MOVIE CRAZY

The Beginning . . .

My love of movies got its start –indirectly – in the wake of a national tragedy: the assassination of President Kennedy.

     I was seven-and-a-half years old, and as it is for anyone who is old enough to remember that day, it was for me a benchmark, a dividing line.  I remember two events of historical importance that preceded that date: the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the death of Marilyn Monroe the year before.  I didn’t know what the Cuban Missile Crisis was about, of course; I only remember a certain tension, and the fear I felt when I heard my sister saying that her friend Phyllis’s mother, Goldie, had said “Well, tomorrow we’re all gonna be dead!”  As for Marilyn Monroe, I have a dim memory of Some Like It Hot on television, at least a minute or two of it, so I remember people talking about her death, though I didn’t understand her significance, of course.

     We had been sent home from school early, of course, after the news of the President’s death, though I doubt any of us really absorbed or understood its significance (all these years later I remember clearly how we got the news: I was in second grade, and another student burst into the room and announced, “Mrs. Moses, Mrs. Moses – the President is dead!  Somebody shot him in the head!”  Undoubtedly it was shock rather than insistence on proper manners that evoked Mrs. Moses’s response: “Young man, leave this room and enter like a gentleman!”  As I recall, the boy left, but, not surprisingly, didn’t return.)  I was met at the bus stop by Sandy, my neighbor from across the hall – had she heard?  Yes, she had.

     By that evening everyone knew, of course, and the nation was in shock.  One of my sister’s friends was over at our apartment (was it Phyllis?), and they were crying, which of course mystified me. 

     I said a silly thing, exactly the kind of thing a kid that age might say: “Maybe he deserved to die.”  I knew nothing of death at that time, of course, and anyway, it was the president who was dead, not a relative, or anyone we knew (it was to be a long while before I understood that although later some people displayed pictures of Richard Nixon in their homes, John F. Kennedy was really the last president whom the public felt almost was a member of the family, Catholic or not – people displayed his picture in their homes, usually in a place of honor and prominence on the wall, much as FDR’s picture had adorned walls in millions of homes).

     My sister, at fourteen seven years my senior, reacted by slapping me (actually, I think she punched me in the nose).  Eventually we all calmed down and it blew over the way such altercations between siblings usually do.

     By evening, of course, there was nothing on television but coverage of the assassination, of Lyndon Johnson’s ascendance to the presidency.  It was decided at some point that we kids should get out of the apartment for a while and go for a walk.

     Our walk took us a few blocks away, where we stopped in at a local hobby/electronics shop called “Norman’s” (memory tells me that Norman’s wife was called ‘Gert’ or ‘Gertie,’ but I’m not sure) .  It was, I’m almost sure, in the same block with the grocery store from which my mother ordered groceries almost daily – it wasn’t at all unusual in 1963 for local merchants to deliver to their customers, and I can still hear my mother placing that almost-daily call, which began with “Mrs. Levine, please...” and a couple of hours later a teenaged boy on a bicycle would pull up in front of our apartment building at 3319 Kings Highway and make his way up to our apartment, 2K).  We browsed among knick-knacks and such – Norman’s, as I recall, sold things like modeling clay and accessories for train sets, but that evening it was something else that got my attention: one of Aurora Plastics’ “All-Plastic Assembly Kits,” The Wolf Man – the price was all of 99 cents.    

     I have no idea what drew me to it or why I found it so interesting, but the model was purchased, along with a tube of glue (almost certainly Testor’s, which, as I was soon to learn, was the most prominent name in glue and paint for such models – more about that anon).  What I can say with certainty is that had that model not been bought that evening, I wouldn’t be sitting here all these years later recounting the experience, or working at Barnes & Nobles, nor have a case full of VHS tapes and DVDs of horror, suspense, and science-fiction movies made by Universal Pictures and Hammer Films.  Nor, quite possibly, would I have the love for books and reading that blossomed from this unusual beginning.

    Yet it’s undeniably true, for this is where it all started, and how many people can say that with such certainty, point to a moment in time and an action and say “This was it”?     

   The only thing I really remember about assembling the model was that, for some reason, the arms didn’t fit correctly onto the torso – instead of being angled as they appear here, they were parallel, almost as though the Wolf Man were holding a basketball, or about to perform a double-karate chop.  Oh well.

      A week or so later I got my second Aurora model, The Mummy, which was soon joined by The Creature From the Black Lagoon.

     And so the collection began to grow.  Of course, it was also necessary to paint the models once they were assembled and the glue had dried, and so began the process of buying paints, brushes, and thinner to clean the brushes. 

     The finished product seldom looked as good as I’d hoped it would (certainly not as good as the ones pictured here), but I did get better with time – the instructions gave suggestions for colors, but of course you were always free to follow your own ideas (I recall once seeing a Creature that had been painted red instead of the traditional green, and thought it quite striking)

     Before long Frankenstein and Dracula were added, followed by two which became my favorites: The Hunchback of Notre Dame and The Phantom of the Opera (the illustrations on the box covers, as well as the finished models themselves, often had the characters in some very strange poses, particularly the Phantom – why on earth was he assuming that strange stance, and holding up his half-mask?  And why did his skin appear to be green?  And who was that blood-smeared man behind those bars?  I learned later that the Phantom’s visage here was based on James Cagney’s appearance in the film biography of Lon Chaney, Man of a Thousand Faces, at the moment his face is revealed during the recreation of The Phantom of the Opera’s famous unmasking scene, and not Lon Chaney’s original Phantom makeup).

     At some point, I learned that a contest was being held, and models assembled by local contestants were displayed in Norman’s window.  I entered some of mine, and although I didn’t win (oh, the heartbreak!), the contest had a long-lasting benefit: It had been sponsored by Famous Monsters of Filmland Magazine, and each contestant was given a copy of the latest issue.  At this point my exposure to magazines probably went no further than My Weekly Reader and looking at the pictures in Life.  But all that was about to change: Here was a magazine devoted to monster movies – the movies about those characters I’d been assembling and painting – these characters had stories (the term ‘backstory’ wasn’t in use then, but it certainly would have applied) that had been depicted in films.  More than that, many of these characters – the Frankenstein Monster, Count Dracula, the Hunchback and the Phantom, had their beginnings in literature, the films having been adapted from famous novels.        

     So, in effect two new worlds were about to open up for me.

 * * * * * * * * * *

     For a kid in New York in the 1960s, Chiller Theater (on Channel 11) and  Supernatural Theater (on Channel 9, long before its cable-days) were the two most reliable venues to see old horror movies.  The thing was, though, that they didn’t have access to the syndication packages that had been put together in the 1950s and sold to TV by the studios that included the quality stuff like the Frankenstein and Dracula films – these programs offered low-budget stuff (mainly from the ‘40s and ‘50s) like The Monster That Challenged the World, The Indestructible Man, I Bury the Living, and Frankenstein: 1970, and sometimes even lower-budget stuff (if that’s even conceivable) like Dead Men Walk, Carnival of Souls (still one of the most genuinely eerie films I’ve ever seen, and one which I won’t watch at night) Frankenstein’s Daughter, and She-Demons.  The hideous title-creatures of the last-named scared the heck out of me, as did the glimpse at the end of the face of the mad doctor’s wife, and it wasn’t until I saw it again as an adult that I came to appreciate the film’s truly awful acting, particularly leading lady Irish McCalla and Rudolph Anders as the mad Nazi doctor – the scene in which he tries to seduce McCalla is sublimely awful.  And Frankenstein’s Daughter features what I still consider to be the single worst performance I’ve ever seen in any film anywhere: Felix Locher as Professor Carl Morton, who seems to be reading his lines from cue-cards).

     Watching the good stuff had to wait a while, and when the opportunities arose, they were often late-night ones: our local NBC affiliate had a late-night “Festival of Thrillers” on Saturday nights at 1:15 AM.  As there was no school the next day, Sunday, this didn’t pose all that much of a problem (other than staying awake!), and in this way I first saw Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and The Mummy (1932), and probably The Wolf Man (1941) as well.  The Late Show, and the Late, Late Show (courtesy of CBS) posed another problem.  Again, movies shown on a Friday or Saturday night posed no problem, and an 11:20 PM broadcast of The Creature From the Black Lagoon provided my first viewing of the original 1954 film.  But catching the 1943 Phantom of the Opera, again broadcast at 11:20 PM but on a Sunday night, required sneaking into the living-room and keeping the sound turned down low; at least once during that broadcast I was caught and sent off to bed, only to sneak back a minute or two later . . .

     Horror movies are usually pegged as a ‘genre’ and often don’t get much respect.  Nor do some of the actors who appeared in them, and yet such films introduced me not only to Boris Karloff, but to Claude Rains, Cedric Hardwicke, Charles Laughton and even Erich Von Stroheim, actors who are ranked among the best in cinema history.

* * * * * * * * * *

         

     Long before the home-video revolution and the advent of VHS, laser disc, DVD and Blu-ray, I’d begun collecting films.  Up through the 1970s there were really only two options for film collectors: 8MM film and 16MM film (or three, if you counted Super-8MM).  When it came to horror films on 8MM, the market was pretty much dominated by Castle Films, who had a licensing agreement with Universal which allowed them to distribute 12-minute versions of many of Universal’s well-known horror films – these usually ran to about 165 (or 200 feet in the Super-8 format, which had a slightly larger frame) – they even did 50-foot abridgements, running about 3 minutes, of those 12-minute versions (they were silent and subtitled)!  I acquired a nice little collection of both varieties.  For some versions they changed the title - Doom of Dracula was actually adapted from the Dracula sequences in House of Frankenstein.

     After we’d gotten our first (and, as I recall, only) Super-8 movie camera, we of course had to get a projector.  My father chose one manufactured and sold by Korvette’s, rather than a name-brand one.  By the flick of a little knob it could project either Standard-8MM or Super-8MM; I no longer recall if there was a price difference between Castle’s Standard-8 and Super-8 films – there probably was, of around a dollar), but there definitely was when it came to Blackhawk Films, the premier vendor of films for the home-collector’s market – a Super-8 print could run as much as ten dollars more than a Standard-8 print, as I recall.  My parents had agreed that, out of any cash received as a Bar Mitzvah gift, I would be able to purchase the 1923 Hunchback of Notre Dame starring Lon Chaney – it ran to ten reels of about 200 feet each and cost, as I recall, something like $54 in Standard-8 format.

     Sometime after that I located the 1925 Silent version of The Phantom of the Opera on seven reels - I think I paid $45 for it.  I've had the 1925 Phantom on Standard 8MM, on VHS (a 'dubbed' copy from the excellent edition issued by Kino as well as the original of the Kino VHS, picked up for a few bucks when Blockbuster began deleting classics on VHS in the mid-90s), and finally on DVD. Interestingly, the final price of the 2-disc "Ultimate Edition" DVD, purchased at Best Buy, was, coincidentally . . . $19.25 with the tax!

 * * * * * * * * * * * * 

More To Come . . .

 

Keep Watching This Space!!!

I haven't blogged much lately, but I've got some things on my mind . . . I'm going to write something soon about re-reading and collecting Agatha Christie, so keep checking back!

My 2010 Reads

Titles with an asterisk (*) are re-reads.

ARDENT SPIRITS - Price, Reynolds

ASTA’S BOOK* – Vine, Barbara (Ruth Rendell)

THE AVENUE - Delderfield, R.F.

THE BAD SEED* - March, William

BEAST IN VIEW - Millar, Margaret

BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS* - Christie, Agatha

A CARIBBEAN MYSTERY* - Christie, Agatha

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER’S BOY* – Vine, Barbara (Ruth Rendell)

THE CROCODILE BIRD* - Rendell, Ruth

ELEPHANTS CAN REMEMBER* - Christie, Agatha

THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT - Goolrick, Robert

EVERYTHING WAS POSSIBLE* - Chapin, Ted

THE FILM OF MEMORY - Druon, Maurice

THE FINAL HOUR - Caldwell, Taylor

THE FIRES OF SPRING - Michener, James A.

THE HELP - Stockett, Kathryn

HICKORY DICKORY DEATH* - Christie, Agatha

HOLLYWOOD: A Third Memoir - McMurtry, Larry

THE HOUSE OF DOCTOR EDWARDES - Beeding, Francis

LADY - Tryon, Thomas

THE LAST HURRAH - O’Connor, Edwin

THE MOVING TARGET - Macdonald, Ross

MUST YOU GO? - Fraser, Antonia

MY STORY: An Autobiography - Astor, Mary

NEVER VICTORIOUS, NEVER DEFEATED - Caldwell, Taylor

THE PALE HORSE* - Christie, Agatha

PASSENGER TO FRANKFURT* - Christie, Agatha

A RELIABLE WIFE - Goolrick, Robert

ROSE’S LAST SUMMER - Millar, Margaret

ROSS MACDONALD: A Biography - Nolan, Tom

SAYONARA - Michener, James A.

SPIDER WEBS - Millar, Margaret

THE STORY OF ESTHER COSTELLO - Monserrat, Nicholas

THE STRONG CITY - Caldwell, Taylor

THE SWEETNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PIE - Bradley, Alan

TESTIMONY OF TWO MEN* - Caldwell, Taylor

TIGERLILY’S ORCHIDS - Rendell, Ruth

THE WIDE HOUSE - Caldwell, Taylor

SONDHEIM! THE BIRTHDAY CONCERT

Another legendary artist turned 80 this year, and it's been an almost year-long celebration as the songs and shows of Stephen Sondheim have been celebrated in new revues and special concerts, all honoring the man who turned the American Musical Theater on its ear in the early 1970s and pointed it forward. One of the big celebrations was a two-night concert at Lincoln Center's Avery Fisher Hall, but before I get to that, let me say that there are some Living Legends who do indeed answer their mail, and not only do they answer it, but they do it the old-fashioned way: by typing it!

I've been a Sondheim fan for most of my life, growing up listening first to his lyrics for West Side Story and Gypsy, and then experiencing an incredible back-to-back double-whammy on the evening of April 13, 1971, when I saw his musical Company, and the next afternoon, April 14th, at the Winter Garden Theater when I was nearly blown out of Seat C-13 Orchestra by Follies (a ticket I bought while the show was still on it's pre-Broadway tour - one look at that cast and I couldn't resist). And while I admit to being more partial to his pre-1990 shows and less familiar with those produced since, my admiration for him has never wavered. And so, upon publication of his first book, Finishing the Hat, I wrote him a long-overdue letter to express something of what his work has meant to me. I think it's important to do that with artists whom we appreciate.

SONDHEIM! THE BIRTHDAY CONCERT is a remarkable viewing and listening experience, and it put me through the ringer, I can tell you. I managed to maintain my composure until "Move On" when Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters got to the part where it becomes "We've always belonged together..." (this followed Patinkin slaying us with "Finishing the Hat") and then I just lost it. This number has always moved me, but never more so than seeing Patinkin and Peters perform it together again here, under these circumstances.

Then there was the "Beautiful Girls" segment – Audra McDonald, Patti LuPone, Marin Mazzie, Donna Murphy, Bernadette Peters all in red gowns, and Elaine Stritch in a red pants suit with matching hat, entering to the song that brought on the girls in Follies.. The segment consists of:

"The Ladies Who Lunch" - Patti LuPone (I wonder if there were any sour grapes about who got to sing what - "Ladies Who Lunch," of course, is owned by Stritch, yet she sat graciously by and let someone else have a swing at it, and then applauded LuPone with more enthusiasm than everyone else (and they were pretty enthusiastic).

"Losing My Mind" - I'm not usually a Marin Mazzie fan, and I'm very particular about how this song is song, as it's my #1 favorite Sondheim song, but she gets my approval here, and the original Jonathan Tunick orchestration played by the NY Philharmonic is brilliant.

"The Glamorous Life" - Audra McDonald (the movie version) - when doesn't something gorgeous come out when this woman opens her mouth? Earlier, she and Nathan Gunn performed a stunning "Too Many Mornings."

"Could I Leave You?" - Donna Murphy.

"Not a Day Goes By" - Bernadette Peters has always performed this to perfection, but her connection with Sondheim, and events in her personal life, gave this even deeper emotional resonance than usual.

"I'm Still Here" - Elaine Stritch. She got off to a slow start, but caught up - and how! More of a defiant bellow than actually sung, but it's incredible the amount of respect she gets from other performers, as well as the response she gets from an audience - she looks like the local bag lady when she first walks on stage, but later the other “girls” watch her with total concentration. (I was reminded of the Follies in Concert documentary, which was also filmed at Avery Fisher Hall – much of that consisted of rehearsals, and was Stritch in her sailor hat and rehearsal clothes, without makeup and dumpy-looking, but when she began "Broadway Baby" I seem to remember that all conversation and activity around her ceased almost simulaneously as everyone's attention was absolutely riveted on Stritch - and Follies in Concert had a pretty impressive cast as well. And when at the beginning the Birthday Concert cast makes their entrances as if to a party, Stritch hilariously steers George Hearn away from the cocktails as they exit the stage – from his delighted reaction it was almost certainly an ad-lib on Stritch’s part - she is now as famously sober as she was previously famously drunk..

Other treats: "Pretty Women" performed by two "Sweeney Todds," George Hearn and Michael Cerveris, and "A Little Priest" performed by both of them with LuPone. Almost all of these numbers were proof positive that most Sondheim songs are indeed "little plays" that give the performers material to act as well as to sing - John McMartin's now-poignant "The Road You Didn't Take" is another prime example (the 81-year-old McMartin is the only surviving member of Follies' stellar principal players), and then there’s Audra McDonald's face during the first part of "Too Many Mornings" - she conveys all the character's emotion while just listening to Nathan Gunn, even before she herself sings a note (they kiss twice during the song, an action that in another era would have brought the theater down around them – literally). I just read an on-line review which said that Gunn and McDonald had zero chemistry - I can only surmise that the reviewer must have been watching some other concert.

And at the end, after several dozens of performers from current Broadway shows filed into the hall to crowd the stage and the aisles as they serenaded Sondheim with "Sunday," everyone sang the only song of the evening that he didn't write at least part of: "Happy Birthday. Obviously done in emotionally but ultimately maintaining his composure, Sondheim acknowledged the tribute by quoting Alice Roosevelt: "'First you're young, then you're middle-aged, and then you're wonderful.' This was wonderful. Thank you all."

Putting it mildly - very mildly - that just about sums up SONDHEIM! THE BIRTHDAY CONCERT as well. The audience that attended was lucky indeed - those who watch this concert on DVD can consider themselves almost as lucky. Several on-line reviews of this DVD mentioned Sondheim's book Finishing the Hat, and one actually made me start to reach for the book, but then I remembered that 's temporarily out of my possession, having today gone through a USPS sorting facility in Jersey City, New Jersey, as it makes its way to the man himself - it's "the book" Sondheim mentions in his note. Lucky me!

Veteran's Day

Veteran's Day is known as "Armistice Day" in England, celebrating the end of World War I, but it's kind of a catch-all day here in the U.S. as we honor the men who fought to preserve our way of life. My father was one of them - he served in World War II.

My father spoke very little of his wartime experiences – one story I did hear, either from him or perhaps repeated by my mother, was that he was drafted, but was rejected for being underweight! But when he enlisted sometime later (supposedly on a dare), he was accepted. Was this true? I don’t know, but I’d say probably not – his enlistment is dated as of April 15, 1942, a little over five months after Pearl Harbor and America's entry into the war, and in the space for “Selective Service Data – Registered” there is an ‘x’ in the box for “No.”

He alluded to service in England and Italy, but his discharge papers mention as ‘Battles and Campaigns’ only “Normandy Northern France Ardennes Rhineland” – however, his European service did indeed begin in England – he departed the U.S. on July 1^st, 1942 and arrived in England on July 12 (many years later, when he went on a cruise, he commented that his only previous cruise ship experience had been “courtesy of Uncle Sam,’ obviously a reference to the trip to and from Europe on a government ship) – he departed (from England again? the papers don’t say) and arrived back in the U.S. on October 6, 1945. He was discharged on October 13, and married my mother a few weeks after returning home. As I’ve said, my father was one of those who didn’t speak of his wartime experiences, not to his children at least, and this was true of countless men, some of whom never opened up at all about this period in their lives, and others who didn’t until Tom Brokaw’s book, The Greatest Generation, finally gave them ‘permission’ to do so (and thus opened the floodgates for countless WW II memoirs).

Whatever my father saw during those years of service, whatever he did there, he kept to himself, though apparently his experiences manifested themselves in dreams – sometimes in his sleep he’d sigh and mumble indistinctly – “He’s dreaming about the war,” my mother would say. But although he kept a knife and an army pistol as souvenirs (we knew where they were kept, and looked at them in secret, but never took them out of the drawer, never held or touched them) his memories and his dreams were his alone. Would it have made any difference if he’d been able to? I don’t know. My father was a private man, not given to introspection or self-analysis – he did his duty (and in doing so perhaps saw things that people shouldn’t see), neither bragged nor complained about it, and came back home to go on with his life.

Ruth Rendell

_________________________________________________________
Ruth Rendell turned 80 on February 17th. Her publishers threw a bash for her at the House of Lords, where she's a Labor Peer. She's still producing at least one novel a year, and they're better than what people half her age are writing - considering what Agatha Christie was producing at 80, Rendell's recent novels (as well as those of her good friend P.D. James, 89) are all the more remarkable. But surprisingly, despite 45 years of highly laudatory reviews from American critics, Ruth Rendell is less familiar to many American readers of British crime novels than are James (her only competition as "Queen of Crime"), Ian Rankin or Val McDermid. What a pity!

I'm known to some as "Ruth Rendell's #1 American Fan." My friends know it, and so do my co-workers. And though I haven't been able to get her to put it in writing, so does Ruth Rendell.

Ruth Rendell is my favorite writer - well, actually, there's one writer I like better than Ruth Rendell, and that's Ruth Rendell when she writes as Barbara Vine. I started reading her in the late 1980s (with a Vine, the first under that name, the Edgar Award-winning A DARK-ADAPTED EYE) and by the mid-1990s she had eclipsed all other writers for me, regardless of genre. News of a forthcoming Rendell book always sets in train several months of sweetly torturous anticipation, and this anticipation is ratcheted up even higher (if that's possible!) if the new book is a Barbara Vine.

Her 6th Vine novel, ASTA'S BOOK (published in the US as ANNA'S BOOK and now out-of-print here, dammit!) is my favorite of all her books, and has become just about my favorite book, period - at last count I've read it 13 times - it's become an annual tradition for me. It isn't unusual for me to read a new Rendell or Vine twice within the first year of publication, either, and at this point I've read several of my favorite Vines - A DARK-ADAPTED EYE, A FATAL INVERSION, THE HOUSE OF STAIRS and THE BRIMSTONE WEDDING - anywhere from three to five times each, or perhaps more; I've lost count. They're eminently readable and re-readable (in my humble opinion, at least).

Most of 2009 wasn't my favorite year, but Christmas came early for me in 2009 - on November 12th, in fact, at the Tattered Cover Book Store in Denver, Colorado, where a dream came true for me: I met Ruth Rendell! She didn't know she was going to meet me, but when I introduced myself to her, she smiled with recognition at my name. And why not? Although there had been some correspondence between us in the past, within the weeks preceding that night she'd signed bookplates for me (via an internet buddy who arranged it), responded to an email, and, while at her publisher's offices in New York the week before, had personally inscribed a copy of her new book for me which had arrived three days previously (I'd begged an Advance Reader's Copy/Uncorrected Proof from someone at Scribner a month or two before, and they evidently remembered me while Rendell was in the offices - hence the surprise arrival of
I'd always promised myself that if I got the chance to meet her, I'd bring as many books as I could, particularly all the first editions I have of her early works - I made sure ahead of time that it was okay with Tattered Cover, and then shipped the books to the home of the friend I would be staying with. I didn't take them all to the signing, as it turned out, but I took a good many (all of the old ones, of course), and you've gotta hand it to Ruth Rendell, because she was very indulgent of this fan: she signed about 50 books for me that night!

(Added to what I already had - I've been collecting her books since the early '90s, remember), I now have close to 100 books signed by her - not only that, but when the London bookseller I usually order her new books from finally came through with her latest book after numerous delays and excuses such as "Ruth has been traveling..." (as if I didn't know) and what she would or wouldn't write as an inscription (I got so tired of their excuses that I finally emailed them in frustration "I'm sure if you 'll ask her to write something like 'To Philip Swan - It was nice to meet you at last in Denver,' I'm sure she'll be most obliging!" - I'm still imagining their chagrin when they saw her write the following:

She also signed several different copies of my beloved ASTA'S BOOK for me, including a newly-published Czechoslovakian edition my dear friend Vicki in New York had brought back from Prague only the week before, and which she Fed-Exed to me in Colorado - it arrived on the morning of the 12th and I was able to have Ruth Rendell sign it that evening - in fact, she hadn't even seen this edition yet since, as she told me, she no longer receives foreign editions of her books because she doesn't have the space for them. She usually signs her Barbara Vine novels "Ruth Rendell as," but in this instance, for obvious reasons, she also signed "Barbara Vine" - lucky me!

















I framed the picture taken of us together that evening, with the inscription "Sometimes the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true..." and sent it to her. I felt kind of funny about sending it, worried that maybe I was going just a tad overboard, but fans send authors things all the time, don't they? Anyway, she liked it very much and wrote me: "The package containing the photograph (beautifully framed) arrived yesterday. It's a very good photograph, isn't it?"

Yes, it sure is!

2009 Recap

Hard to believe that I made only one entry in 2009, on New Year's Day. But I was usually too preoccupied to write. The first six months of the year SUCKED - big-time. I almost lost my house, but thank goodness Suntrust Mortgage saved the day - all it took was a little communication from me. I watched the Inauguration with tears in my eyes (on the internet, because my cable was off at the time, though it turned out through no fault of mine!) because only the day before Suntrust had told me all was well, they were going to re-do my loan.

Then it turned out I hadn't cashed a number of paychecks from a temp agency I'd done some work for - I didn't know that they'd suspended my Direct Deposits (a normal procedure if you have too long a break between assignments), and since I only opened the pay envelopes when I needed a timesheet, the unopened envelopes just got tossed onto one of the many piles of unopened mail around my living-room and kitchen. The agency's accounting department contacted me about a couple of checks, and I soon found several more, all of which they replaced. It was a nice little temporary 'windfall' that helped me through a couple of months.

Sorting through all that mail was quite a project . . .

The second half of 2009 was much better - things had eased up financially, and in November I was able to make a five-day trip to Colorado, where I saw an old friend I hadn't seen in about a dozen years, and also got to meet my favorite author in the universe, Ruth Rendell, who traveled all the way from London to meet me. Okay, she didn't travel all that way just to meet me - she was making appearances to promote her newest book, and the last stop on the tour was Denver because her son lives near there. Because my friend Vicki in New York was going to be out of town, going to Colorado, where my friend Salha lives, turned out to be more practical. So Colorado it was. I'm so glad this came up when it did, because had Ruth Rendell made those appearances in the first half of the year, I simply wouldn't have been able to attend. She signed over 50 books for me, mostly her works from 1965 through the mid-80s, and with the signed copies I already had of her output since the mid-80s, my total of signed Ruth Rendell books is now at something like one hundred.