Neither Rhyme Nor Reason Exactly

By Judith Pettijohn McConnell

A variety of author stories, essays and rhymes along with reviews of books, short stories, plays and music. Title, Neither Rhyme nor Reason  Exactly reflects the fact that each has nothing to do with the others. In two instances the author animates inanimate objects e.g., Christmas tree ornaments talking with one another.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: GRAVI PRESS
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733879125

Judith Pettijohn McConnell

Award winning writer and editor. Northwestern Graduate. Principal - Writing Coach Associates. Former: PTA president, school board member, Chicago Historical Society interpreter (docent), PR Chair - Independent Writers of Chicago. Mother of two and grandmother of three.

Book preview

Copyright 2019 by Judith Pettijohn McConnell—All rights reserved.

Published by GRAVI PRESS, Los Angeles

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations within a review.

ISBN: 978-1-7338791-0-1

ISBN: 978-1-7338791-2-5 (e book)

Cover and Layout Design: JaadBookDesign.com

Christmas Tree Conversation

Illustrations by Epihany Hulburd

Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House

Paragraphs Reprinted with

Permission of Simon & Shuster NY

Back Cover Photograph: Marie Gregorio-Oviedo

Printed in the United States of America

For the Loves of my Life—William Schultz

and Gravitas

CONTENTS

FROM THE AUTHOR . . .

STORIES

ARE BOOKS OR DIAMONDS A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND?

CHRISTMAS TREE CONVERSATION

THE GOOD FLOWER FAIRY

ROCKWELL ROCKS

MY LITTLE MAC & ME

CALUM AND HIS CLASSIC INCREDIBLY COMPANIONABLE BABY CUP

SEWING PAJAMAS

Essays

GIFTS ONLY GRANDPARENTS CAN GIVE

WHEN BOBBY DARIN SINGS TO ME

ELECTION/MOOD

WHAT MIGHT THE NEIGHBORS THINK?

HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED TO ANYONE ELSE?

LIFE IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM

ORIGINAL LAQUINTA RESORT & SPA VISIT

DOESN’T ANYBODY GET IT?

CHARLIE

GRAVITAS IS A KITTEN ...

Rhymes

SOMETIMES JUST WRITING THOUGHTS

Then and Now

Dear Aunt Ginny & Uncle Doug

Elizabeth Page

Reveiws

STYLE AND THE LOVELY LEAVE

LOVING LISTENING

THREE SISTERS

QUEEN VICTORIA

FREDERICK DOUGLASS

MICHAEL FEINSTEIN

OUR HEARTS WERE YOUNG AND GAY

MANHATTAN TOWER

LOVE HER WORK

MUST I REALLY LEAVE?

From the author . . .

Sincerest thanks to all who helped this become a book. Easy enough to write, but there is much more and author and award winning producer Maryann Ridini Spencer shared at the beginning her experience and ideas. Elizabeth Gretz, Talina Thornton and Dawn Saviano-Kahn (The Gretz Team) despite fast paced crazy busy lives selling real estate aided when and how they were able.

IWOSC (Independent Writers of Southern California) member and author Ruth Frechman imparted information including re her designer who has done a superb job with this book. Long time friend and author, Joe Miller, kindly offered useful suggestions.

As ever, my Allyson; and a terrific boyfriend who despite having no knowledge of publishing was supportive at most turns and worked really hard to keep me focused.

Friends and potential readers encouraged the experience, too.

I am grateful.

STORIES

depends upon the girl

ARE BOOKS OR DIAMONDS A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND?

First, wash my hands preferably with Yardley’s lavender soap, dry them carefully, and climb directly onto the forest green sofa, or its matching chair. Now I am ready for my new book, or friend as I have come to believe every book to be. Books are much more than objects, my Grandmother explains, They are your friends. And through them you can travel very nearly everywhere.

I open this one precisely at its center and carefully fold the pages there to the left, bending them subtly back toward the binding; the same on the right—through there isn’t any hard and fast rule as to whether I, or anyone, ought to begin by bending left or right. Then I do the same at the quarter positions. My book now has been properly ‘broken in’ and will stay open to a particular page—the one I am reading, for example—so worth this little time and trouble.

Not only am I taught to handle books with great care, but encouraged to consider their content; question, learn, understand and love them. This seems a good plan for an only child. I am taken by the charm and fun of the lovely Louisa May Alcott stories, feeling that I now have four sisters; am intrigued by Abe Lincoln’s studying by candlelight; experiencing wagon train life as westward boundaries expand: Touch ever so gently the glossy pictures of, say, a symphony box, London garden, Florentine Palazzo or cathedral built throughout Europe by the civitas of artisan guilds or wealthy merchant families, and overall enjoy an exciting life of wide ranging activity and possibility. I have been to Paris and Russia, too, with Eloise. If something is in print, I am attracted to it.

Even during the summer, especially during the summer, I trek, sometimes skipping the whole way, to the village library to check out more books. These borrowed volumes are treated, too, with care and will be my friends for a time. On rainy days I curl up on the matching chair, or sprawl across my twin bed dressed in its Wedgwood blue with small white leaves duvet covering its down comforter, by the hour; or climb the stairs to the dusty attic with its dim light bulb to take advantage of both adventure, and the seductive sound of raindrops beating upon the roof overhead and streaming, some days, in sheets down the narrow windows.

On the many more prevalent sunny days though, my favorite places to read are in the canvas hammock while swinging gently into the luxurious lilac bushes; or perched atop the Y shaped branch against the trunk of our cherry tree, easily four feet above the ground. Here, amidst the small white blossoms—with pink smudges in their centers—my legs dangling, or stretched out along the V of the Y, I might really be anywhere.

So, despite my daily vacation swim lessons, and bike riding, and watching the Cub games on TV at my grandfather’s knee(nearly daily and yet I think the On Deck as in circle was one word until probably my 30’s), mostly I while away hours learning about places and people, and all manner of interests.

How then do I explain the response of this sedentary, rather thoughtful and quite ladylike child—that would be me—to the movie Gentlemen Prefer Blondes? Seeing it at age 11, curled up since my feet don’t quite reach the floor anyway and I haven’t yet assumed the pose of crossing them, in a large plush theater chair, burgundy colored, I think, surrounded by a large baroque and darkened space, I am enthralled.

Not at all for the film’s supposed sex appeal, for I am certainly too young, I am charmed by the characters of showgirls Loreli Lee (played by the sexy, blonde, bright, curious and quite talented Marilyn Monroe—who does mostly her own singing), and her brunette bombshell co-star (played by Jane Russell who is no slouch in the sexy or repartee departments either). The music and costumes which hold up well to this day, are exciting and attractive. The story, a bit on the soap opera side, is portrayed at such a high level of excellence—screamingly funny as in the side splitting scene in which the little boy, whomever the III, helps Monroe escape from the porthole in which she is lodged at her hips; Blondes is cerebral and the crème de la comedies at once.

Jane chides Marilyn for her ability to see a ring box in the pocket of a suitor, the wealthy geek with whom she is keeping company, from the stage despite the blindingly bright lights focused at them. He sees the two off at the ship carrying them away for a European visit, during which time the geek plans to convince his father that this particular showgirl is just right for him for a lifetime.

The showgirls entice all aboard, and the audience, with their rocking rendition of Bye Bye Baby. No sooner have they sailed than Russell teams up with an unpretentious but good looking guy who turns out to be a private detective sent along by the father of the geek. Monroe is befriended by the owner of a South African diamond mine, Piggy, (Charles Coburn) who clearly enjoys her company despite the presence of his more age appropriate wife who naively teaches Monroe how to wear a tiara. She just, Loves learning new ways to wear diamonds. Ultimately gifted with it, Monroe is especially pleased and thanks Piggy ever so.

He tells Mrs. Piggy her valuable tiara has been stolen and Monroe is blamed. She and Russell arrive, after disembarking and shopping all day, at their hotel to find their letter of credit has been revoked. Of course. Feeling let down, they sing languishingly When love goes wrong . . . nothing goes right . . . and soulfully through the late night streets of Paris, wearily lugging luggage while jostling stylishly beribboned boxes of earlier purchases until they very nearly collapse at a café for cappuccino, for sustenance.

A stunning Monroe wearing an ankle length pink satin strapless sheath, with its side bustle, in a show stopping production number surrounded by tuxedo clad dancers, sings Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend. Boy, I thought books were. Upon returning to their dressing room (still in France, working at a club to earn passage home) Russell convinces Monroe, though not easily, to return the tiara, and she sullenly, poutfully and resignedly opens the train case in which she has stored it to find—that it’s missing. Oh, no. Gendarmes will serve a subpoena and the music backed chase scene of sorts begins.

What to do? Loreli must hide and at the same time, find the tiara. The geek has turned up to help. Russell will impersonate Monroe, flirting outrageously with Judgey to disrupt court proceedings and bide for time thoroughly entertaining the staid officials, and us, with her own more rollicking and camp version of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend. The ploy works and the monacled Piggy is apprehended at airport customs, the tiara in his possession, by—guess who—the detective, who has changed sides. He and Russell, alongside the geek and Monroe, marry on board a home bound ship. The brides carry to the alter matching bouquets of lace like cherry blossoms to a slower tempo version of We’re Just Two Little Girls from Little Rock, which had opened the film.

After the movie, after dinner, I say to my grandmother, somewhat breathily, Thank you ever so, instead of my more normal, Thanks Grandma. Then I sort of sashay, in my scholarly plaid jumper and white wool turtle neck sweater, to my room where, protected by the cover of John Cameron Swayze’s TV newscast just outside my closed door, I look directly into my bureau mirror, picture myself in pink satin, tilt my head, extend my arm, drop my hand at its wrist and sing quietly, whispering at first . . . A kiss on the hand might be quite continental—but diamonds are a girl’s best friend.

During the intervening years I watch Gentlemen Prefer Blondes on television and video dozens of times and finally understand my reaction. It isn’t the undeniable sexiness of the movie, or at least not in the way one typically thinks. What apparently was sexy to me, and still is, is how the brilliant script by Charles Lederer, based on a book written by Anita Loos (an early prolific and humorous Hollywood writer); the perfection direction of