Journal of an Urbane Gorilla

The Look

Grams gave me ‘The Look’ this morning. I’ve been frittering my time away, she says. C’mon, admit it, you wouldn’t want to get ‘The Look.’ She’s fearsome, the woman! I’m shaking in my boots (well, I would be if I wore boots).

I need to get back to revising my book. Try not to miss me too much. I promise that it won’t take too long.

Here’s a drawing from my opus while you’re waiting.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

A cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you*

When did dining cars become diners? Was it a necessity of the Great Depression, or just a whimsy of the 1930s? This diner, which is really two trolley cars, has been deserted for years. It sits forlorn by the side of the highway.

“A bit of paint, spit, and polish and it could be a nifty place,” Grams would say. “It’d take a bit more than that,” Big Guy would reply. It always reminded me of the diner in “Another Roadside Attraction,” by Tom Robbins. We’ve driven by this place many times, but last week we noticed that there were some new homes being built far too close by for comfort.

“Oh dear, someone is building ‘ranchettes,’ the diner isn’t long for this world,” said Grams. At that she asked Big Guy to stop so she could take some pictures. So, we got on the frontage road and stopped. The frontage road that had brought customers right to the front door so many years ago, had also been the source of its demise once the new highway was built.

When we got out of the car a professional photographer was already there taking pictures with a big format camera on a tripod. We ran around the place grabbing shots. This is the twilight of the Dining Cars Cafe. It will probably be a memory the next time we go by.

A la prochaine. Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

*A cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you;

A cozy corner, a table for two;

A chance to whisper, and cuddle, and coo;

A cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you.

“Thought has wings, and lots of things are seldom what they seem.”*

How do we explain certain things? Thinking of someone, just when they’re thinking of you. Hoping for something and it appears right in front of you.  I suppose that just as often you’re not thinking of something or someone and it/they appear/call.  Grams isn’t one for phenoms, if you get my drift.  She thinks that stuff can always be explained. Of course she can’t explain that little spirit that hovers around her in the lounge sometimes.  But, that’s for another discussion. 

The finger in the picture is not what it seems. It’s about 5 feet long and is part of the exhibit with the model of the Statue of Liberty in the Musée des Arts et Metiers in Paris. So, it’s a bronze casting of a real finger of the Statue of Liberty, which is not real but was based on a real woman. Got that?

We went there because the Grams had read Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco.  She’s a major Eco fan.  Big Guy and I trudged along to humour her and found out that the Arts & Metiers is a first-class place filled with incredible stuff.

In Foucault’s Pendulum, the hero starts and ends his story in the Musee. It’s a true Armageddon-like scene, which I won’t tell you about in case you haven’t read it. Grams kept running from spot to spot saying, “It’s just like he wrote it!” over and over again. She said it gave her shivers, but she’s so “reality”-based she shook it off. I wonder about that; it gave me the shivers for the rest of the day.

Anyway, Henri appreciates anything engineered. So, after la Tour Eiffel, we’re going to the Musée des Arts et Metiers.

A la prochaine. Moochas smoochas, Gweeds

*“When you’re awake the things you think come from the dreams you dream

Thought has wings, and lots of things are seldom what they seem.

Sometimes you think you’ve lived before all that you live today.

Things you do come back to you as though they knew the way.

Oh, the tricks your mind can play!” "Where or When" - Lorenz Hart & Richard Rogers

Bring me my chariot of fire!

Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O Clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

We arrived in Edinburgh Scotland in the spring.  It had been a mild winter and the spring was turning quite warm.  Grams is a big J.K. Rowling fan, so when she saw these little alleyways in the old town, she immediately thought of Diagon Alley.

We had found a wonderful B&B on the web run by Gerald della Porta.  What a wonderful man.  We had very cozy accommodations overlooking a quiet courtyard.  Gerald’s B&B is on a Georgian crescent and his place appears to be in the cellar, until you enter it.  The back of the house goes down a couple of stories, so you’re not in the cellar at all.

We had a full English breakfast every morning, cooked just for us.  Edinburgh is very walk able.  Grams found an Easy Everything internet café before we left, so we could email home.  We took a bus tour the first day.  This gives us an idea where we might want to go back to later.  In Edinburgh there’s an old town and a new town.  For the most part, we stayed in the old town.

We did venture into the new town area to go to the Royal Yacht Britannia.  That day is worth a whole posting in itself.

We visited Edinburgh Castle.  It’s on a hill overlooking the entire city all the way to the harbor.  The ‘honours’ are the crown jewels of Scotland.  The castle is set up a bit like a fun ride at the fair.  They keep you walking through until you reach the ‘honours.’  What can I say?  It’s not exactly like the crown jewels at the Tower of London.

There is a war memorial there too, but that too is for another time.

Now the Whiskey Heritage Centre, that is a fun ride.  You actually ride in a simulated whiskey barrel through a ride that shows you the history of whiskey.  At the end you get to sample some single malt.  We had to restrain Grams.  They have a fine restaurant at the Heritage Centre.  It’s just down the street from the castle.

We also went to Holyroodhouse and down the Royal Mile a few times and, yes, we saw the Scottish Parliament building being built.  But, all of that is for another day.

A la prochaine.

Moochas smoochas, Gweeds

Victor Hugo made it all up

On the Grams’ quest to re-create Atget we went to the quai  de Montebello so she could get the flying buttresses in all their glory.  Flying buttresses were constructed out of stone and look like wings (albeit, stone wings).  The point of them is to take the thrust of the weigh of the church walls.  So the walls can have big stained glass windows and the interiors of the churches can be huge.  The inside of Notre Dame feels like a football field!

Grams loves flying buttresses.  Whatever.  I wanted to meet the big Q.  You know, Quasimoto himself.  Big Guy took me aside in the garden behind Notre Dame and explained that M. Hugo made it all up.  There was no Quasi.  What about Esmeralda?  What about, “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!?”  I was one broken-hearted ape.  I gradually overcame my chagrin at the little eatery just behind Notre Dame.  They make incredible crêpes.  That and a cocoa and everything was tickity-boo. 

Anyway, the first pictue is Grams' of Notre Dame and here is Atget’s taken around 80 years earlier.  Atget’s lens must have been different than the Grams’.  Her Notre Dame looks taller.  His buttresses are more pronounced.

I think we need to check this discrepancy out.

A la prochaine.

Moochas smoochas,

Gweeds

Eugene Atget, it sounds like 'jet'

I know that I told you about Grams’ love of the photos of Eugene Atget.  He was active in Paris around the turn of the last century.  She has a big coffee table book with his pictures.  Each of the pictures has an address.  Since Paris hasn’t changed much in most of the areas where Atget was active, Grams thought that she would see how many of the shots she could recreate.

So, she photocopied off her faves and off we went to Paris.

What amazed her was that there was so much that was still, while not exactly the same, very similar.  This shot was taken under the bridge at a corner of the quai de la Tournelle, in the 5^th arrondisement.  It’s very close to our favorite hotel, the St. Jacques.  Check out how much it's like Atget's from 90 years earlier

This is how our days would go:  We would stop at a café and order “trois cafés Americain, si’l vous plaît et merci beaucoup!”  She would consult the map and take out another photocopy.  Then we would gulp our coffee down and off we would go again.

 

Now here is something amazing:  Grams' wonderful friend Marian, not even knowing of Grams' great love of Atget, got a pocket-size version of the same book for Grams.  Now, whenever we go to Paris, Grams can find all the Atget spots.  Lord help us!

The wonderful thing about Atget was his ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.  The bricks and stones of Paris became objects of beauty in his lens.

Entre nous:  I am hoping to inspire the Grams to go back to Paris.  I’d love to be there with Henri on New Year’s Eve [sigh].

A la prochaine.

Moochas smoochas, Gweeds

"The Love that moves the sun and the other stars"

Dante Alighieri was born in Firenze in 1265. He had the misfortune of being the son of a Guelph father and a Ghibelline mother. These two factions were at war with one another. Later on the Guelphs would split into two more factions, the white and the black. This all played a large part in Dante’s life, but Grams has always been more interested in his tragic love life.

When Dante was 9 years, he saw Beatrice Portinari for the first time. He fell totally in love with her. She married another and so did Dante. That’s how it was then, people didn’t marry for love. Beatrice died when Dante was 25 years old and he wrote about his love for her in “Vita Nuova.”

Things went from bad to worse for Dante after this. The White and Black Guelphs feuded. It ended up with his expulsion from Firenze. He spent the rest of his days wandering through other parts of Tuscany. Well, not wandering per se, he had jobs like being an emissary for Ravenna to Venice. He found many wealthy and powerful patrons. He needed them because he insisted in writing in Italian rather than Latin. This just wasn’t done, but Dante did it.

And, he wrote the "Divina Commedia" an allegory of the human condition. It mirrors his life, though he didn’t get to know Paradise. Dante died in Ravenna in 1321, never having been able to go back to Firenze again.

Here’s the irony: the Florentines erected the statue of Dante in the picture next to the church of Santa Croce. The plaque on the pedestal translates roughly, “Dante Alighieri, An Italian!” He was actually buried in Ravenna the city that had adopted him.

Maybe the placement of the statue was an appropriate choice: Santa Croce was built outside the original city walls and was the church of the working people, people who probably always spoke the vernacular Italian that Dante wrote in.

Now here’s an interesting little sidebar: the Librarian of the National library in Firenze found an envelope in 1999. It was in an old book. On the envelope it said that it contained Dante’s ashes. Sure enough, it had a few ashes in it. Whether they’re Dante’s or not, no one knows.

Through me is the way to the sorrowful city.

Through me is the way to eternal suffering.

Through me is the way to the lost people.

Abandon all hope, you who enter!

                                                       Inferno, Canto 3,1.1

Finally we can relax

The picture is la Principessa - she's Henri's mom. Ciao bella!

Well, everyone in the family has run through this place in the past 2 months. Now we can relax. First, there were the gorillas from my Simian Liberation Effort (SLE). These apes have eaten us out of tree and shelter.
Then, the non-fuzzy types came through. Big Guy and Grammy seem to have more relatives than I can count.
Anyway, it's just, Big Guy, Grammy, Henri and me now. Henri is busy planning subway stations and sailing. I do not go sailing with these folks. Sometime I'll have to tell you about our trip to Venice - Grammy assured me that we wouldn't have to go over water. And then, in the middle of the night sirens went off: it had flooded! You don't give a gorilla blow-up hangers and tell him they're water wings, you now what I mean? Everyone knows that gorillas cannot swim!
But it's best that I don't think about that.
Ah the quiet, I'm just enjoying it.