Frances Ellen Speaks!

Archive for September, 2008

Before I even started reading this memoir, I had to chuckle over the Author’s Note. Matt wrote:

“I’m not going to feed you that same old baloney about how memory is imperfect…The truth is that while everything in this book happened, it didn’t always happen the way I say it did. Sometimes I changed names or descriptions of people and places. Big deal. Sometimes I altered chronology…made people look foolish when they weren’t so foolish, made people look good when they were fools…–I know you’ll love this one–said things happened in one place when they really happened somewhere else. Okay, so maybe that is a big deal…Some of this stuff is damn funny and some of it’s tragic. Just don’t take the window dressing too literally.”

I suppose Oprah would have apoplexy over that statement. It had the opposite effect on me. I wanted to read more.

You don’t expect a book written by a Jewish fellow to start off with a chapter involving Santa Claus, but this one does. The first chapter is titled Why I Don’t Believe In Santa Claus and it has nothing whatsoever to do with religion. As a matter of fact, Matt didn’t even know he was Jewish until he was in the second grade.

Abandoned as an infant by his mother, Matt was raised by his grandparents, while their daughter, his mother, chose to hobnob across Europe. If this makes the book sound like a tearjerker, pack that notion away. Although some chapters are poignant, for the most part, the book is fresh, humorous and, at times, uproarious.

His grandfather, who was a genteel, aristocratic gentleman, had the good luck to marry a woman who was a real firecracker. She jokingly referred to the Rothschild family as a crazy cult. Speaking to her husband, she made remarks like:

“…your cult’s had so much shock therapy that if they held hands, they could provide enough electricity to power New York City.”

Getting to know Matt’s grandmother through his eyes is an unforgettable trip you won’t want to miss.

Peppered throughout the memoir are other fascinating characters–Elaine, who once convinced him that since they spent so much money in FAO Schwartz they should be entitled to some free gifts, The Petty Thieves.  His short association with a reclusive old woman living in his building, who hadn’t been seen by any of her neighbors in thirty years, Greta Garbo Lives Next Door, leaves you wistful, wishing he had time to find out more about her.  And there was his third-grade teacher, Ms. Wood, who delighted in giving him D’s on his papers, which he hid from his grandparents until they were eventually found, All in the D’s. His grandmother didn’t pull any punches that day,

“Oh, Matthew, what the hell are these?”                                                            .

Although this book is written by a person who lived just steps away from the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue, you never get the impression that it’s from the perspective of a rich kid. If anything, you feel Matt didn’t even realize he was rich until he reached puberty. (That’s another amusing story to read about).

What makes this memoir beautiful is that it is honest, in spite of what Matt tells you in the Author’s Note. His writing is witty, sincere, unerringly compassionate, hilarious and totally entertaining. Pick up this book; it’s a memorable read.

[Goodnight, Mr. Newman. We loved you.]

About a week ago, I sent an email out to several friends asking them to share a favorite childhood memory with me. Many of those who replied were the same people who have been telling me they can’t write.

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you know I strongly feel everyone should be writing something –anything– so that the only thing one leaves behind isn’t just ashes. What would be the point of your being here if that’s all you leave?

Don’t even think about keeping a diary. Because you probably won’t. However, having a notebook sitting on an end table, a pretty one with flowers or something on the cover, might be just the thing. If it’s there, maybe you’ll write in it once in a while. I guarantee someone from the future will thank you for it.

From time to time, I’ll show some of the responses I received to my question. The ones I’ve chosen to share today probably took a mere five minutes (if that) for the respondents to write.

Here’s one from Judy H. It’s only two sentences long, but it says a lot about how kids entertained themselves before computers, and about the lack of crime in our neighborhoods.

I think my favorite childhood memories were playing games in the street – like “giant step” and neighborhood games like “Cops and Robbers”. Those were the days when you could run around the neighborhood without being afraid.

This one is from Judy C. Again, very few sentences. This one is a whopping three sentences. Who knew before there were Good Humor trucks, there were Good Humor bikes?

Let’s, see, I think it would be when my grandfather was a VP with Good Humor. I used to visit the warehouse where all the Good Humor Ice Cream bicycles were kept and riding them around the warehouse, not to mention eating the Good Humor ice cream birthday cakes he used to have made for me. Wow, that was a looooooooooooonng time ago!!

It doesn’t get much more succinct than this from Denise O.

When my sister ;o) got me Tony the Pony
>Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox LOVE THAT TONY!!!

For the record, Denise is my sister and I bought the Tony the Pony for her birthday when she was four or five years old. Tony is a legend in our family. But who would know the story of Tony if we didn’t write about him?

Trust me, you need to buy yourself a notebook.

It was 7:00 a.m. I sat on the porch sipping tea when it happened. First, I heard the loud flutter of wings swooping to the ground, and then I saw the landing, It was a hawk gunning for two squirrels, who minutes before were running around the trunk of a tree, playing and squealing at each other. I expected them to scamper up the tree, but instead they stayed grounded. The hawk flew at them, but was unsuccessful. Flying close to the ground made it difficult for him to strike at the squirrels. They were too fast for him. After two attempts, the hawk gave up and flew away.

Here’s another Squirrel vs Hawk story. Again the squirrel outwits the hawk.

 I am at my computer just now and a hawk landed in the oak outside the window.  A squirrel was sitting on the next branch and it became Squirrel vs Hawk.  The hawk eyed the rodent, the rodent hopped up to the branch the hawk was on.  The hawk backed off, the squirrel returned to the lower branch.  The hawk moved closer to the squirrel and the squirrel hopped back up to the hawk’s branch.  The hawk spread its wing intimidatingly and the squirrel went back to his own branch.  Finally the hawk gave up and flew to the fence and then into the other trees.

Hawks aren’t the squirrels’ only problem. Dogs love the pursuit, too. Check out Basil

Basil spots a squirrel behind a bench. Before I can know what’s happening, he jumps on the seat, then the edge of the bench’s back, from which he proceeds to jump off, in an attempt to follow the squirrel up the tree. Of course, he falls to the floor, from where he continues his chase.

This happens in less than 30 seconds. After the squirrel jumps to another tree, he resumes the walk as if nothing had happened.

It appears cats are a major problem for the poor squirrels, too. See Martannasmimi’s Weblog

Rocky fell from his home,  a nest in a big tree. He was about to be attacked by a huge cat when Popa rescued him. Marta was amazed to see this tiny helpless little guy.

We called our local animal rescue person, a very nice woman who lives down the road . Jean is an older woman who has been taking in local injured wildlife for many years.

Some days are luckier than others.

Even before you read one word of Barbara’s book, you understand what a remarkable life she has led. Printed inside the front and back covers are the names of all the people she has interviewed–the famous and the infamous.

Reading about her childhood, with its constant ups and downs, was fascinating mainly because her father was the founder and owner of the Latin Quarter. Her mother was like any other kind and doting mother, except it appears she showered more attention on Barbara’s sister, Jackie, who was autistic. To her credit, Barbara admits to being jealous of that at times.

But the real reason I bought Barbara’s book had to do more with the loud, reverberating crash women heard when she smashed through the glass ceiling into a field that had always been a male bastion. She became the first female co-host of the Today morning show. In 1974, that was unprecedented. Then a couple of years later, the even louder boom–Barbara Walters became the first woman “ever” to anchor a network evening news program. Single-handedly, she turned the knob and opened the door for all the women who followed her. I will always admire her for that.

The book is a history book written in an entertaining format. Her in-depth interviews with personalities like: Katherine Hepburn, Audrey Hepburn, Anwar Sadat, Clint Eastwood, Oprah, Fidel Castro, Henry Kissinger, Elizabeth Taylor, Golda Meir, Margaret Thatcher and many others, including all of the Presidents the United States, while always revealing onscreen, are even more captivating on the pages of her book, where she discloses additional tidbits of information.

A good read! If you happened to live through it all with Barbara, even better.