Gita Presents Rumer Godden

Jacquie's Email Notice

One of my favorite books as a child was Rumer Godden's The Doll's House. In my copy, the 1962 edition with heart-clutchingly lovely illustrations by Tasha Tudor -- a hand-me-down from my sisters -- my mother had highlighted, with a penciled bracket, the following text:

"It is an anxious, sometimes a dangerous thing to be a doll. Dolls cannot choose; they can only be chosen; they cannot "do"; they can only be done by; children who do not understand this often do wrong things, and then the dolls are hurt and abused and lost; and when this happens dolls cannot speak, nor do anything except be hurt and abused and lost. If you have dolls, you should remember that."

At the time, I took this very literally; so much so that I would sit quietly with my dolls seated comfortably around me and only imagine the games I was playing with them for fear of bending a foot or an arm incorrectly, causing pain to my dearest friends. I was deeply affected by the sentiment in this paragraph, but not in the way I imagined my mother, or the author, had intended, for reading it now, I don't believe it is merely a reminder to little kids to keep their rooms tidy. So getting to this week's presentation by Gita on Rumer Godden, I think it will be very interesting to understand this quote more clearly by knowing more about the author and her larger body of work. For me, I have always recalled Rumer Godden fondly as the author of my favorite books when I was little, so I am looking forward to learning more about the woman who could infuse real humanity into the dolls in her stories, while also being the author of Black Narsissus!

The forecast looks perfect for meeting this Wednesday, October 20th in Barbara's garden  at 12:45 pm, when Gita will continue our exploration of Biography. Until then! -- Jacquie

Christine's Minutes

It was perfect autumn weather, sunny, warm enough but not overly, and the air felt brisk, as 12 members of the Literature Club gathered in Barbara Morrow’s lovely backyard, where it feels like the tippy top of Hastings. 

The leaf blower brigades had not received the notice that we were meeting today, and their absence was much appreciated. 

President Fran Greenberg rang the bell at 1:05pm.

The minutes of the previous meeting were read and accepted. Without the treasurer, we assume the balance remains the same. There was further discussion of the choice of a book in honor of Phyllis Frankel; a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt was suggested, but the ultimate decision remains with the library. Fran thanked Barbara for her lovely backyard, the lovely weather, and the delicious refreshments. It was noted that even though it has been decided that in these COVID times hostesses will not be providing lunch, and members will be responsible for their own lunches, all our backyard hostesses have managed to offer beverages and small delicious edibles. The compulsion to provide sustenance seems to be solidly encased in the DNA of Literature Club members.

Gita Padegs’ program was on Rumer Godden. Here is another woman writer we have all heard of, yet barely know, and who turns out to be fascinating, not unlike Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. 

Margaret Rumer Godden was born in 1907, the second of 4 sisters. That fact affected her throughout her life, as she always considered herself the un-pretty one, as compared to her sisters; and all her life she hated her appearance. Her family moved to India, where they had experienced the privileged life of the Anglo-Indians; their family of six had fifteen servants to look after them. Yet the Godden children understand that they lived in an artificially privileged world, and were aware of the suffering that existed all around them. Those early years in India were formative and a great source of material, but at the age of five she was sent to a convent school in England for a ‘proper education’. 

Rumer’s initial career choice was to be a dance teacher, and for this she moved to Calcutta, a city she never much liked. But for twenty years she ran a dance school there. At the age of 27 she married Lawrence Sinclair Foster, because she was pregnant. It was not a happy marriage. One issue that contributed to their incompatibility was Foster’s unwillingness to learn, and lack of interest in, Indian ways and culture. 

While still running her dance school, Rumer wrote and published Black Narcissus. It was a best-seller, and also made into a film starring Deborah Kerr. Rumer wrote a novel almost every year from 1936 onward, generally with the theme of the loss of innocence. She also moved constantly. In 1942 she and her two daughters moved to Kashmir and lived on a houseboat. In 1945 she moved back to Britain. After finally divorcing Foster in 1948, she married James Dixon in 1949. In the 1950’s she became interested in Roman Catholicism, and in 1968 she officially converted. She often wrote sympathetically of nuns and priests.

 

Central to her life were her daughters, Jane and Paula, and her writing. She also worried about money, and supported her parents. And of course, she was passionate about her Pekinese dogs. Rumer published more than sixty books:  novels, memoirs, and children’s’ books. She died at the age of 90. 

Members read from the memoir, A Time to Dance, No Time to Weep, about her time in India. Then from the memoir A House with Four Rooms. Especially enjoyed was Rumer’s hilarious interview with Mrs. Herrington, demonstrating the lengths to which a mother will go in order to get some writing time. 

The meeting ended with a brief discussion of how we shall meet, going forward. There will come a time when outdoor meetings are no longer feasible, so perhaps we can try a hybrid of indoors and Zoom. Clearly, our technological savvy has grown by leaps and bounds since the onset of the pandemic.

Respectfully submitted,

Christine Lehner

Recording secretary

Lori Presents Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

Jacquie's Email Notice

“What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and his words! His real-life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself. All day long, the mill of his brain is grinding, and his thoughts, not those of other things, are his history. These are his life, and they are not written. Every day would make a whole book of 80,000 words -- 365 books a year. Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of the man -- the biography of the man himself cannot be written.” ― Mark Twain

Hello Literary Ladies!

I believe this year's theme is more open to interpretation than others have been in the past. "The biography of the man himself cannot be written," writes the great Mr. Twain, and I think it will be fascinating to re-visit this quote after our year of exploring Biography is complete. What can we know of a person from their deeds as well as their writings and their art? How can they be understood and, perhaps even, in this era of intense personal scrutiny, be judged?

We shall continue our exploration of this intriguing topic this Wednesday, October 6th at 12:45 pm with Lori's presentation on Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. As the weather at the moment looks fair, we will be meeting in Joanna's glorious garden. If there is any doubt, please look for Fran's email on the subject by 11 am on Wednesday.

Until then, enjoy the grinding of the mill of your brains, for I know there are wonderful stories being written there! -- Jacquie

Christine's Minutes

On October 6, 2021, ten members of the Literature Club gathered on Joanna Reisman’s lovely stone patio, behind her Revolutionary War-era house. Surrounding us were elegant river birches, also known as black birches or Betula nigra, flaunting their peeling bark. Given that we are post-Covid, or perhaps still mid-Covid, it did not go unnoticed that two of our members (one fifth of the attendees) sported new haircuts. 

President Fran Greenberg rang the bell at 1 pm, and thanked Joanna for her backyard, the good weather, and the liquid refreshments. She also thanked Connie for her delicious plum tart. The minutes of our previous meeting were read and accepted. The treasurer reported that we have $345.52 on hand. It was decided that we would ask Debbie Quinn, the Hastings librarian, to determine the best book to honor our late member, Phyllis Frankel, either a biography about Eleanor Roosevelt or one on American history. 

And then, as if scripted, at the instant our speaker for today, Lori Walsh, was announced, the leaf blowers began their buzzing accompaniment from across the trees. 

Lori’s subject was Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, known to most of us only as the author of a heart-rending childhood classic, The Yearling. We were about to learn how much more there is to MKR. 

It was a review by Dwight Garner in the Times of a new biography of Rawlings, by Ann McCutcheon that intrigued Lori and decided her choice of subject. The reviewer wrote: “It’s a pleasure to meet this cursing, hard-drinking, brilliant, self-destructive, car-wrecking, fun-loving, chain-smoking, alligator-hunting, moonshine-making, food-obsessed woman again on the page”. It was likewise a pleasure for us. 

Marjorie Kinnan was born in Washington DC to Arthur Kinnan and Ida May Traphagen, a frustrated social climber. Her mother’s determination that Marjorie would have success in her stead, and her self-sacrifice all contributed to Marjorie’s future achievements. The mother-daughter relationship was close, and often fractious. Marjorie met her first husband, Charles Rawlings, while working at the literary magazine at the University of Wisconsin. Her mother thought he was not good enough, and she was proved correct. 

But Charles was the one who took the couple to an orange grove in Cross Creek, Florida. While he was off yachting and gallivanting, Marjorie dug in her heels and decided she wanted to write about the region and its characters, the ‘Crackers’ and the Blacks. She took up alligator hunting. She learned understand the local dialect, in which they spoke almost “Chaucerian phrases.” She started writing stories and vignettes about her Florida neighbors. In 1930 she sent 8 sketches to Scribner’s, and they bought one, “Cracker Chitlins”, for $130.  In 1931, the story “Jacob’s Ladder” caught the eye of the famous and fabled editor, Maxwell Perkins. Thus began a 17-year relationship and hundreds of letters. Perkins encouraged her to write about the region she knew so well. Her first novel, South Moon Under, came out in 1933, and was a Book of the Month Club selection. 

Members read selections from Blood of My Blood, a memoir published after her death. It was a scathing indictment of what she called ‘ruthless mother love’. 

We also read from the biography, The Life She Wishes to Live, by Ann McCutcheon.

 

The Yearling was published in 1938 and rocketed to best sellerdom. It won, and deserved, the Pulitzer. It is the moving story of a young boy, Jody Baxter, who adopts an orphaned faun; it is filled with vivid characters, bear hunts, snake bites, and anything else you could possibly want. 

Marjorie’s non-fiction book, Cross Creek, also became a Book-of-the-Month selection, in 1942. In it she described many of the local characters, and not all of them were appreciative of the attention. In 1943 Zelma Cason filed a lawsuit claiming that Rawlings had defamed her – apparently, she objected being described as an “angry and efficient canary”, but at the same time she wanted to participate in the royalties from the book. The case dragged on for 5 years, and in the end, Rawlings was ordered to pay Zelma $1, and court costs. 

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlins died at the age of 57, of a cerebral hemorrhage. She had lived large and vividly; she had two husbands and no children; she was friends with Ernest Hemingway, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Zora Neal Hurston; and she was financially independent. She advocated for preserving the Everglades and for the end of segregation. It was an enormous pleasure to make her acquaintance. 

Respectfully submitted,

Christine Lehner, Recording secretary

Christine Presents Baron Corvo and A.J.A. Symonds

Jacquie's Email Notice

Let me tell you what I wish I'd known
When I was young and dreamed of glory
You have no control
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

— George Washington in the musical Hamilton
(Lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda)

In perusing the program choices listed in our beautiful, hot off the presses program book, the varied approaches to and interpretations of this year's theme “Biography” will certainly make for compelling listening, so let the meetings of The Literature Club of Hastings-on-Hudson 2021–2022 begin!

Our inaugural meeting will be this Wednesday, September 22nd at 12:45 pm to hear Christine introduce us to The Quest for Corvo.

There has been a slight change to the venue. If we are lucky enough to meet together in person outdoors we will be meeting in Fran's lovely backyard. Currently, the weather report predicts rain, so please check your email by 11 am for confirmation from Fran if we will be meeting in person or on Zoom. And please feel free to call Fran if you have any doubts about where or how we will be meeting.

There has also been a slight change to our food policy. If we are meeting outdoors, please feel free to bring a drink or snack for yourself. If we are meeting on Zoom, please attempt to snack off-camera as a courtesy to all.

Please do a rain dance; implore the gods; wish on a star, an eyelash, or grab a wishbone – whatever your modus operandi to alter the course of the universe – with the hope that we will be able to meet in person on Wednesday. No matter what, we will be together. Until Wednesday! Jacquie

Christine's Minutes and Her Presentation

Alas, the last sentence of the last minutes of last season has been rendered incorrect by the resurgence of the Delta variant the continuation of the pandemic. We are still not enjoying the delicious lunches prepared by members.

But we are meeting ‘in real life’, outdoors, whenever possible. And so it was that for the first meeting of our 2021-2022 season, our 112th season, we gathered in President Fran Greenberg’s back yard. Twelve members were present to enjoy the intermittent sunshine, the camaraderie, and the dissonant obbligato of the power tools next door. 

The meeting was called to order at 1:10pm. Fran thanked Connie for our elegant booklet featuring a “Cubist Woman” by Jean Metzinger on the cover. Members also enjoyed the switch to the Garamond font, with its distinctive small eye on the “e”, and the extended leg of the capital “R”. 

The minutes of the previous meeting, way back in June, were read and accepted. Our treasurer reported we have $345.52 in our account. It was noted that we need to choose a book for the library in memory of Phyllis Frankel. 

For our first program in this season of biography, Christine Lehner presented The Quest for Corvo, An Experiment in Biography, by A.J.A. Symonds. For her presentation, Christine wore a fez and a Coptic cross with an amethyst; the significance of these items became clear when pictures of Baron Corvo were circulated. Written in 1934, The Quest for Corvo is still considered groundbreaking, because the reader learns the story of Frederic Rolfe, Baron Corvo, right along with the biographer, who must act as a detective, seeking and finding information about his mystifying subject. The quest began when a friend innocently gave Symonds Hadrian the Seventh, Corvo’s brilliant novel about becoming pope, half autobiographical, and half wish-fulfilment. Symonds was bowled over by the writing and wanted learn about the writer. It took years of tracking down Corvo’s old friends and enemies for Symonds to compile a reasonable picture of this contradictory man.  Frederic Rolfe (1860-1913) left school early and had a checkered career as a teacher and then a writer. In 1886 he converted to Catholicism, a religion he loved for its pageantry and rituals, and whose members he loathed. Rolfe famously said, “As for the Faith, I find it comfortable. As for the Faithful, I find them intolerable.” He quickly determined that he had a calling to be a priest. Twice he was thrown out of seminary, once in England and once again in Rome. In Italy he became friendly with the Duchess Soforza Cesarini, and began calling himself Baron Corvo. He claimed that she had bestowed upon him an ‘unused title’. Starting in1900, he lived in London and tried to make a living as a writer.  In his novel Nicholas Crabbe – which could not be published until 1958 for fear of libel suits – Rolfe/Corvo wrote autobiographically of those London years, his dire poverty, the young man he takes in and nurtures. The book includes exact transcriptions of his elegant and vituperative correspondences with publishers and agents. In Hadrian the Seventh, Rolfe’s alter-ego, George Arthur Rose, is a Catholic convert who has twice been refused to become a priest. Then along come two Eminences to visit, and apologize for the egregious mistake, and immediately set about to ordain him. Soon after, back in Rome, the College of Cardinals finds itself at an impasse, unable to agree on a choice for the new pope. George Arthur Rose is presented as a dark horse candidate, and shockingly, is elected the next pope. With his first papal act of choosing a name, Rose/Rolfe makes it clear that he will follow his own inclinations, rather than ecclesiastical traditions. Hadrian is not a name the cardinals consider appropriate. Pope Hadrian then proceeds to sell all the art stored in the Vatican, and give the proceeds to the poor; he also brings several young men from London to Rome, and gives them titles and keeps them close. 

While Frederic Baron Corvo Rolfe remains little known, his masterpiece Hadrian the Seventh has been reprinted, along with The Quest for Corvo. So, there is hope.

Members read selections from The Quest for Corvo and Hadrian the Seventh. 

As we are beginning a year of exploring biographies, I quote Symonds, from his lecture Tradition and Biography: “Biography is the telling of a story-of a life-story, and it differs from fiction only in this, that whereas the novelist must confine his plot within the boundary of probability, the biographer must observe the boundary of fact.”

The meeting was adjourned at 3 pm, just before our president noted a red-bellied woodpecker in a tree behind us.

Respectfully submitted,

Christine Lehner, Recording Secretary

—(Christine did double duty today, as both presenter and recording secretary)

Phyllis Frankel (April 8, 1934 to July 14, 2021)

It is with deep sadness that I share the news of longtime member Phyllis Frankel’s death. Phyllis was 87. Our mothers were sisters. She was fourteen years older, the first born of my generation of cousins, and like a light on the road of my life, she led my way first to Hastings and then to the Literature Club.

Whatever Phyllis did, she did well. She was our Recording Secretary for years; her minutes were beautifully detailed. Her presentations were thoughtfully done. We all so enjoyed being in her home when she hosted.

Phyllis grew up in Peekskill and Mount Vernon. She went to Buffalo State Teacher’s College, received two master’s degrees from Hunter College, the first in teaching, and the other, to prepare for her second career, in speech pathology. She married Benjamin Frankel in 1959; their daughters, Faith, Rachel and Eleanor, were all born in the sixties. She and Ben were pleasantly surprised when their 3 girls presented them with 6 grandsons. A granddaughter was born between grandsons four and five, but too late to continue the run of three generations of being the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter. Phyllis was the last. We thought of her as the family matriarch.

Phyllis was one of the founders of Temple Beth Shalom and served as president. She was active in the PTSA and the League of Women Voters.

She had a well-lived life.

- Fran Greenberg

Our Pandemic Year

The posts which follow are mostly minutes of our year on Zoom. March 11, 2020 was our last in-person meeting before we went virtual. We knew 2020-21 was going to be a tough year; we chose (wisely) Humor, Comedy and Satire as our topic. Our readings and our presentations lifted our spirits. What we missed most on Zoom was hearing each other's laughter.  

Now - we're all vaccinated. We were able to meet, finally, unmasked, for the last presentation of the year - Carla's, on Calvin Trillin, June 2. We sat in Carol's garden, the day was warm and sunny. Her peonies were in full bloom. 

For the first time this pandemic year, we could all hear each other's laughter.

Carla Presents Calvin Trillin

Superwoman Carla handled both a move and her presentation in May. 

Jacquie's Reminder Email

"When you're writing, you are robbed of your delivery." - Calvin Trillin

Hello Literary Ladies!

Although I was saddened to realize that this Wednesday, May 19th's meeting of The Literature Club of Hastings-on-Hudson will be the final one for this year's tremendously enjoyable theme of Comedy, Humor, and Satire, I know we are going to have a lot of fun with Carla's presentation on Calvin Trillin because I've already had the best time just choosing a quote for my reminder email. There was this: "As far as I'm concerned, 'whom' is a word that was invented to make everyone sound like a butler." Or, "The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found." Or even, "If Lincoln freed the slaves and preserved the Union, how come 'Lincolnesque' just means tall?" 

But the quote above in blue won the day because not only did it make me chuckle, but it also made me think; think of our dear Lit Club and the myriad ways our form of exploring different themes and the work of different writers brings added richness to what we experience together. Sharing the words of our writers by reading them aloud gives them new meaning - we hear them differently with each new reader, as well as through the minds and enthusiasm of each presenter. It might not be the 'delivery' intended by the author (ha!) but we are grateful to all our writers for bravely giving up that privilege so that we can find our own way through their thoughts and ideas, leaving our time together a little fuller than when we first came. (Pun intended, with dreams of soon returning to shared luncheons!) 

Although I missed the chance to hear everyone laughing together (or not!) this past year, Zoom still kept us all close and I think we should give ourselves a standing ovation for the new computer skills we all mastered and the creative way we persevered. I look forward to seeing you all on Wednesday. Enjoy this beautiful weather!  xJacquie

Christine's Minutes

For our first in person meeting in over a year, thirteen fully vaccinated and hence maskless members of the Literature Club gathered in Carol Barkin’s backyard. We were seated upon a variety of folding chairs. For our benefit the garden was extravagantly displaying its ornaments: bright pink and pale pink peonies were at their peak, chives were topped with lilac pompoms, and mingled all about were Rose Campion (Silene coronaria). Even the landscapers had yielded to the imperative of out literary gathering, and had rescheduled their noisy mechanical ministrations.

President Fran Greenberg rang the bell at 1:40, and it was a treat to hear the ding-a-ling unmediated by cyberspace. The minutes of the previous meeting were read and accepted. The treasury remains at $267.52. Fran told us she is in the process of affixing our club bookplates to the books donated to the library. Connie requested that members please tell her their chosen subjects for next year’s program.

What better way to end a year of humor with one of the most humorous humorists out there? Carla’s presentation was on Calvin Trillin, and her chosen readings had many of us weeping with laughter.

Along with copies of our readings, Carla had for each of us a gift-wrapped Chuckles™, elegantly described by one member as a “madeleine of a 1970s childhood in Poughkeepsie.”

Calvin Trillin was born in Kansas City in 1935. He went to Yale, where he wrote for the Yale Daily News. After serving in the army, he moved to New York City to begin his writing career. He started writing for The New Yorker in 1963, and in 1967 he began writing his column “Uncivil Liberties” for The Nation. Most importantly, in 1965 he married Alice Stewart – yes, the famous Alice of all his stories. They had two daughters, and several grandchildren. She died in 2001.

Trillin has been a prolific writer, with 177 works, in over 463 publications. In 2013 he was awarded the Thurber Prize for American Humor.

The club read, with great merriment, dare I say giddiness, selections from Floater, Tepper Isn’t Going Out, and The Tummy Trilogy. Your secretary particularly appreciated an extract from “To Market, To Market” in which their friend Jeffrey, who “had finished second in the other-than-white egg division,” chats about eggs with the poultry vendors. It must be admitted that like Jeffrey, your secretary has been known to turn up her nose at the color of yolks not produced by her own chickens.

One hilarious selection demonstrated Trillin’s technique, while traveling out of town, for deciding whether or not to accept a colleague’s dinner invitation, that is, if the food would be good.

Some members almost laughed themselves into a veritable snort, as we listened to the story of Chubby,  the collie dog, who turned out to be named George. Trillin was the one called Chubby.

Throughout his writing, his wife Alice is often brought in, as a straight (wo)man to Trillin’s extravagant gastronomic adventures. His tenderness for her is palpable.

Trillin’s comic genius is made manifest when he takes the mundane and makes it extraordinary, and hilarious. What is more mundane than finding a decent parking spot in the city? His last novel, Tepper Isn’t Going Out, is about Tepper who enjoys parking for its own sake.

A fine time was had by all. The club looks forward to this September when we can meet in person, and in the spirit of Calvin Trillin, enjoy the delicious lunches prepared by members.

Respectfully submitted,
Christine Lehner, Recording Secretary

  

Gita Presents Peter Mayle

Jacquie's Reminder Email 

April 26 Hello Literary Ladies! A note to remind you that we will be meeting this Wednesday, April 28th at 1pm, when Gita will delight us with the musings of Peter Mayle. Although we won't be together to also enjoy what few in the South of France would call "a little nosh" I hope you all will treat yourselves to something special before or during our virtual meeting/travels. Until Wednesday, Jacquie

Christine's Minutes

Thirteen members and one associate met for our meeting via Zoom on April 28, 2021. As usual, we engaged in our pre-meeting exchanges of news, books, and cultural happenings. Most significantly, on this occasion several sightings of the rogue yellow tulip were noted. This yellow (though sometimes blushing to red) tulip has appeared in the gardens of several members, in places where no tulips were planted, and where no tulips were expected to survive the ungulate depredations. Yet, there it was.

At 1:35 President Fran Greenberg rang her bell, and the meeting commenced. Minutes of the previous meeting were read and accepted. Our treasury remains unchanged at $396.52.

Then, with all due fanfare, Connie announced that our program next year will be: "Biography. "A distant second and third were "Drama," and then "Russian Literature. "The 2021-2022 season will begin on September 22.

We have made our annual donation to the Hastings Library, of $129.00, which was used to purchase several books including Hamnet, Klara and the Sun, and others enjoyed by our members.

Then it was time to visit the beautiful south of France with Gita, and Peter Mayle. The books consulted for our trip were A Year in Provence, a collection of vignettes about the author’s adventures renovating his house, and Toujours Provence, short stories about life in Provence. 

Peter Mayle was born in Brighton, England in 1939, but grew up in Barbados, where the family moved for his father’s work with the Colonial Office. Mayle was married three times, the last one being a success. He began his career writing sex education books for young people. In the 1980’s he moved to Luberon, in southern France. His books about France have been enormously successful. In 2002 the French government made him a Chevalier de la Légion d'honneur (Knight of the Legion of Honor) for coopération et francophonie, which sounds to me like he was given the award for speaking French so well.

Members first read an excerpt from A Year in Provence, in which was described a lunch on New Year’s Day. Some listeners may have developed francophone hunger pains at the excruciating detail: the meal started off with three homemade pizzas of anchovies, mushrooms and cheese; then came pâtés of rabbit, boar, thrush and saucission; then duck with wild mushrooms; then a casserole of rabbit civet; followed by a green salad, goat’s cheese, and an almond and cream gateau. The digestifs were made, mais oui, following an eleventh century recipe.

In Toujours Provence, members met the plumber who played the clarinet, and the builders who came to demolish the kitchen, otherwise known as the assault troops. We also learned the merits of rabbits, and heard of the architect’s prospective job designing a new brothel in Cavaillon. For any of us planning a visit to Aix any time soon, we learned the de rigeur of café deportment: first arrive in a red Kawasaki; second, keep your sunglasses on when entering; third, engage in ritual kissing; fourth, keep wearing sunglasses.

Our most pleasant sojourn in France ended with some Provençal wisdom regarding the use of lemon to keep away ants. Mille mercis a Gita.

Respectfully submitted, Christine Lehner, Recording Secretary