Dry Your Tears Downton Abbey Mourners

Proving once again that this column will go to no end to provide readers with succor in times of trouble,  we present a book that will (no doubt) continue your obsession with Great Britain Once Upon a Time.

"Rose: My Life in Service; Recollections of Life in One of England's Grandest Households by the Personal Maid to Nancy, Lady Astor" by Rosina Harrison   Viking Press   237 pages   $8.95

Rosina was a self-described Yorkshire lass and as such, wasn't apt to take a lot of (or any) guff from others.  She met her alter ego in Nancy, Lady Astor, who was equally strong-willed in addition to being something of a dictatorial bitch.  The entire household (more than 40 indoor servants and many more working outdoors in the gardens and stables,  quailed and hid as much as they could from her biting tongue.  Her usual response to Rosina was "Shut up, Rose!"  And that was when she was in a good mood!

Rosina was born in 1899 and died, age 90, in 1989.  Lady Astor was born May 19, 1879 -- interestingly enough husband Waldorf Astoria was born on the same day and year -- she died in 1964.  Rosina began working for her in 1929 and was still toiling for her 35 years later when Nancy died. 

Rosina had a good eye for details and ably describes the various houses the family owned, Cliveden, 25 miles from London, being the most frequent weekend destination. There the ladies changed clothes no less than five times per day, depending on the activity planned.  Ladies maids had to present a spotless riding attire the next morning after the rider came home covered in mud and brambles the day before.   Cleaning tips were eagerly shared.   

 Further, she gives penetrating looks at life among the servants and their hierarchy.  She says she had no interest in Nancy's politics or friends as the class distinction between them was too vast.  Instead, this is a recounting of life working for Astor.

She had tremendous responsibilities, among them being handed a 5-page list of the jewels Astor owned along with a precise description of each.  It was her job to keep track of them as Nancy had a bad habit of misplacing them and then accusing a servant.  Astor and her daughter routinely traveled with 20 pieces of luggage and expected Rosina to never lose any of them.  She never "lost so much as a ribbon" says Rosina.. 

All in all, it's a riveting account of life behind the green baize curtain and I am enjoying it hugely even though I only watched one episode of Downton Abbey.   Another book you enthusiasts might like is The Little Princesses by "Crawfie," nurse to the then-Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret.

We Don't Have to Die to Go to Paris

Peggy, of Zen Travel, really went to bat for us big time.  Our seats are not only already paid for due to our first go around, but:  we get a $600 refund as the prices have changed since then.

We did have to change dates - I wanted to leave April 2nd so that I could say, "One year ago today, I broke my hip - and look at me now!"  But such selfish foolishness would have cost about $4,000 more.

Peggy pointed out that at this time of year, the Spring Breakers are loose in the airports of this and many foreign lands.  Air France, for example, was charging $1,000 to go Coach to Paris -- and $5,000 for a Coach ticket home.  (Suck in breath, then gasp because flights were sold out!!!)

We leave on a Monday on AF 65 which departs LAX at 3:25 p.m. and lands at CDG Tuesday at 11:15 a.m.  (time change - it's still a 12 hour flight.)

The following Monday, we linger until 7"10 p.m. when AF 76 departs for LAX, landing at 9:40 p.m.

So -- today we see the accountant for our taxes, to be paid before departure.  I have to call the credit card company and get the chip; call Verizon and tell them the smart phone is going to Paris, ask the catsitter if she can come in ...

Am not going to fuss about wardrobe; we are instantly recognizable as "Americans" - the French seem to be born chic.  And us not.  Tant pis!  We're going to France!

"It Was a Dark and Stormy Night ..."

In Redondo Beach?!  We don't do stormy here - although, of course, we do do dark.  Our winter dark starts about 4 p.m. and it is not unusual at all to see the mailman's head-mounted flashlight bouncing down the street as he faithfully delivers the mail.  .    

Our adventure began around 5 p.m. when the wind rose up and smacked the trees below us around.  I almost understood seasickness as I watched the trees whipping back and forth.  I have a great seat for wild weather - across from the balcony where the tree tops are just visible above the balcony railing.  There is a fan palm tree top that is virtually hypnotizing. 

Normally any storms we have are merely cells passing over and after an initial rat-a-tat on the skylight, they are quickly gone.

Not so this morning.  Richie was coming up the stairs when there was a tremendous clap of thunder and Minuit nearly took him out flying down the stairs at warp speed to get under the bed.  Time passed as he turned the coffee on and then went out to get the papers.  Halfway back up the stairs, repeat scene - BOOM! THUNDER CLAP!  Cat racing down the stairs like a runaway freight train, tail streaming out behind her. 

It's been an electrifying morning here (and it's only 8:52 a.m.)  I just glanced over my shoulder and Minuit is having a drink of water out in the kitchen.  Or ... refueling?... I hope not.  Richie's not as young as he used to be and being charged by a 12 lb. cat is the equivalent of the Pamplona chased by the bulls scenario. 

But the storm is gone and the skies are clearing.  Maybe the wind-tossed tree dancers will be back late this afternoon, but that's easy to live with and enjoyable to look up and see.

Today At Spanish Class

Today I distinguished myself with this --  we are each given a card with a sentence in Spanish on it.  We are to read the card aloud in Spanish and then, again in Spanish, respond to whatever the hell it said.

Spanish:
Vives en un piso O en una casa?
You live in an apt. or a house?

Me:
Yo vives en una casa grande - mi papi esta un jefe de los drogues.
I live in a great big house; my Daddy is a drug lord.

These classes take place the first Saturday of each month.  Anyone want to make book that I'll be kicked out by June, if not sooner?

I WILL Go To Paris - Dead or Alive

We have been trying to get there since June of last year.  Two?  Three? times we've had to cancel; I can't even remember any more. 

But this time we are going even if one of us is dead (more airplane food for the living.)

This is what I'm considering.  The dead one is dressed in street clothes, with a bulky winter coat, put in the transporter wheelchair with a baseball hat pulled down over the face (to hide closed, dead eyes) and when the survivor hands over the passports, his/her line is, "Please, he/she's finally sleeping!  I thought the sleeping pill would never take affect!  Please don't wake him/her up!"  (And good luck with waking a dead person anyhow." )

The survivor will brush aside a flight attendant's offers of assistance - "Oh, no, thank you but if he/she wakes  up with a strange face staring down at him/her, she/he will freak out.  This illness has caused ... some unfortunate dependency issues ..." which should take care of that. 

To guarantee first off of the plane at CDG, the survivor will ask for help - "OMG!  I thought he/she was just sleeping!" as the plane begins its descent into CDG.    

At that point, the dead one can be transported straight from the Triple 7 to the crematory; the survivor can go on to enjoy their vacation and the airline can sell the now empty seat to someone else for the return flight home.  Don't hope for a refund on the ticket.  The French are too frugal for that kind of nicety. 

 The loser's box of ashes will just have to fly via US Postal Service.  But it's not like they'd want any champagne...Being dead and all ...

 

St. Ignatius of Loyola, 1491 - 1556

Every now and then I run across a phrase or a thought - or thought fragment - that intrigues or amuses or makes me think a little bit.  This poem is an example and I ran across it in a Penny Vincenza novel where it was used as a part of a funeral service. 

Lord, teach me to be generous
Teach me to serve you as you deserve
To give and not count the cost
To fight and not heed the wounds
To toil and not seek for rest
To labor and not ask for reward
Save that of knowing that I do your will. 

Letters to the Editor

Daily Breeze - 3/2/16

Only color Hollywood cares about is the color of money

Dear Sirs:

What's all this talk of black and white at the Oscars?  Hollywood only knows one color - green.

Sincerely,

Richie Murphy