Saucy!’s Neighborhood

Manchester was spot on, Oz was pretty neat but Cheryl Crow - that was fantastic!

Doreen Olberding was everything that Mimi’s mother was not.  She wasn’t pretty like mother, but she was taller and she looked healthy and fit as though she spent her afternoons playing tennis, or more likely, working in her yard --- not napping.   Her limbs were tan and shapely, always glistening with a faint sheen of perspiration.  Her clothes were  clean and crisp --- sleeveless, starched, cotton blouses with Peter Pan collars tucked into belted Bermuda shorts that had sharp pleats in front and back pockets not stuffed with Kleenex, cigs or someone’s pacifier, but neatly, securely buttoned --- shut.

     The Olberdings’ front yard was a severe arrangement of short-cropped grass punctuated by juniper bushes shorn into unnatural shapes and surrounded by rings of tidy marigolds and petunias.  Neither dandelions nor rotting apples defiled that lawn.  The house itself was a little pastel box with aluminum awnings, and a poured concrete driveway. A not very tall chain link fence separated it from the rest of the houses on Bobolink Avenue.

     Doreen and her husband had two young children, Bobby and Roberta.  They always obeyed their parents and stuck close to home.  They did not gallop wildly through the neighborhood with the rest of the herd or play softball in the weedy, forbidden field adjacent to the apartment buildings down the street.  And they certainly didn’t play doctor in the Schneiders’ basement on rainy afternoons.  Roberta was the same age as Mimi so Mrs. Olberding tried to encourage a friendship between the two plump seven year olds by occasionally inviting Mimi into their home.  The house was modest, but clean and quiet --- like a church. Roberta’s room was a pristine treasure box --- the walls painted a calming mint green, twin beds carefully made up with floral bedspreads that matched each other and the curtains.  Charming little pillows, round and square that picked up the colors of the flowery print and were trimmed with contrasting ruffles advanced the theme and appeared to have been casually strewn across the fluffier pillows at the heads of the beds.  An array of stuffed animals with their sleek, not matted, fur sat stiffly amongst the throw pillows looking as though they’d been taxidermed --- never cuddled.  The floor in Roberta’s room was carpeted and felt soft and safe beneath Mimi’s bare feet.  This room could never have been the scene of a bloody accident like one that occurred in “the girls’ room” at home.

     It was a Saturday morning so there was no need to get up and get going.   Mimi and Anna decided to play “queen & servant.”  Anna, the older sister, got first turn, as usual, at playing the queen.  She sat upright on her bed, wrapped in a thin blanket. The blanket's worn satin binding was detached in places and dangling by a few threads from the makeshift cloak it almost looked like ragged ermine tails.  Resting just above her shiny, crooked bangs was a faded and wrinkled construction paper crown salvaged from some kindergartener’s birthday celebration.  The girls hummed “Pomp & Circumstance” which they’d heard at an older cousin’s high school graduation and recognized as the theme from “Queen for a Day”.  Mimi, wearing nothing but her cotton underpants and shirt, its tiny pink rosette unraveling, knelt before the queen.  She had safety-pinned a musty bath towel under her chin and wore it like the Blessed Mother’s veil over her head.  Mimi played a humble servant, hoping to be treated with equal reverence when it was her turn to sit upon the throne of pillows.

     “I am the QUEEN,” intoned Anna.

     “Yes, your majesty.” Mimi sprang to her feet and curtsied.

     “You are my servant.” Anna added sternly.

     “Oh yes, YES your majesty.”  Mimi folded her hands and bowed her head as if in prayer.

     “MARCH!” commanded the monarch.

Obediently Mimi, a procession of one, paraded in tight circles round and round the small space between the two beds. She lifted her knees high and pounded the floor, which was cluttered with dirty clothes limp stuffed animals and other debris, with her bare, pink feet.  All the while saluting her sister and in a sort of robotic frenzy, stifling giggles, Mimi repeated “yes your majesty, yes, your majesty.”  Until the tender bottom of one little foot came down directly on the pointy end of a Monopoly piece shaped like an upright cannon. Never would a little girl receive the stigmata in such a way in Roberta’s room.

      Between Roberta’s twin beds stood a chest of drawers that measured up to Mimi’s nose.  Displayed upon the dresser top, like a diorama in the county museum was Doreen Olberding’s collection of Betsy McCall dolls.  There were three dolls, each eight inches tall, each dressed impeccably down to her white anklets and buckle shoes.  There was a blonde, a brunette and a redhead and they were having a tea party.  At a little round table draped with a perky, polka dotted cloth the three girls sat on carved wooden chairs, staring at each other and at a delectable miniature cake and sandwiches.  In the center of the table was a vase of Lilliputian tulips and daffodils that Mimi could almost smell.  Over to one side of the table, but also standing on the petit point rug was a fancy bird cage made of wire formed into delicate tracery hanging from a filigreed gold stand.  In the cage was a single, minuscule yellow bird poised to sing.  It looked just like mother’s canary.  Mimi felt as though she was peering into one of those fabulous spun sugar Easter eggs at a scene so delightful that it was like a glimpse of heaven.  How she wanted to reach up and touch one of the dolls, examine her lustrous, unmussed doll hair, the springy net crinoline beneath her party dress and her tiny white socks and panties.  Of course, she did not.  Roberta’s mother towered above the scene watching them look.  She supervised the viewing like a nun patrolling the classroom during a spelling test --- ready to slap any dirty little hand that might reach in to disturb the paradise she’d created.  The prim perfection of these dolls was not to be violated --- unspoken, but understood.

     Gazing, transfixed at the scene, Mimi recalled a day when she and Anna were smaller and mother let them play with two dolls that she’d preserved from her own childhood in the 1920s.  They were baby dolls with soft, floppy bodies and delicately hand-painted porcelain heads.  Their vacant eyes rolled open and shut behind thick, bristly eyelashes --- slowly at first wtih the girls' gentle rocking --- but eventually faster and faster as their game evolved from playing house into a winking contest.  Who could make her baby blink the fastest?  Of course when mother shoo’d them down into the basement to play one drizzly day Mimi and Anna took the dolls with them and the poor old dolls had not survived being dropped on their heads on the cold, hard concrete floor.  When they were a little older Mimi and Anna each received a “Mitzi” doll --- not “Barbie” --- for Christmas.  Mitzi was less expensive, she was prettier and made of softer plastic than Barbie who seemed frigid and forbidding --- like she didn’t really want to play with children.  Mitzi’s hair was red and abundant.  It wouldn’t matter if you cut some of it off --- she had plenty.  Mother seemed to understand about dolls and she was also good at providing real, live babies for Mimi and Anna to practice their maternal skills on --- though never in the basement!

     At Christmastime Mimi and Anna were invited into Roberta’s room to witness Betsy McCall’s holiday party.  The dolls were wearing wonderful dresses of taffeta and velvet in deep jewel-like colors with satin sashes that matched the bows in their hair.  Two of them wore dark tights and red shoes while the other had lacey anklets and black patent leather “MaryJanes.”  There was a glosssy make-believe turkey on the table and adorable miniature dishes of mashed potatoes, carrots and peas.  At that size, even vegetables looked delicious.  A plate of tiny cookies had no doubt been left out for a plump but petite Santa Claus.  Opposite the gilded birdcage, its occupant still waiting to sing, stood a Christmas tree festooned with colored balls and a glittering star at the top.  Neatly arranged beneath the tree was an array of darling little gifts --- each neatly wrapped in patterned paper and tied with a bow or a fluffy bunch of scissors-curled ribbon.

     Mimi swallowed hard.  A warm sensation of shameful longing rose from her bottom all the way up her back and across her tightening scalp.  She coveted those dolls, Roberta’s matching bedspreads and curtains, the safe, soothing carpet beneath her feet, the mother who stayed awake and paid attention all day --- but mostly she yearned for the mysterious little gifts --- not realizing that under their festive wrapping was nothing but Styrofoam and blocks of wood.

And, thanks to Pinfreak, I have put together a playlist of the entire film. I do love YouTube!

Sanctuary - Rubbish, really. But I finished it anyway, cos it was not badly written. Just poorly plotted with mediocre characterization that somehow left me still wanting to know how it all ended. I suppose that really makes it a successful book.

Review from eZine: (cos I am feeling lazy today)

The story line was very well done, and the characters were interesting, although fairly predictable. I believe Raymond tries to have the same writing style as Dan Brown, but in my humble opinion, he doesn't do as good a job as Dan.

The worst thing about The Sanctuary is that it takes a long, long time to get to the point. There are an inordinate amount of chase scenes and shoot-outs, which ruined it for me a little bit. I don't mind a bit of violence, but when one man can out shoot 6, I find it a tad ridiculous. When they can out shoot that many people more than once, it becomes even more ridiculous.

When I first started reading the book, I thought that it was going to be just another book about chasing a mysterious elic of unusual, Godlike power. While in some sense, that is what this book is about, it is deeper than that.

If you like historical fiction that's jam packed with car chases, diabolical villains, shoot-outs and action, then you can do worse than buying The Sanctuary

Just a Geek - Just buy it and read it. You will thank me. Whether you are a Star Trek fan, even of the sub-genre Let's all hate on Wesley ilk, or like insights into another person's life, you will love this. I will buy you a drink if you don't!  I am hoping for an e-reader for Christmas, so I can get more of his writings on pdf.


Strange Angels and Betrayals - I enjoyed Angels more than Betrayals initially. Dru came across as a stronger female character in the first book, though by the end of Betrayals she was once more kick-ass wild. Love her. Waiting impatiently for more in the series.

From Powell's Books:

Angels:  Dru has always known about the poltergeists, vampires and werwulfen that inhabit the Real World since her father has traveled the country battling them, often with Dru's help. But when he is killed after they move to the Dakotas - and is sent back as a zombie to kill her - Dru digs deeper into her history, trying to find out who murdered her mother and who is after her.   Graves, an orphan, joins up with her, and Dru is able to get some answers from Christophe, a djamphir (part human, part vampire).

Betrayals:   Poor Dru Anderson. Her parents are long gone, her best friend is a werewolf, and she has just learned that the blood flowing through her veins is not entirely human. (So what else is new?)

Now Dru is stuck at a secret New England Schola for other teens like her, and there's a big problem she is the only girl in the place. A school full of cute boys wouldn't be so bad, but Dru's killer instinct says that one of them wants her dead. And with all eyes on her, discovering a traitor within the Order could mean a lot more than social suicide. . .

Can Dru survive long enough to find out who has betrayed her trust and maybe even her heart?

That's Another Story - Autobiography of a working class girl who made it as one of the best actresses of my generation. Well written, funny and intimate.

From Powell's Books:   

Julie Walters has been delighting audiences on screen and on stage for more than 25 years, and has been described as Britain's most popular actress and comedienne. Now she tells us her own story, in her own words.

She was born in 1950s Birmingham, daughter of an austere Irish Catholic mother, and was sent to school in a convent. She wanted to be an actress from a young age, but to appease her mother she first went into nursing--that didn't last for long, and she soon joined Liverpool's Everyman Theatre. West End success followed, and she quickly replicated her success on film, earning an Academy Award nomination for her role in Educating Rita. Julie's collaborations with her close friend Victoria Wood have given audiences many unforgettable characters, and she's recently charmed a new generation of fans playing Mrs. Weasley in the Harry Potter films, alongside Meryl Streep in Mamma Mia , co-starring with Helen Mirren in Calendar Girls, and co-starring in Billy Elliot.

A natural writer with an instinctive sense of timing, Julie's memoir is warm, moving, painfully felt, fiercely intelligent--and totally entertaining.

Freak the Mighty  - The story of Kicker and Freak, and their summer together. One of the best books I have read this year.

The Brief but Excellent Synopsis from Powell's Books: