Author: lgmwriting

Lady Chatterley’s Lover

If I was being pushed to choose which is my favorite book, this would be it.
Grossly misunderstood–a joke–“dirty.”
The sex in the book is used as a language. It’s the language of the best anti-war, anti-establishment book ever written. The book 1984 by George Orwell comes second.

The interesting part is that the book has stayed the same while I grew up and matured. I read it when I was 18, a dreamy adolescent. There were parts of it that I could not have truly understood until much later, when I’d gained some knowledge of Lawrence’s life. At that time, first discovering sex, I saw it mainly as a love story, taking place on a different continent. However, I may be selling myself short. I could tell, even then, that this was real literature, the best there was.

Constance is married to Clifford who had been dreadfully maimed in WWI, confined to a wheelchair. The couple move to Clifford’s ancestral home in the English mid-lands. The estate is huge; on part of it is a small “wood” or what we call a forest. Pressures mount up within Constance and she flees the soulless house to this place where Robin Hood rode and still contained a wildness, where modern society hadn’t taken hold. It’s there that she meets Mellors, the game-keeper, having returned from India where he was an officer in the British army. What they discover together is the gradual breaking-away of society’s strictures; both being married to other people is another problem that must be resolved. The other characters in the book are real and stand for what England meant to the author.

This was Lawrence’s final novel, having been finished shortly before he died of tuberculosis. It is the only novel in which a female character is pregnant at the end. In the voluminous literary criticisms I’ve read of this book, most are male and scornful, mostly of the fact that Clifford in the wheelchair and impotent are “cheap shots.” It’s too easy, it belittles Constance who appears to just need to be fucked. You have to know a lot about English society and Lawrence’s passions–and the passions of the characters– to understand the meaning of that wheelchair.

Everybody who knows me, knows that DH Lawrence is my favorite author. My mother introduced me to his writing when I was 16. She told me about the book Sons and Lovers and the history behind it. This is considered a masterpiece and almost before its time. Before Lawrence, authors did not write about the subjects he dwelled upon. I still find it odd that my mother not only told me all of the family secrets, including infidelities and near-divorces, when I was very young. It didn’t scar me; I was always a very curious child and teenager. It’s a little disquieting but I can think of worse situations.

If you want to read about:

Incest
Family Violence
The “Bitch Goddess of Success”
The brutal lives of coal miners
Almost dying of serious illness
Bitter opposition to WW I
Bitter condemnation of modern society
Bitter condemnation of the “military-industrial complex”
Bitter condemnation of our sexual mores
Being maimed in WW I and confinement to a wheelchair
Not having enough money to live on
Male brutality
The unbelievably stringent lives that working class women endured
Not fitting in to any society–and traveling around the world to find fulfillment
Having your books trashed and banned because they were “immoral”
“Living in your head” vs. “Living organically” Not related to fruit and vegetables.

You can find this and more, reading DHL.

However you can also read about:

The importance of human ties
Love of flowers
Moon worship
Descriptions of women’s clothing
How two people must pull away from society’s rule and make a world of their own
Money is important if used correctly
The healing powers of sex between two people who love each other
Ways to fight off modern society’s influence
Interesting information about the different dialects of speech used in England, and the importance of them
Humorous situations that occur between people
An upper class woman finding more emotional fulfillment with her stallion than with her husband–no bestiality, it’s all emotional
The powers of the American southwest

Yes, it’s all there and more.

We are not ghouls and monsters.

Sometimes, like everybody, I get this need to explain myself although I don’t have to. We were very careful in regards to Michael watching all these crime and murder stories. He never woke up crying–if he had nightmares he never told us–one time when he was about six I took him to see Bambi. Michael told me in his calm, objective way that the movie scared him and he wanted to leave. So I knew he would say something if all this stuff bothered him. He knew it was just made up stories.

We had a lot of private and secret words that had meaning for us. One was the Italian word “cognoscenti” which means “people in the know.” It was mostly just a family joke except that we also watched other kinds of movies and got to be the worst intellectual snobs you can imagine.

We loved Henry V, the movie with Kenneth Brannagh. This play came to mean a lot to us; it has the famous speech at Agincourt that has been appearing in movies and television. I decided to memorize it. We liked Shakespeare and watched Kenneth Brannagh’s Much Ado About Nothing…a comedy with lots of laughs. There was, also, Shakespeare In Love with Joseph Fiennes. A big hit around here.

I will leave off writing about movies with this story. When Titanic was released Michael and I went to see it. A few days later P and M wanted to go off on their own so I went over to the movie theater and saw it again. Guess who I ran into there? When Evita was released with Madonna and Antonio Banderas it was a big day for the Mastroiannis. Michael and I saw the play at a community theater and fell in love with the music. We listened to this music, over and over, mostly while driving. We knew with Madonna in it that it could not be good but I was willing to put up with her to see Antonio Banderas and listen to him sing.

Our Hit Parade

LA Confidential. A part is a love story but it’s mostly a guy movie. Among our favorite actors were Russell Crowe and Guy Pearce, both from the land down under but had American accents perfectly. A great, great shoot out scene at the end. Also had Kevin Spacey who can always be counted on for a “reassuring performance.”

The Usual Suspects. Weird, strange plot if there is one, full of murder and mystery. One love story but mostly about money, drugs, guns, and has a wonderful explosion at the end. Had Kevin Spacey as a small-time crook with mild CP but was he really that person or assuming a disguise? You don’t know for sure until the end.

Silence of the Lambs. You would think it’s a girly movie because Jodie Foster is the star along with Anthony Hopkins but there isn’t one shred of “love and relationships.” A grisly, totally kinky story, adventure with “Clarice” played by Jodie Foster. Michael developed this funny way of saying “Hello, Clarice” to me on the phone, almost as good as Anthony Hopkins/Hannibal Lecter.

A Time to Kill. Based on John Grisham’s novel. This was a more personal story, of black/white relations and standing up for what’s right. No explosions but Matthew McGonaghy’s house burns down due to the KKK’s interference. This one scared me a lot.

Anything with “Denzel.” In our estimation Denzel can do no wrong. Everything he’s in, he shines. Let’s see: The Seige with Bruce Willis as the destructive army officer–Crimson Tide with Gene Hackman–Devil With a Blue Dress with Don Cheadle, who I happen to like a lot–there are a lot more but I can’t think of them now.

Lone Star. Off beat movie starring Chris Cooper who I think is under-rated. No violence but greed, family secrets, and a super sex scene which did not actually reveal much so we let Michael watch it. You had to use your imagination.

Here’s a strange thing. We love anything with Joe Mantegna. He was sometimes in a starring role but not often. Played a Jewish police detective in a movie–I tried to find the title but could not. Also great in Godfather III and had a small but brilliant role in the movie Thinner, based on Stephen King’s book. I liked the movie Rat Pack and he played Dean Martin. Rat Pack was something I watched but P and M weren’t interested.

Runaway Jury. Anything with Dustin Hoffman a cut above the rest and Gene Hackman was great. No explosions. There was an office shooting but we didn’t think those were very entertaining.

1
I’ve written this many times but it fits the story. I learned in graduate school that in boys, the first signs of entering adolescence, i.e., having their own opinions, wanting to be more grown up, can display between the ages of 9 – 14. I only found this out in hindsight; practically the day Michael turned 9, he began to act and think like a young man. Kids’ stuff bored him, and he was quietly waiting to be counted among the adults.

We didn’t know, at the time, how bright he was. It just swept over us like a huge wave, how different he became. This was 1992 and Clinton was running for president that autumn. Also two of our local candidates were running for office. Peter brought Michael down to the Democratic headquarters in Media and Michael began to volunteer to do things for the campaign. He was always stuffing envelopes, running errands, answering the phone. He was swift, efficient, competent. The people quickly realized that they could actually depend on Michael to do real work–not just dumb stuff so he wouldn’t feel left out. After the election our family life went through a major change. Michael wasn’t equal but he wasn’t our child anymore.

I decided to deal with Michael as he was presenting himself and not combat him or try to rein him in. As long as he was doing the age-appropriate activities, I mean. So we let down the barrier and allowed him to share in our adult lives. Certainly not, again, anything inappropriate. But we were a heavy-duty, movie-watching family and we let him watch any movie that we would choose. This included all kinds of violence and bloodshed. How long can you protect your children from the world? Eventually it has to happen.

The three of us looked forward to the weekends. Friday night was pizza night and Saturday night was hot dog night. We had our movies all picked out and waiting for us.
2
This whole wave of new changes began on one night, during the time Michael was nine and starting to grow up. We were watching some kind of BBC sitcom on tape–no DVDs yet–when something in one of the scenes exploded. It really was funny and we began to laugh. Then Michael said: “Can you run it back to the explosion?” We thought this was hysterical and a dialogue sprang up about “guy movies” and “girly movies.” Guy movies had cowboys, car chases, battles. Girly movies had love and relationships. I was outnumbered and we watched every guy movie we could find. Our favorite for a long time was “The Fugitive” with Tommy Lee Jones and Harrison Ford. Two major heavy weights, very, very little love stuff. A wonderful collision between a bus carrying convicts to a jail, and a train. EEEEYAH!! As my guys used to say: “Blowed ‘im up reeeeal good.” Very soon we knew whole sections of dialogue.

Here is another part of the story of those times. When the two of them went camping I told them I would load myself up with girly movies, which I did. But they were boring. I couldn’t believe it. All I cared about was blood, fighting, guns, and yes, explosions. I told them this when they returned from camping and they were justifiably proud of me, that I would admit this. I was just trying to be a good wife and mom.

We also loved Die Hard and Die Hard 2. We have a collection of Christmas movies that we watch every year and yes, both of them are included. Both take place on Christmas Eve…Bruce Willis was great, stabbing some guy in his eye with an icicle, tying a long hose around himself and jumping off a building, etc. Die Hard is one of my all time favorite movies because it has Alan Rickman as Hans Gruber, playing the evil genius. One of my favorite actors and still sad that he died. Finally, among many others, was Galaxy Quest, again with Alan Rickman–other than The Fugitive, one that sat at the top of our hit parade. Explosions, weird people from outer space, killing bad guys…what have I done to my poor defenseless son??

I have always read a lot. There’s a picture of me, scarcely out of toddler-hood, running around in the orchard behind my grandparents’ house on Burchfield Street, holding a Little Golden Book.

I read to cope with a wide variety of situations: boredom, sadness, happiness, needing a place to hide. If I’m bothered by something I read about it. Sometimes I use the Internet to get information which is fast, efficient, and easy to use; however, books–just holding books in my hands–is the most comforting thing for me. I also buy books just to own them. They sit on a shelf and look nice. Sometimes I read them; I have to watch myself with Amazon because there are so many books there and I could easily spend a lot on books and have no place to put them.

I like to say this a lot to myself and sometimes I tell somebody–for a stretch of ten years–when Michael was age 9 to 19–we had the most fun any family could have. What we had in part was movies, favorite movies that we watched, over and over. We had our own secret words and funny phrases we found in movies.

My mother was self-educated; she loved to read and passed that on to me. She belonged to a book discussion group and there’s a picture of her someplace in the many photo albums we had, that had appeared in the Pittsburgh Press. She brought me to the big Carnegie Library and I got a library card when I was five years old. She also introduced me to DH Lawrence and gave me Sons and Lovers to read when I was only 16; she also told me the stories of Lawrence’s life. I marvel now when I realize how young I was when this happened. She was quite honest and told me what parts of Lawrence’s life and work influenced her. One of these was reading a quote from Lawrence–“A woman unsatisfied wants luxuries; a woman in love with a man will sleep on a board.” Hmmm…what could this mean? If it meant what I thought, my mother was letting me know how she felt about my father. She would sleep on a board to be close to him. Wow. I still am amazed at the amount of very personal information my mother passed on to me at a young age. I was just still a teenager! But I got the message.

Books and movies and how they have been incorporated into me and the three of us at Six Pines Farm.

The Doors

I/am/scared/of/doing/this/but/I/am/not/a/writer/who/quits.

The first thing I have to write about is Light My Fire. This was a passport to heaven and to hell, a journey into my own self with no assurances that I would come back, whole and intact. Here was this boy/spirit/ancient Greek god who was urging me on, saying that “…the time to hesitate is through; no time to wallow in the mire/waiting we can only lose/and our love become a funeral pyre.”
I wish a lot of things when I think about the Doors and Jim Morrison and Light My Fire. One is a wish that it had some kind of warning label which said that highly sexed, sensitive young girls should not buy it, not listen to it, and retreat into the Carnegie Library until 1971. People, many times over, say that Jim Morrison came to occupy a space in many cultures and at many times. A shaman, he was called, a holy man who conducts others through their spiritual and sexual journeys. Just watch him singing, and listen. He gets lost sometimes and his eyes slightly cross and HE IS GONE.

“You know that it would be untrue/you know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you/girl we couldn’t get much higher
Come on baby, light my fire/come on baby, light my fire/
Try to set the night on fire….”

This shaman didn’t have to tell me what I needed to do to “get much higher.” So OK yes I refused to wallow in the mire of what I was taught not to do–get down on my knees and accept that communion wafer–and did I emerge, after the trip, “whole and intact?” The jury’s out on this one. Yes/and/no.

Other songs that were important to me? Riders On The Storm, a song composed in a minor key, haunting, with the sound of the rain in the background; Love Me Two Times, yet again in a minor key, a warning to a young girl that yes, he is going away from her but please baby please just let me have a little more to keep me going; and especially, in my case, Strange Days…
“People are strange/when you’re a stranger/faces look ugly/when you’re alone
Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted/Streets are uneven when you’re down..”
I know this song and these words because I lived it; after the trip everything looks backwards and out of place, the street signs are pointing the wrong way–my body that was clean was now dirty. It took months to wash off the dirt and the sweat and the tears but then there’s Break On Through To The Other Side. There’s really another side? Where? When? Do I have to do it alone or will there be somebody? It could be anybody, just some/body…but I was prepared to break on through to the other side ALONE. Not really alone/alone but with books and ideas as my guides. I drew together all my DH Lawrence books, read what he had to say about solitude and being alone and how fertile and productive it could be. Lots of long walks, too much sleeping because after a day of this–because it was a hellish journey–I couldn’t stand myself or what my head was thinking, obsessively, like mantras.
That winter, on our educational television station, the films of Ingmar Bergman were broadcast on Friday nights. I was Breaking on Through; Bergman’s awful, deadly images,death, falling apart, playing a chess game with Death; it all made sense, just as Jim Morrison told me; my parents, all dressed up, going out to some stupid dinner party, looking at me watching this stuff then shrugging and walking away. The last part of the end of school, people having senioritis, planning their prom dresses, and my mother hated me–oh yes she did–for being who I was and Breaking On Through.

…and then there was even more death but…

…suddenly you’re in a parachute slowly descending over Pittsburgh and I had broken through. All women know that life is circular. It’s the men who insist on drawing “time lines.” So around the circle I went, Jim Morrison’s face looming in the background, all four of them playing their music on the inner sound stage of the soul; heaven/hell, merging/falling, shining clean/dark and dirty, dead/alive.

The Doors Introduction

Since I can’t find anything else to say about music I love–and I’ve left out a LOT of really good singers and songs–I’m running on empty (thank you, Jackson Browne) and I have to stop doing this. There must be other subjects to write about. But right now I can’t think of anything.

Just knowing that I’m going to write about what The Doors meant to me, in my life, produces the beginnings of certain physical signs of excitement AND dread. Why do I dread this? Morrison is dead, has been for decades. But just thinking that and writing that makes me know I’m lying to myself. He isn’t really and totally gone.

Jim Morrison and the three others found a place for themselves, right in the middle of the stage in my theater of the subconscious. If this sounds far-fetched I can’t help it. I had a friend in those days who felt the same way as I did about them, about Morrison, and she called him her “father/brother/lover.” He took us to a place where we had never been…

So I’m scared and maybe I shouldn’t do this. Go back to writing about mountains and owls and DH Lawrence.

But what I will do and I knew all the time I would do–is listen to some of their music, gather some facts, and write down what happens.

Hey Jude

Call it what you want, a landmark, a shift in focus, something that dragged you into a drug-like dream; nobody who was listening to music in 1968 could have avoided Hey Jude.

For one thing it is complex. Lots of the great songs from the sixties weren’t complicated; they were mostly about love or losing love or getting love back. That doesn’t detract from their beauty. But this song is different.

Somebody, a friend, a dad is talking to a younger person, persuading him to “let it out and let it in,” “don’t carry the world upon your shoulder,” “take a sad song and make it better.” This is only part of the song.

It’s good advice but it’s sung with a kind of growing intensity, which is the great musical part of the song. The voices get slowly louder, louder, louder until they are all screaming…better/better/better/better/ whoa!!!

I listened to Hey Jude on the CD from Paul McCartney’s concert with his new band, and I’m serious…they do just as good as the Beatles. Suddenly I’m thinking I wrote this before. Oh well. When they end that line with the screaming you know these four unknown musicians are so happy, so bursting with joy, that they are singing Hey Jude with Paul McCartney, and who could blame them?

Sometimes music is good for the soul. I know; when I’d be driving to work in the group home I’d have this particular CD turned on, full blast.

God Only Knows

Paul McCartney has been quoted, many times over, saying that this was the best song of our own era. Many, many others have agreed.

I think I wrote this earlier, that I always liked Brian Wilson. He and his new band came to Wilkes-Barre to perform and I almost went. My husband wasn’t interested but I knew I could go alone. It’s an hour’s drive to get there, mostly along forest roads with no lighting. During the day it was OK but at night, alone? Nope.

I think it was his genius combined with his vulnerability that appealed to me. What a struggle he had, just to survive. All those bouncy beach songs about girls and surfing were coming from his own mind, not real experiences. Also there was something in his high-pitched voice that reverberated within me.

It’s a true love song, as true as any love song could be.

I may not always love you
But as long as there are stars above you
You never need to doubt it
I’ll make you so sure about it
God only knows what I’d be without you.

If you should ever leave me
Well, life would still go on, believe me
The world could show nothing to me
Cause what good would living do me
God only know what I’d be without you.

All their voices, wrapped so tightly together, made my brain explode.