Swing In A Tree: 2023-02-26

Saturday, March 4, 2023

"Leading Ladies"

Equal time must be given to the women of Hollywood. Compiling my inventory of female favorites took longer for me than generating my list of male hunks. The first few names of these beautiful women sprang quickly to mind, but once I started my list, it grew well over my goal of ten names.

My criteria for the women on my list varied from that of the men. With the women, I had to really enjoy watching them. Whenever I’ve seen them in a film, I’ve thought, “Wow, she’s stunning.” I’ll have to admit that for some of these younger actresses, I couldn’t name a single film that I’ve seen them in, but I remember thinking, “Pretty! Sparkle!” A couple of these actresses have shaved of their tresses and still remained shockingly beautiful. Of course, several of the other actresses have mile long lists of movie credits and represent some of the best acting ever seen in Hollywood!

Chapman’s Top Ten Lovely Leading Ladies List (in no particular order):

1. Katherine Hepburn 6. Keira Knightly

2. Maureen O’Hara 7. Judy Garland

3. Cate Blanchett 8. Barbara Stanwyck

4. Natalie Portman 9. Elizabeth Taylor

5. Halle Berry 10. Gene Tierney

I’d love to see the names you put on your list. Feel free to post a comment and share your personal favorites!

"Hollywood Heartthrobs"

Because of Netflix and TCM, I started a mental list of Hollywood Heartthrobs. These splendid actors, with their dashing good looks, draw me into their worlds for about two hours at a time. The other day, I realized that my list of favorites included debonair dudes dating back to my parent's generation and went all the way to current gents with “bedroom eyes.”

I began to wonder exactly what combination of traits made me hunger for one Hollywood hunk over another. When I considered my list critically, I realized that voices play a huge role in my criteria for sexy. Looks may come and go, wrinkles and sags eventually get the best of everyone, but voices—well, they stay wonderfully sensual throughout a lifetime.

My admiration for many of my heartthrobs evolved as an appreciation of their ability to craft their art. The actor playing the same character year after year and film after film didn't make my list. I particularly enjoy watching a performance where I lose the actor within the character he portrays.

I sat down today to generate an inventory of my Top Ten Heartthrobs, and surprised myself when I crossed several names off of my list. I know my sister will squeal in protest over the deletion of Sean Connery while several other friends will feel disbelief that I don’t have Robert Redford, Mel Gibson, or Richard Gere. Anyway. . . here’s the list:

Chapman’s Top Ten Heartthrobs (in no particular order):

1. Gregory Peck 6. Jimmy Stewart

2. Cary Grant 7. Gene Kelly

3. Johnny Depp 8. Keanu Reeves

4. Harrison Ford 9. Tom Hanks

5. Denzel Washington 10. Orlando Bloom

My curiosity longs to know, who would be on your list?

"Bill Miller"

During the early years of my marriage, going out to eat happened every three or four months when my parents came to town for a visit. Now, my parents insisted that they came to San Antonio to see us, but they always made a run to the commissary for non-perishable groceries, and they always came back to our house with an entire Bill Miller Family Meal Deal. That meant tender brisket or juicy sausage coupled with potato salad and tart vinegar coleslaw. We piled our plates high with their special pickle and onion mixture, pinto beans, and warm brown bread. The sweetest tea on earth comes from this restaurant, and my parents would bring it home in buckets. One lemon meringue pie added to the tradition.

After my father died, Mom moved to San Antonio. She shifted from wanting Bill Miller’s once every few months to wanting it every week. She started a new tradition. On Sundays she would come over to our house to use our washer and dryer and insisted on providing our meal for the day. Occasionally, she’d yearn for an Arby’s sandwich, but most of the time she wanted her brisket and slaw.

Today, Paul wanted a break from his music studio and suggested making a Bill Miller’s run. Mom can no longer eat the sausage and brisket. She’s shifted to their chop—a delightful mixture of meat and bar-be-q sauce that’s absolutely perfect for her chewing and swallowing capabilities. We discovered that adding it to a baked potato makes it even more filling for her. Our tradition shifts, as it should, to embrace the new realities of our family life.

"Broadway Musicals"

From Sabrina (1995)

Linus Larrabee: And I want tickets to whatever Broadway show nobody can get tickets to.
[Mack looks inquisitively at him]
Linus Larrabee: I know, I seldom go to the theatre.
Mack: Seldom?
Linus Larrabee: So, I'm not a theatre buff.
Mack: Buff? The most difficult tickets to get will be for a Broadway musical.
Linus Larrabee: [distractedly] Okay.
Mack: That means that the performers will periodically dance about and burst into song.

I sit before a blank computer screen, listening to “OOOOOOOOO—klahoma” trill from the television in the family room. My mind’s eye displays cowboys jumping from the front porch, grabbing a beautiful partner, and swirling around until the final “okay!” My head bobs to the beat, my toes tap out the rhythm, and my torso sways in my swivel desk chair as song fills the air.

I love musicals. All of them. Every year, I promise myself that we’ll get season tickets for the shows that come to San Antonio, and every year something happens to prevent the purchase. While I’ve only seen a couple of live shows, I know I’d never be disappointed by any performance.

Sometimes I like to imagine real life as a musical. What dance choreography would I break into as I sashay through my chores? I see the perfect fan kick arcing over the washer, a step-ball-change leap through the kitchen with a final pirouette en dedans as I dust a ceiling fan.

My imagination runs wild with a terrific musical number dancing and singing up and down the aisles of HEB. As I move through each lane, more and more shoppers join in as we rumba by the dog food and boogie by the bagels. I belt out a tribute to avocados and croon a love song to Ben & Jerry’s. The entire number ends with a Rockette style chorus line as I twirl out the door and over to my car where a line of tapping bagboys load my groceries to trumpeting fanfare.

While Linus Larrabee may not approve of people who “periodically dance about and burst into song,” I think I would love to live such a life!

"From Nancy Drew to Stephanie Plum"

Nothing pleased me more as a child than coming home to find a book-sized box on my twin bed. I always knew that I’d have hours of entertainment from the latest in my Nancy Drew mystery series. My sister hooked me on the young detective by loaning me a copy of The Secret of the Old Clock. By the time I turned seven, my parents decided to join the book club in order to keep up with my demands for the next edition.

I loved reading the Nancy Drew series for several reasons. Even as a child, I enjoyed to puzzle over things and put together evidence and clues to solve a mystery. My goal with each book? Discover the solution to the crime or mystery before Nancy, of course! I smugly applauded my reasoning every time I put together the pieces of Nancy’s puzzles. Although I liked Nancy quite a bit, I identified more with her best friend, George. I felt George had a little more spunk than Nancy. As I read the books, I never imagined myself at the wheel of the blue roadster. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat, the loyal buddy ready to accompany Nancy on her adventures.

Thinking back, perhaps Nancy Drew’s perfection put me off as a child. She always wore the perfect outfit, said just the right things, and never bungled nor had a misstep. With her impeccable father and flawless boyfriend, Nancy’s noble determination to help those around her made her an ideal heroine. I, however, needed someone with a little grit.

As an adult, I still love reading light mysteries. Only now, it’s the latest Janet Evanovich installation that baits me. I hate having to wait for the next adventure of Stephanie Plum. Of course, this character embodies the antithesis of Nancy Drew. That clumsy, gritty, complicated heroine I longed for as a child appeared on the bookshelves in 1994. I identify with Stephanie Plum’s boldness. I love her imperfect family and her bumbling crime solving methodology. Whether she’s pressed against super-hot Morelli, or simmering next to sultry Ranger, Stephanie’s imperfection draws me into her world. As I lose myself into Stephanie’s adventures, I identify with her and not her best friend (which may be fortunate as Lulu’s a humongous, gun toting, ex-ho stuffed into Spandex.)

"Earl Grey--Hot"

When summer sweated and bubbled the blacktop, in true Texan style, I iced the potion and gulped gallons of it. The flavors, like a wildflower bouquet, changed with my mood. Raspberry for lazy afternoons under the tree, and chamomile for restless nights after downing too much hot sauce. I used sun tea, in honor of Apollo, as an offering. Oolong and Darjeeling, with their heavier tones, stayed up with me through long summer nights.

Then a cold front drove down from the north, a dervish spinning among the tree limbs, bringing steel skies. Autumn’s warmth retreated and retrenched under the assault, weeping as she withdrew. The explosion of energy left a trail of loss and sorrow. Yet, I sat in safety, hands warmed by the cup I embraced. Steam fogged my vision when I raised the golden liquid to sip. My anticipation of its sweetness steeped me in pleasure.

I practiced my ritual, altered by my daily needs. Today, traces of sugar laced through the hinted flavor. Yesterday, dollops of honey hung suspended in the hot tisane. Tomorrow may lead to a deep brew of Earl Grey—hot, and cut with milk and lemon.

"Teapots and Faeries"

My first teapot, a gift from my Aunt Esther, resides in my bedroom, tucked into a shelf with silk daisies sprouting from its top. I don’t think my aunt planned on the purchase, but who can resist the pleading green eyes of an eight-year-old asking for a teapot instead of toys? The pot, a plain brown Sadler from England, began a lifetime love of these wonderful vessels. Teapots became my well cherished gifts for Mother’s Day, Christmas, birthdays and anniversaries.

The collection rotates through the house with special holiday teapots making seasonal appearances. My prized tea set, brought back from Japan by my grandfather in the 1920s, includes a gilded dragon teapot that captured my childish imagination and enchants me still. My teapots, purchased more for their uniqueness than their values, hold warm memories as well as hot tea.

Back in 2002, my son (then sixteen) played a role playing game called Dark Age of Camelot with a guild filled with a remarkable mix of people. The guild suspended its eighteen-year-old or older requirement for members for Paul because they liked him so much. This eclectic group, with members from all around the United States and a few people from other countries, decided to host a LAN party in Shreveport, Louisiana and included Paul in their invitation. We decided to tag along and use the long weekend as a mini-vacation.

Shreveport’s museums, rose garden, and casinos kept us fairly busy, but the antique shops and curio boutiques lured me into their potpourri havens. One shop, in particular, captivated me with its fantasy displays of dolls, stuffed animals, gnomes and faeries. Two statues beguiled me so much that I made a rare and indulgent purchase.

Of course, my two faeries multiplied into a collection. The warrior set, that stands determined to battle, arrived one Christmas. Others appeared for special occasions while some flew into our home and perched on shelves and bookcases for no reason except to give me pleasure.

"Yellow Roses"

Yellow roses. My mother, sister and I all carried yellow roses in our wedding bouquets. As a young child, yellow roses appeared on my mother’s birthday, occasionally on Valentine’s Day, and always on anniversaries. Yellow roses bloomed on the dining room table when Mom felt blue. Yellow roses adorned the table with illness or loss. They said, “I care. I love you. You’re special. I’m thinking of you today.”

Their tradition grew into my generation, with both my husband and my son recognizing the power of a yellow rose. Whenever life’s overpowered me with stress, a dozen yellow roses removes the harsh edges. If I’ve felt overlooked and underappreciated, a single yellow rose soothes my disposition with its velvet petals and fragrant scent.

Friday, March 3, 2023

"Flirt"

David Chapman-artist

A crowded room

conversations spilling out

along with cleavage

Eyes meet

smoldering glances from afar

lashes lowered as blush spreads

Tongue tickles upturned lips

in sensuous play

bottom lip captured in a pout

Maneuver clockwise

lean closer

breath a whispered touch

Here and gone

like smoke

before the fire

"Depression"

Depression descended,

without warning,

unusually ugly.

Souls search

fervently forward

denying destitution.

An answer

no one knows

silently sounds.

"Time Gentles Us"

Time gentles us.

The harsh edge of youth, worn smooth by experience, flashes still in our eyes.

The dreams we created during marathon letters, the hopes we shared in late night talks,

the idealistic beliefs in our power to craft our world still simmer within us.

We write, sing, dance and paint.

We invent and design even as we age.

Our minds conceive one more challenge, and we strive instead of giving up or giving in.

Shallowness flaws some of us who search for The-Next-Best.

Praying to the false deities of selfishness, some listen to the wrong sermons.

“If I’m happy, then . . .” becomes the excuse for broken promises and heartless escapism.

Are we the hopeful or hopeless generation?

Have we fashioned a world of possibilities or of twisted humanity?

Suzette Lawrence in Austin

"The Aging of Love"

At first

its warmth penetrated

cascading over me like sunshine

murmuring to me with the rhythm of soft rain

cleansing my spirit—

cool, sweet, crystalline

Pure

swaying in the breeze

Then came

sparking eyes

a trickle of laughter

following me forever

Gummy Bears

Silky baby powder

the earthy scent of youth

rippling and dancing

Finally,

the yellowing lace and wrinkling skin

a soft sigh of summer’s end

Autumn’s whispering

bittersweet kisses

rounded

padded

soft pats of affection

"Silhouette"

reflecting on glossy screen

delving into the mirrored universe

holding onto reality through voyeurism

crawling through a web in search of just-the-right-word

looking through the window-or

stepping through the doorway

choosing motion over inertia

fearing stillness’s unbearable pain

losing myself within eternal bytes

entrapping my soul within the glass

David Chapman-artist

"An Ending Begins"

David Chapman-artist

Standing on the edge looking back—

So many decisions gone wrong

So many decisions proved right

No way of tracing patterns

The child longs for easier ways—

Rainbows, buttercups under the chin

Seeking security

Returning to the womb

Standing on the edge looking ahead—

So many unknowns

So many possibilities

No way of seeing patterns

The youth longs for challenge—

First love, free falling from the sky

Embracing life

Escaping tight bondage

Standing on the edge looking inward—

So many “what ifs”

So many “if onlys”

No way of changing patterns

The elder dreams on of new beginnings

Second chances, another step into sunshine

Gathering warmth

Longing to be young again