elnora was so tall I remember, with catseye glasses and a noticeable mustache — very interesting to a young boy who had never seen a lady with a mustache before. And a very good cook, of course! I kept the letter, but tossed the clippings.

3) Late in the day, during the tea hour, I did a tarot reading for the first time in the long time, and the most enduring message that came from it was this (quoted from Biddy Tarot): “. . . you might be keeping yourself busy with small tasks, but struggling to make progress towards your bigger goals. [emphasis mine] It is time to take a step back and assess whether you are indeed focused on the right things, or if you need to shift your focus to bring your activities back in alignment with your broader goals.” Frankly, I couldn’t agree more.

Wednesday, 24 November -- Day Before

1) Well dahlings, Man plans, and God . . . surprises you with a better idea. I intended to spend the day before Thanksgiving cleaning my house and making a pie. Instead, my old friend and former roommate Anno reached out while I was in New York and suggested we meet at the MFA for lunch. Lunch out vs. scrubbing and cooking? The choice was obvious.

2) This was a great day to sweep out of the house in my winter white overcoat. As I passed the neighbor’s yard en route to the T, however, I was momentarily startled to notice four large, very much alive turkeys quite close to their chain link fence. And then alarmed when one of them noticed me. There was some loud hissing, a couple threatening squawks, and deliberate movement toward me. Remembering that the fence would end soon, leaving nothing between us, I prudently crossed the street.

2a) Returning home, I was pleased to see they were no longer there — or in my yard either.

3) Anno and I met by the Chihuly Pillar of Green Icicles and had lunch in the Great Big Courtyard, the first time we had seen each other in the flesh since autumn of 2019. So much to talk about besides the usual family updates and general catch-up!

4) Afterward we repaired to the second floor galleries. The MFA has been rehung to accommodate the new Center for Netherlandish Art. I quite like what they’ve done with the place, though a few old friends, like Gerome’s L’Eminénce Grise, seem to have been packed off to storage.

The Triumph of the Winter Queen.

4a) This also meant The Triumph of the Winter Queen has been moved to a more central position, which is wonderful.

4b) Anno did take the time to point out Christ in Majesty, a gem in the collection I more often than not pass over. When I was studying for my 50th birthday trip to Venice I learned about Christ Pantocrator, which is in the first church built in Venice (on the island of Torcello), and I do have to wonder if these two interpretations are one and the same. This is one of those occasions where I have to rely on the many people I know who are More Intelligent Than I.

She has absolutely had enough of you.

5) The MFA staff staged a one-day strike last week protesting wages and other aspects of employment there. Touring the museum today made me feel the value these employees bring to the museum, and also some of my experiences 20 years ago working at the Pastel Prison. I very much hope that this will be resolved with justice for the employees.

6) In the evening, I had the opportunity to put Etiquetteer’s words about poise into practice. Long story short, there is a difference between heavy cream and half and half. But rather than panic or get huffy, I held onto my temper, said what I often said to my volunteers — “There’s a solution for everything!” — parked everything in the refrigerator, and went to bed.

6a) Update from Thanksgiving morning: all is well, since I got the last container of heavy cream at Ruggiero’s.

Bacchus, by Elaine Kooning.

Mon-Tues, 22-23 November -- Overnight in New York

1) My purpose in swooping down on mad Manhattan a second time this November was to attend the opening night Monday of A Sherlock Carol starring my high school friend Drew. Thank goodness I rechecked the times of everything #dangeroustoassume. My train left two hours earlier than I thought I’d reserved, and the curtain time was one hour earlier than expected!

Le smize sur le train.

2) My train trip down was punctuated by the occasional whimpering of a dog a few rows down. This made me feel alternately sympathetic and irritated.

3) On arrival, my first stop was the Algonquin, where I had not stayed since January, 2020. Previously I have mentioned that the Algonk is my spiritual home in New York. Ever since I discovered Margaret Case Harriman’s Blessed Are the Debonair on one of the discount racks at Brattle Books, I have just loved the saga of Frank Case, his hotel, and its theatrical residents. Margaret brought that whole world and period to life so vividly in her book, and in his way, so did her father in his books Tales of a Wayward Inn and Do Not Disturb. To sit in its lounge and order a drink was always to recall the story of Patrick Dennis taking Agnes Gooch there on Christmas Night after seeing the Radio City Christmas spectacular. I just loved it.

That big table is round, but it is not the Round Table.

3a) When I walked through both sets of double doors, I stopped in shock, stunned. The Algonquin had been redecorated!

3b) My poor, sweet, beautiful, loving, patient, and long-suffering friends have heard me go through this before. They might as well quote Fred MacMurray in Double Indemnity saying to Edward G. Robinson, “OK, let’s turn the record over and hear the other side.” They heard my volcanic rage when First Methodist “remodeled” the sanctuary in the early 1990s so that it looked more interior-decorated and less dignified (and eliminated both aisles because of unimaginative brides and their mothers who could only envision a triumphant entrance and exit on one center aisle). They did not hear (but may have felt) my sadness and disappointment when my high school tore down Grunow Theatre to expand the Dance Building. Sure, it had been condemned for years and was even falling down and infested with skunks when I was a student, but a) that isn’t my fault, and b) it was a chalice for my youth. I am absolutely sure that there have been other occasions, and someone is likely to pop off and remind me about it/them in pointed detail. I deserve it. I recognize my insufferability.

3c) But . . . the Algonquin Hotel is — WAS — a landmark of a Great Era in New York Theatre and Literature, beyond what I feel about it myself. Frank Case and his indulgence of the characters who became known as the Algonquin Round Table made the Algonquin a place. NOW . . . all that beautiful dark paneling has been painted white, the furnishings were stolen from a 1960s airport, and some truly atrocious light fixtures have been installed. Everything that made the Algonquin charming, historic, individual, has been erased to leave it just like any other Marriott Hotel.

3d) They even got rid of the Round Table!

Margaret Case Harriman opens Blessed Are the Debonair with a remembrance of this clock.

3e) At least they kept the tall case grandfather clock and four or six of the original dining room sconces. Barely a ghost whispering into a modern void.

4) Enough of that. After I checked in and dropped my bags, I sallied forth for a late lunch and then to explore the Diamond District on 47th Street. An Instagram merchant from whom I purchased something earlier this year was only a couple blocks from the Algonk, so I thought I’d check in. The atmosphere — of the street and the storefront where this merchant had a booth — was too active and brightly lit for me to be able to concentrate. Homeless, Hasidim, tourists, natives, people of all kinds bustling and hustling about over these Gorgeous Little Bits. Truly, I found it overwhelming.

5) After some minor plastic surgery in my room, I suited up for the theatre. Because this was a show about Sherlock Holmes, I’d worn my cape from Venice, and if I do say so myself, I looked quite nice. Between getting my ticket and heading in for the show, I lingered in a small bar near the theatre . . . that hadn’t yet received its liquor license. The owner was most obliging, but the experience was, shall we say, lacking.

6) At the theatre, I cast about for examples of the “festive attire” we’d all been encouraged to wear. This trip decided me that from now on, my answer to the dress code “festive attire” will be to wear one (or both) of my Gramma’s Mexican silver filigree brooches. Early on it was mostly flannel shirts and down jackets, which made me feel overdressed and confirmed my opinion at that the middle class has just given up. But later, I saw some sparkly dresses, one very thin gentleman in a suit of shiny winter white, and some other “deft and tasteful suggestions.” The whole affair definitely felt like an occasion — which is what one wants on opening night!

7) I knew no one in a theatre full of people who already knew each other, but did have a delightful exchange with the woman sitting one seat away from me when we realized that no one would be sitting between us and we could use that seat for our belongings. I was so happy not to have to sit through the show with a five-pound black wool cape in my lap!

8) A Sherlock Carol, to be clear, was an absolute triumph on all counts. Having attended the first preview November 11, I could see where things had been tightened, brightened, enhanced, smoothed out, polished — all to magnificent effect. Particularly the Blue Carbuncle, an important plot element. It was very easy to stand for an ovation at the curtain call; what a great night of theatre!

9) But with no after party due to COVID, I was left to myself to figure out dinner. Remembering our lovely dinner at Russian Samovar two blocks away, I thought to dine at the bar. On arriving, I couldn’t even enter the restaurant without the Nice Young Woman outside the entrance asking “Oh, the Etiquetteer! Are you here for the memorial service?” Oopsie, private party! I pressed on down 52nd Street with that awkward feeling of awkwardness averted and ended up at Gallagher’s, a restaurant with a large meat room visible from the street. I sat at the curve of the bar and had a very gentlemanly dinner of 120 years ago: wedge salad, filet mignon with mushroom garlic butter, a pie-sized plate of hash browns, and profiteroles. No wonder the twins are due any day now!

10) In the morning, I drifted down 6th Avenue and Broadway to 28th Street, and over to 5th Avenue with a length of fabric from Liberty’s in my gloved hand, rediscovered thanks to Marie Kondo. And so I was fitted for my first-ever custom shirt by a man who looked very much like Al Franken, especially around the eyeglasses, and kept talking about off-topic topics like the theatre, restaurants, New York, specific Broadway productions, not my shirt. But I enjoyed the experience of this active theatrical atelier (they also do a lot of theatre work), and I’m afraid I left with a few swatches of some exquisite pale grey shirting that just make my mouth water.

11) Afterward I continued drifting to Union Square, in spite of my first resolve not to visit a bookstore this trip*. Their Christmas Market was going on, which led me to a) purchase a couple gifts for family members, and b) have such happy memories of Mother that I called my sister and we talked for quite awhile. Mother, as Empress of the church craft fair, would have loved so much about almost every booth I saw. Some of the offerings were so much in her style! It was pleasant to remember her in this context, and to share that with my sister just before Thanksgiving.

12) Later in the afternoon I met with an etiquette colleague in the lobby of the Ace Hotel — coincidentally, just around the corner from where I was fitted for my shirt. We had a wide-ranging conversation over coffee in deep armchairs, touching on issues light and heavy.

13) At this moment I am on the train, barreling through the black night toward home, near the end of my second bourbon and water, occasionally seeing the waning moon glowing in the night, listening to my latest musical obsession (from Grouplove in 2011), grateful and a little wistful for all the experiences I’ve just had.

14) How on earth can Thanksgiving be less than 48 hours away?!

*Union Square is perilously close to Strand Bookstore.

Monday Evening, 8 November

1) I know better than to listen to high-energy music before bed, much less after I’m in bed. But last night some whimsical perversity led me to a search on the Yewtybbe for Brahms’ Academic Overture for two pianos. Which led me to this recording of it set for pipe organ . . . and percussion. I can only say that if the late Kay Thompson suddenly reappeared as a carousel on acid, it would be as this organ/percussion arrangement of the Academic Overture. And I have no problem with that! Damn, I’d have it at the prelude at my wedding — which might explain why I’m still single, LOL.

1a) Really, just start listening at 07:21 and march on to the end. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll cheer, you’ll go to a seance to summon Kay Thompson back from the dead.

1b) Those of you who know my views on percussion instruments in church will be shocked to find out how much I love this arrangement.

2) Otherwise, some long-postponed or procrastinated items are getting some action this month. I finally sold that mini-fridge left over from the kitchen reno, the one that had been taking up space in the dining room. An electrician is now scheduled to come Pearl Harbor Day to start installing some ceiling fixtures; the dining room has been without since 2016! My vaccine booster is now scheduled for mid-month. And this is just a sampling. It all feels good.

3) We all know my devotion to Movies Made Before I Was Born, but I confess I am most interested in seeing House of Gucci, and now Don’t Look Up. I continue to surprise myself.

Tuesday Morning, 2 November -- Memento Mori, Tempus Fugit, and All That

Sobering thoughts this morning to make haste while one may . . .

1) For my morning pages I remembered an old news clipping Mother had in the kitchen — which I now have in my study — about a train that got snowed in on the prairie overnight, and the nearby farmhouse to which almost everyone trekked in the morning for pancakes and coffee. Turns out the farmer’s wife and her visiting sisters were all cousins of my great-grandfather. I always thought it would make a good children’s story . . . but it’s fallen behind the stove from the back burner, you might say.

2) Moving into the parlor for devotional, I picked up Steven Petrow’s new book Stupid Things I Won’t Do When I Get Old (which I want to review for Etiquetteer anyway). The next chapter was “I Won’t Postpone for Tomorrow What Matters to Me Today,” which included the alarming statistic that men who retire at 55 are 90% more likely to die in the following decade that those who retire at 65. Guess how old I was when I left MIT. That’s right, 55!

2a) Petrow also talked about his visit to Deathclock.com to calculate the anticipated day of his death . . . which was sooner than he expected. My first result indicated that I should have died in 2016! Turns out attitude makes a big difference. If I was really “pessimistic,” I’d’ve died in 2016; if “sadistic,” in 2000. With a “normal” mode, my anticipated date of death was calculated at Friday, August 8, 2036. If “optimistic,” that would have been 2052, but my reaction to that was “Who wants to live that long?!”

2b) If I accept this result, at least I make my 50th high school reunion, which would be absolutely worth it.

3) So . . . so Daddy needs to press on with what matters with a greater sense of urgency.

Hallowe'en Morning, 2021 - What Was That?!

1) Snug in my bed, half awake and half dreaming, barely a sliver of streetlight shining through the curtains — suddenly there was a crash! And the sound of breakage!

1a) The classic narration continues with “A door slammed. The maid screamed.” But it was nothing like that.

2) Something had happened, and though I was loath to leave my bed, I knew I had to investigate. As I slipped on a shirt, I remembered now it is Hallowe’en!

3) From room to room I crept, shoulders tense. I put on a pair of shoes in the kitchen, remembering the sound of breaking glass. The clock on the stove said 4:41 AM.

4) Had it come from the pantry? I had to open the door to find out! No, everything was as I left it there. Switching on lights, nothing had altered the familiar disorder of the parlor, the bathroom, the study.

5) What had happened? Had some horrible rat crept back into this house and slithered among my grandmother’s china, wreaking havoc? The mind is not rational at 4:41 AM. Was it Weeping Baby Pumpkin Head?! DEAR GOD, NOT THAT!

6) Finally, on the floor of the dining room, a long orange tube on the carpet. What on earth? Oh! A taper! Two tapers! Yesterday I had fitted some orange candles into that big brass candelabra for Hallowe’en, and two of them had fallen out of their holders. The breakage I heard was one of the little bobeches, its small shards scattered on the floor.

7) Phew, mystery solved! I picked up the broken glass and returned to bed. What a way to start Hallowe’en.

RBD Version 1.59, Activate!

1) This second birthday during COVID stole over me gently like a slow and shallow tide on a flat beach. I could see it coming, but I wasn’t particularly alarmed or excited about it. But don’t get me wrong — I haven’t stopped loving my birthday! Along with New Year’s Eve, October 28 has its own unique radiance.

1a) This year that radiance was very much tinted by all the people I couldn’t be with in person — and of course when I say all you know very well I mean everyone I’ve ever met in my entire life.

2) Three scheduled activities occupied my day, one of which had nothing to do with my birthday. In the late morning a very dear friend called for coffee with half a dozen assorted doughnuts from Kane’s. We had a good old-fashioned visit in my parlor for almost two hours; it was like the Before Times.

2a) But the sugar content in that one chocolate glazed doughnut left me — how shall I say this? — sharpened by a halo of sugary spears, and I was more than relieved when I found an acetomenophan (sp?) in the house. Oof!

3) In the late afternoon I attended a Zoom retirement party for a friend and former colleague at ye Instytytte. Something like 100 attendees, and so many friendly and familiar faces in all those little boxes — just not possible to reach out to every one. This event created a cozy screen of happy memories I felt I hadn’t accessed in awhile.

4) Early in the evening I gathered at ye South Ynde Byttery for a little birthday dinner with three friends. Early because I’d asked to dine outside due to COVID, and it’s getting chilly. This turned out to be the perfect evening to launch my Venetian tabarro for the season, and I must say, it’s perfect for al fresco dining in the autumn.

4a) And a very good dinner: devils on horseback, Faroe Island salmon, a quantity of rosé, and then chocolate mousse (their only dessert) and apologies from the waitress that “our birthday candles were taken away.”

4b) Suddenly I jumped out of my skin when I felt a hand clap down on my shoulder. When you’re dining outside in the South End with your back to the sidewalk, well . . . it could be anybody. In this case, anybody was the beaming face and person of my friend Jim, walking home from a meeting, and a true pleasure to see him it was.

5) I didn’t get onto ye Fycebykke until late in the afternoon — let’s face it, I am just not spending much time there now — but in a shameless bid for attention I did put up a post and a story on Etiquetteer’s Ynstagrym. And it was indeed gratifying! And there were private messages, and replies to photos — every year I love reading and responding to everyone — and in real life, birthday cards, phone calls, one friend singing Happy Birthday on video, another on Facetime, and anxiety from my English friends about a parcel that hasn’t yet arrived.

5a) But the overall impression (looking back a day later) was of a cascade of names, impressions, memories, happinesses — but just out of reach in a shimmering wall. What is that wall? COVID, geographic distance, change of different kinds (routine, circumstance, position), and sometimes preference. It is keeping me from a peopled life, at least during the pandemic.

5b) I would just love to have gathered these hundreds of friends, colleagues, cousins together for one Big Occasion. I am like my Granny Dimmick that way; we both loved having a lot of people around.

6) And speaking of Granny, it was only fitting that at about 11 PM I got a text: “Are you at home by yourself?” About five minutes later my fun-loving Crazy Cousines from Atlanta called with a rendition of Happy Birthday delivered with their traditional brio. Absolutely wonderful!

7) On a more introspective note, Version 1.59 has to clean up a lot of bugs from, say, Version 1.5 through Version 1.58. It is a terrible thing to reach this age and delve into etiquette books only to be confronted by the enormity of one’s failings. (No, I am not talking about setting the table wrong. Oh no.) Queen Gertrude’s words come back to me a lot right now: “Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;/And there I see such black and grainéd spots/As will not leave their tinct.” Reprogramming the software to prevent error repetition feels like a big job.

8) I am at least still privileged, as I like to say at my parties, to know only the Very Best People. Of course that means YOU! I sure hope you can be with me in two years when I launch Version 1.40.a.

Friday Morning, 22 October -- Catch-up

1) The P’town Housemate tipped me off last week that Boston Opera Collaborative was performing in my Happy Place, Forest Hills Cemetery. This resulted in the equation Opera + Happy Place = Attendance. The resulting program, The Lives They Lived, featured seven singers at the graves of seven (more, actually) prominent women and men, singing relevant songs from a wide range of material. Some of the permanent residents I knew about already: sculptor Martin Milmore, e.e. cummings, Elma Lewis, etc. Others I did not: actress Fanny Davenport, composer Amy Beach, and a very distant cousin, Dr. Susan Dimock, who founded what became Dimock Community Health Center.

Vissi d’arte.

1a) Again, the repertoire went everywhere, from “Vissi d’arte” to “Defying Gravity” to “Someone to Watch Over Me” to — oh damn, some piece sung in German by I think Gounod. The singers all performed with pre-recorded piano accompaniment — tech difficulties only snagged the show once — but it was so powerful to hear these works outside when one can only accept the additional sounds of wind, of traffic, of the cemetery bell tower chiming every 15 minutes. And indeed, a couple times the distant sound of soloists in other parts of the cemetery! I was charmed by the entire exercise, and I hope they’ll do it again.

1b) And I noted that they specified in more than one place that there was no seating and if you wanted to bring a folding lawn chair (and carry it yourself), you could. The number of times, back in the day, that I had to say “It is actually a walking tour so there will not be any place to sit down . . . “

With Catherine and Michael on the Greenway, Custom House Tower in the background.

2) The appearance of blood relations in the city is always a cause for rejoicing — nobody in the family ever makes it this far Northeast — so for a couple months I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of cousin Catherine and her son Michael from Out West to look at colleges. I hadn’t seen Catherine in roughly 20 years, and I’d never met Michael. Essentially we spent about eight hours walking on Tuesday, including a private tour of MIT, both Mass. Ave. and Longfellow bridges, Beacon Hill, and Back Bay. Today is Friday, and I think my body is still recovering. #agingactressyesterdaysglamourqueen

2a) We met again the next afternoon, after their scheduled activities, to look over Faneuil Hall, the waterfront, the Greenway, eat lobster at Legal’s, and then stroll the North End, which was as picturesque as all getout and crowded with people.

2b) For the genealogically minded, Catherine is my second cousin once removed. Her mother, Alice, is my second cousin, our common ancestor being our great-grandmother Alice Vivian, who ran the boardinghouse in New Orleans. This makes Michael my second cousin twice removed.

2c) Talk of family of course permeated the entire visit, and it did underscore for me how most of the family I know are No Longer With Us, and how few of the Younger Generations I actually know personally. I could always rely on Mother to maintain those relationships and that information . . . and of course she is No Longer With Us.

3) Now I have returned to the Cape for the final week of my summer/fall share. We have come to the part of the year when you definitely cannot assume that a particular business will be open. Including the ferry, so I took the bus down yesterday afternoon. Half the price of the ferry, but just over twice as long. The benefit was the sunset view over the bay (see above) — for me totally worth the price of admission.

3a) At the moment the weather is beautiful, but rain is forecast later in the week. Close friends will be down for the weekend, a rare chance for us all to be together. Anxiety about global and national situations seems to fill me as much as the sunshine; my insides must be like the yin/yang symbol. All I can do at this point is to celebrate this day for itself.

Tuesday Morning, 19 October

1) Back in bed with the dregs of my second cup of coffee after a successful dinner for four last night. It was going to be five, but someone cancelled that morning. At first I felt annoyance, then compassion (I’ve had those days and have certainly cancelled at the last minute myself), and then the relief of “Oh, four is much easier than five.”

1a) One of the guests said “gluten free,” so I experimented with this recipe for a pan of chicken, potatoes, and green beans, followed by salad, and almost every single one of the Burdick’s Hallowe’en chocolates Laura sent early for my birthday. The potatoes could have used another five to ten minutes in the oven, in my view.

1b) And for a rarity, I was actually able to follow Mrs. Beeton’s old maxim “Clean as you go.” Between getting dinner in the oven and the arrival of the first guests I was able to wash up almost everything in the sink, which means all I have to deal with this morning is one pan, one spatula, and the glasses. I call that winning.

2) Today is both Grampa’s birthday and Cousin Susan’s, may they both rest in peace. It is pleasant to remember them and how special they remain.

3) Awkwardness between me and an IG follower who was maybe starting to get a little too close resulted in me putting up a couple boundaries, and then learning that the follower is, in fact, not just some rando but a close internet friend of another friend of mine for five years. So . . . still awkward, but now with reassuring references.

Friday Morning, 15 October

1) Parlor coffee and devotional. Mother’s Bible opened to Psalm 88, which includes this verse: “Friends and neighbors thou hast put far from me, and mine acquaintances thou hast kept away from me.” How very appropriate for the pandemic.

2) No one has done any significant gardening or yard work this summer, and it appears we have nearly a field of some weed with wooly-looking lavender caterpillars on it growing beside the house and in back, spiked here and there with china asters. I can’t decide if I like it or not.

2a) That said, it is astonishing the height and tenacity to which a weed can grow. A week or so ago I vigorously ripped out a stand of weeds just over half my height near the front of the house. I won, but it was a battle!

3) The stack of unread books in my parlor has grown by two. In P’town last week I picked up Jet Set: The People, the Planes, the Glamour, and the Romance of Aviation’s Glory Years, by William Stadiem. This week H sent me a new novel for my birthday, The Fortnight in September, by R.C. Sherriff.

Tuesday Morning, 12 October -- Home Again

1) Returned home yesterday on the last ferry of the 2021 Provincetown season. While we had been sent a Rough Seas Advisory the day before, I didn’t find Cape Cod Bay dramatically rougher than usual. I will miss the view of the Cape and of the city from the water. Each is a beautiful place I love.

2) Immediately on walking into the door, I plunged myself into a Zoom meeting and a manhattan, and later into a large pepperoni, mushroom, and black olive pizza (most delicious, but most unwise).

3) This morning I have been up since before 7, feeling like I had to push the boulder of Sisyphus up the hilltop with my nose. Catching up on media intake, mostly via Twitter (most interesting, but most unwise), but with the food-for-thought bonus of the Now & Then podcast co-hosted by historian Joanne B. Freeman. It was her book Field of Blood: Violence in Congress at the Road to Civil War that I found so necessary, but so difficult, to read. The podcast is worth your time.

Long Point in the silvery blaze of afternoon.

Saturday MIdday, 2 October

1) You might say I’m having a slow-moving day after a late, but lovely, dinner last night with an Interlochen friend and his husband in town from the West. 9 PM, Petit Robert, French 75s, oysters, steak frites, lemon almond tart. We chatted about Palm Springs, child stars of yore, the local university scene, and dogs, since they were all around us.

2) Now that October has begun and the pumpkins are up from the cellar, I can start putting the old scary movies on regularly: Bela Lugosi’s Dracula, Frederic March’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and my beloved 1943 Phantom of the Opera with Claude Rains, Nelson Eddy, Susanna Foster, and Hume Cronyn as the second detective.

2a) Last year I got The Mask of Fu Manchu with Boris Karloff, Myrna Loy, Karen Morley, beautiful but dumb Charles Starrett, and that dude who plays the angry preacher in Shanghai Express. But sweet mercy goodness, it’s not an easy film to watch (for a lot of different reasons), and I doubt I’ll watch it again this year. I don’t recommend it.

3) I have another brief spell in Provincetown next week, and it looks like I’ll be on the last ferry of the season when I return on Columbus Day. I am so grateful and pleased to have the chance to spend part of the autumn there, but it looks like I’ll have to take the bus for my final week.

Thursday Morning, 30 September - Chill in the Air

1) I should be taking advantage of today’s glorious autumn weather to enjoy the Robert B. Dimmick Memorial Banquette West, but the neighbors are taking advantate of today’s glorious autumn weather to continue reroofing their garage, so the atmosphere is, um, active. I must consider an alternative.

2) Last night I dined with a friend curbside at Little Bobby’s: gnocchi with duck for me, followed by a small lemon almond tart. I’d thought about starting with oysters (a new interest), but my friend evinced more interest in the sweeter side of the menu. And that’s just fine!

3) If you’ve got a good recipe for pork roast, please let me know.

Tuesday Morning, 28 September -- The Unread

Because a week and a half ago I picked up Palladian Days: Finding a New Life in a Venetian Country House at the Provincetown Library book sale and whooshed right through it, I am suddenly taking a long look at the very large quantity of unread books in my parlor. Some have recently come to me, others have languished here for years. During the pandemic many of them have served as my tripod for Facetime and Zoom calls. What’s in the stack? Let’s take a look!

• The Worlds of Lincoln Kirstein , by Martin Duberman. Just picked up for $5 at Brattle Books yesterday. I tried to read one of Kirstein’s books years ago, but damn, he is the most prolix and dense writer. On the other hand, I’ve always loved Duberman’s Stonewall, and Kirstein did put himself in the center of all that was both modern and good in the mid-century. I’m eager to get to this.

• White Trash: The 400-Year Untold History of Class in America, by Nancy Isenberg. Technically I am halfway through this, but I started it — hell, I don’t even remember when, it’s been that long — so I’ll probably just have to start over at the beginning.

• Contagious: Why Things Catch On, by Jonah Berger. Looked interesting at Strand Books on a trip to New York at least two years ago.

• Civility: Manners, Morals, and the Etiquette of Democracy, by Stephen L. Carter. I don’t remember when I got this at Brattle Books, but it’s the kind of thing Etiquetteer ought to be reading.

• Venice Incognito: Masks in the Serene Republic, by James H. Johnson. One of the many wonderful books I was given in 2013 before my trip to Venice — so many I am still reading my way through, and loving them.

• The Ceremonial City: History, Memory and Myth in Renaissance Venice, by Iain Fenlon. Same.

• When I Knew, edited by Robert Trachtenberg. “A collection of smart, hilarious, and often poignant stories about that revelation for all gay men and women: when they first knew.” Come to think of it, I can’t remember when I first knew . . .

• ITEMS: Is Fashion Modern?, by Paola Antonelli and Michelle Millar Fisher. I loved this exhibition at MoMA, and had a few ideas for columns from it that, alas, died on the vine.

• Nightwork, by Joseph Hansen. The seventh of the Dave Brandstetter mysteries. I was introduced to this series back in college, but apparently never read past the fifth one.

• Good-Bye to All That, “Written, Art Directed, and Produced by Harris Lewine, Designed by Alan Peckolick.” I got this — I don’t know what it is, an anecdotal history of cigarettes? — at Brattle Books because I loved the design of it and the way it felt in my hands. But it does feel rather confusing, trying to read it.

• Less, by Andrew Sean Greer. H. gave me this for Christmas, 2019 — he always manages to find me perfect books, but sometimes they have to sit with me awhile before I can absorb them in the right spirit. I got up to the point where the protagonist got on the wrong airport shuttle in Italy and had to put it down. But I know I’ll come back to it. (I did the same thing with Atlas Shrugged, which I read for Daddy in college because he admired Ayn Rand so much.)

• The Collected Stories of Jean Stafford. Another H. Christmas gift, from 2020. He chose her novel Boston Adventure for me, which was SO GOOD, so I know this will be wonderful.

• White People Do Not Know How to Behave at Entertainments Designed for Ladies & Gentlemen of Colour: William Brown’s African and American Theatre, by Marvin McAllister. A forgotten episode in the American theatre of the 1820s, discovered at Brattle Books.

• The Age of Living Machines: How Biology Will Build the Next Technology Revolution, by Susan Hockfield. Sent me by the Koch Institute after I introduced Susan at an online program about this book in 2020. I sometimes surprise myself with interest in science-oriented things (e.g. the history of aniline dyes, ginseng cultivation in West Virginia, the use of poison at the court of Louis XIV), so this is likely to be good.

• The Lucius Beebe Reader, from my West Coast friend Will, who was introduced to me by our mutual friend Carl. Beebe was a true bon viveur, not to mention his connection with Brennan’s in New Orleans and its Breakfast at Brennan’s cookbook.

• Mrs. Jack, by Louise Hall Tharp. Craig just gave me this paperback edition (with an Avenue Victor Hugo pricetag on it) of this biography of Isabella Stewart Gardner, which I’ve never happened to read. The cover art makes her look impossibly beautiful, whereas we all know she was one homely girl . . . but with exquisite taste.

• Jock’s Island, by Elizabeth Coatsworth. I snatched up this $1.00 paperback at a junk shop in Gloucester less to read this children’s book than to share it with my friend Liz. Elizabeth Coatsworth just happens to be her grandmother . . .

• I Heard the Owl Call my Name, by Margaret Craven. “The gentle bestseller that is sweeping the world,” a novel about a younger priest near the end of his life being sent to a new calling in Alaska. Found this at Mother’s and the first couple chapters compelled me sufficiently to take it when we were cleaning out the house.

• Center Center: A Funny, Sexy, Sad Almost-Memoir of a Boy in Ballet, by James Whiteside. Just got this through Papercuts JP, my neighborhood independent bookstore. James was in the apprentice company when I worked at the Ballet, and has since become a superstar in more realms than dance. I am eager to read his story of how he did it!

• Stupid Things I Won’t Do When I Get Old, by Steven Petrow. Dan Post Senning interviewed the author on the Awesome Etiquette podcast, which is how I heard about this book. Having seen so many examples in my reunion days of the kind of old man I don’t want to be, I really want to leap into this soon.

• A Field Guide to Whiskey, by Hans Offringa. It came in a package from Bespoke Post.

• Witches and Warlocks of Massachusetts: Legends, Victims, and Sinister Spellcasters, by Peter Muise. My dear friend Peter’s new book is wonderful — I’m actually halfway through it — and I’m seeing my home state (Louisiana is my native state) in a new, deeper way. It’s also a lot of fun. Ordered through Papercuts JP, which I hope is stocking it now.

• Red Orchestra: The Story of the Berlin Underground and the Circle of Friends Who Resisted Hitler, by Anne Nelson. Found at Provincetown Library book sale this month. Discovering Missie Vassiltchikov’s Berlin Diaries over 25 years ago was a revelation, and this book will paint a broader picture of her circle.

• The Age of Decadence A History of Britain: 1880-1914, by Simon Heffer. Where did I just find this?! It’s a recent purchase. Tim’s Used Books? Simon Heffer, an author with whom I’m unfamiliar, has been on my mind ‘cause apparently he’s just edited the diaries of Chips Channon (who I don’t really know, but know enough that I want to know more). This book is so thick, as Laurie Anderson tells us, “it could stun an ox.”

Whew, mercy, two dozen books! That looks like it, at least in the parlor . . . of course I can’t start on any of them until I finish Joanne B. Freeman’s Field of Blood: Violence in Congress and the Road to Civil War. At last I’m 50 pages from the end (spoiler alert: they go to war) after a year or so. It is so valuable to read, but it’s not at all a comfortable read.