Moving again, accommodating staff

I do wonder, why we read so little

nowadays in our interior design per-

iodicals, of the problems of accom-

modating household staff. Even the

architecture websites, for all their

endless regard for second and third

residences, inexplicably pay almost

no attention to this apparent after-

thought of domestic planning. We en-

joy the most exhaustive support for

our selection of paints, and natur-

ally of fabrics, so I wonder why a

nod to the sub-domestic necessities

is almost nowhere to be found. I im-

agine, our people's lack of a trade

association or union - constituent

features, these days, of so-called

stakeholders -- may play some part

in their invisibility, despite the

best efforts of the Social Security

Administration. For all the wear and

tear upon one's own decision-making

powers in the laying out of various

rooms, I cannot recall so much as a

moment of concern in my present move

for accommodating a valet, and yet

when now I examine my plans, I note

only some fuzzy assumptions about

storage space and walk-in closets,

which I suppose have always served.

I'm fortunate, I suppose, in derma-

otological advice to avoid a con-

servatory at my age, and in a lack

of need for fur storage since the

invention of ersatz fleece, so I'm

less concerned about my negligence

than merely mildly embarrassed. At

least the pictures have their walls.

Moving again, old portraits

I was talking with a friend on his
land line in California the other
day, about the problem of whether
to load up and take along disused
old portraits, moving to another
house. It's a simple problem, but
a vexing one, which means that it
remains in place, and the old por-
traits are packed along. In the
evening, prompted by a remark in
a movie I was watching, I opened
an old copy of Troilus and Cres-
sida, to a speech of self-por-
traiture in the Third Act. This
is not a play of top-of-mind a-
wareness in daily life, but its
familiarity highlights that risk
of contempt which dogs assumption
that we know it, when in fact one
knew it only for what was needed
at the time. Not to be prosaic, 
this is not a sustainable rela-
tionship with the works of that
writer, whose companionship (like
Mozart's) is so accepted as pre-
scient that there is no excuse 
for surprise, except for not hav-
ing needed what he was saying. A
portrait from the walls where one
has always lived might not be less
a matter of such fertile waiting.

   I am giddy; expectation whirls me round,
   The imaginary relish is so sweet
   That it enchants my sense: what will it be,
   When that the watery palate tastes indeed
   Love's thrice repured nectar? death, I fear me,
   Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine
   Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness,
   For the capacity of my ruder powers:

   I fear it much; and I do fear besides,
   That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
   As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
   The enemy flying.










William Shakespeare
Troilus and Cressida
1609
The Arden Shakespeare
Kenneth Palmer, editor
Methuen, 1982©

Itinerants

From time to time, a posting here
or there has referenced the college
town down the road, to acknowledge
some passing influence of its pres-
ence. Now I find myself moving res-
idence into that setting, and must
soon interrupt publication to give
attention to this project. I almost
wish I had the habit of relocation
which was so much the touchstone of
my own academic years, particularly
as it pertains to moving a shelf or
20 of books. It's daunting enough,
to challenge an English dog to de-
fend premises unfamiliar as his own.

Without warning, then, by thoughtful
composition, I do foresee a break of
a few days, within a few days. I do
not think the next enclosure will
disrupt the tone of what goes on in
this setting; Thorny will still be
Thorny, and rmbl, rmbl. I might not
be composing these entries over my
left shoulder, however, as I've done
before, but I think I'll try. An at-
tempt just made to gaze to the right
felt distinctly unnaturally strained.
They must probably see to themselves.

William Hogarth
  for Samuel Butler
Hudibras confronting
  Sidrophel & Whacum
1726

Les jeux sont fait à Biarritz

Americans, especially, always perk up

when their President ventures into a

gathering he's not competent to attend,

because they know the ejaculations of

a brittle ego will flow warm and wrath-

ful in much staining of their honor.

All of life in his trajectory's a spin

of the wheel in his delirium's casino.

What Prime Minister will he shove this

time, what autocrat start petting, what

female head of state extend a pawful of

Hershey kisses? How swollen, tirades

trip the loosened lips bombastic, en-

listing legions of late night to wax a 

bit sarcastic. All to boost his ratings.

It may be a goon show, but it's America.

Martin Conte

"We as a nation simply cannot" [fill in the blank]

We were enchanted, weren't we,
to see that wonderful scaffold
for demagogic perfidy deployed
in an online column by a CNN
"Business" contributor, on the
wisdom of American trade "pol-
icy" at this moment of inter-
national sinking in soufflées.

Surely we recall a fratboy's
exculpatory mantra, whenever
his least excusable of binges
tugs at the heartstrings so
infallibly enmeshed in flag,
family, and fanny: the exi-
gencies of fellows, faith,
and fornication working fat-
uously to mask his choices. 

Recall these farces as we may,
it never hurts to pass around
their latest re-enactment, to
set the stage for Laurel and
Hardy on Saturday morning TV.
The Manichaeans play so well
in monochrome, don't they. We
love how their catastrophes
simply cannot be averted.

Danish borders we have known

Who knew that the present era,

such as it is, might come to be

defined by that Kierkegaardrail

against expansive idiocy, that

Danish aperçu-to-go with coffee,

the absurd. A pity, that from a

Queens so awash in Danish pastry,

a politician should have emerged

to stalk the earth with ignorance

as phosphorescent as his hair, on-

ly to gain his comeuppance from a

female prime minister who thought

better of her territorial integ-

rity than to cede it, McConnell-

ishly, to his silly bluster. It

wasn't so much that his nation

had furnished no rejoinder, that

set the morning papers abuzz to

do the job of nailing it down, but

that when it finally did arrive,

it should have tripped so obvious-

ly and irrefutably from a culture

not known for power plays at all.

Ladies' Javelin aside, of course.

Christina Scherwin

Rued, the boat

You think Britain has it bad, to

be led by a PM of iridescent dis-

regard for the realities of Brex-

it? America has a similarly dyed

monstrosity, who can't stay afloat

without fibbing. But think of poor

Bogey, sparring with Claude Rains

on the patio at Rick's, having to

claim he migrated to Casablanca

for the waters, against Rains' re-

joinder that there aren't any. On-

ly in the movies, is it endearing

to confess, I was misinformed. Or

does that line survive so well, be-

cause it's lifted from childhood?

Khaki sempervirens

  I don't know why I think the green

  that is so congenital in khaki is,

  in any way, elusive. It may please

  me to be so, but it will be there.

  With which colors is one careless?

Lynn Bystrom

Gray Wolf

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