(Talk of the Town photos provided) Below, film buffs Don, Susie and Roy with the ever present remote control in hand while Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire look down upon the proceedings. At bottom, French Academy Award winning actor Jean Dujardin acted opposite Uggie the Jack Russell Terrier in 2012's best film THE ARTIST; Gaby, our Rat Terrier from West Virginia, looks forward to watching the DVD with us in our living room really soon!

By Susie Duncan Sexton

“Fabulous Fifties” inform my every thought, especially during the month of April. Comedian Bob Hope, spiffy in a tuxedo with tails as master of ceremonies, sparked each Academy Award ceremony televised in living black and white year after glorious year. Monday evening telecasts eased into Tuesday mornings as one glamorous presenter after another headed toward the podium to either award or receive the golden statuettes. No red carpet nor Joan Rivers nor competitive cleavage wars. Much more pizzazz than current coarseness -- and less artificiality than now – greatly impressed me in those bygone days as stunningly evident during the Golden Age of Television! And I sincerely wished I might not have to wake up and attend school the following day.

Fast forward to the present, lamentably devoid of Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Katharine Hepburn, Gregory Peck, Doris Day, Dennis Day, Gary Cooper, Marlene Dietrich, Joan Crawford, and Clark Gable. The pageant and its hype flashed before our bi-focaled eyes in February…featuring the likes of Will Ferrell, George Clooney, Adam Sandler, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.

Our adjustment to this seismic shift kicks in as a winter festivity with its goal the absolute assurance that we have seen every film and star nominated, which we accomplished yet again in 2012 via trips to the Bones Movie House, Coldwater Crossing, the Rave, Cinema Center and via DVD purchases or rentals. We have substituted film marathons extraordinaire in a quest to reinvigorate half-remembered glitz, “class” missing in action, and fully developed plot lines and character development once characteristic of Tinseltown.

Reviews of the most noteworthy entries are in:

Our son Roy who is an actor in the Metro-Detroit area and who studied theater history and criticism at the Ohio State University wrote:

“ ‘The Artist’ is an exquisite but fresh homage to classic film. Both leads are enchanting, and the supporting cast, which includes John Goodman and Missi Pyle and James Cromwell and Penelope Ann Miller among others, strikes the perfect balance of stylization and believability. But the cast member who literally runs away with the film is little canine star Uggie, who, along with a sparkling musical score, provides the movie’s emotional center. The silent movie conceit is less a novelty than a means of refocusing an increasingly jaded audience on true ‘special effects’ like the dynamics of an actor’s physicality, facial expressions, and human interaction. The movie also offers subtle though poignant commentary on ageism, xenophobia, and what can be lost in our breathless pursuit of technological advancement. Highly recommend! “

“War Horse” … emerged in 2011 as fine as “ Gone With the Wind” ever was and reminiscent of that 1939 war-themed epic and BLUEPRINT OF GUILTY PLEASURE which “nobody can deny”… but may not have been cool enough for the Preppie/Yuppie/Generation X crowd? I happily defy classification then! (Film-maker Frank Capra once got saddled with the snide reference “Capra-corn” resulting from his unrelenting messages of hopefulness during the Depression era and war years…yet his films rated as block-busters.) Joey the plow horse, transformed into cavalry hero, first appeared in juvenile fiction, moving to the stage by way of puppetry and ultimately into the loveliest adventure film I’ve ever viewed. I applaud the mastery of Steven Spielberg who recaptured American filmic grandeur within a British setting in a perfectly credible, harmonious blend of PBS artistry pulsating to the accompaniment of sweeping Hollywood cinematography. Yes, sheer genius.

“My Week with Marilyn” -- a weak attempt at recapturing a bonbon of a frothy moment in time when Monroe stretched to emote opposite Sir Laurence Olivier during 1957 in the U.K. The setting failed as somewhat askew and off kilter, but the Tiffany diamond -- who glittered as the jewel of “Seven Year Itch”, “Some Like it Hot ”, “Bus Stop”, “The Misfits” and the film which this year’s movie referenced, “The Prince and the Showgirl” -- shone brightly. “A+” for Michelle Williams’ re-creation of a unique yet tortured individual like none other, a grade of “C-“ for the movie itself. Dame Judi Dench operated in supporting actress over-drive this season as this production’s Queen Dowager and also as Leonardo DiCaprio’s (J. Edgar Hoover’s ) nagging mama.

“The Descendants” -- lame effort at dark comedy with Clooney performing the role of Dad about as well as I myself might have? Where? Ah, cutesy Hawaii—a sure-fire formulaic locale always successful in captivating those audiences with too little lushness and exotic daring in their lives. The script washed over me as not unlike one of those women’s magazine stories my mom and her sister Helen used to devour in their “Ladies’ Home Journal” or “McCall” sessions during long afternoons of housewives sitting at kitchen tables – packs of cigarettes and coffee cups scattered about. The ladies studied water-color “groping, grappling” illustrations while continuing from … page 17, flipping through advertising and recipes and knitting instructions, to pages 46-51 toward “happily ever after”! Eventually, those slightly suggestive, glossy, yet well-worn periodicals -- brimming with fictional romantic intrigue -- got bundled up with strings and tossed into garbage cans lining the alleyways.

“Iron Lady” -- a problematically simplistic “Reader’s Digest’s Most Unforgettable Character” study/profile allows us effortlessly to witness Meryl age from menopausal to an addled elder while channeling a Brit icon with the help of make-up expertise. One third of the story soared due to the casting of a superb English actress -- who surpassed the talents of Ms. Streep -- filling in as the younger, dewier version of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

“J. Edgar” – Leo never better… this entry impressed as atmospheric and informative and overlooked. Meryl should have loaned her make-up artist, though, to Hoover’s companion-assistant, the Jack Jones (a 60s heart-throb singer ) look-a-like who earlier portrayed the handsomer Winklevoss twin in 2010’s “Social Network”. Hoover’s assistant’s rubberized death mask , startling yet amusing viewers toward the conclusion of the saga, appeared to be melting under the studio lights, similarly to Charlie Chaplin’s fresh face-lift hilariously evaporating during the unforgettable nightclub sequence in 1957’s “A King in New York”!

“Hugo” boasts Sacha Baron Cohen as a French , 3D gendarme , his subdued but clever performance the singular reason for checking out this movie which otherwise laboriously delivers -- one scene after the other -- strangely contrived mobile illustrations straight from a (thick) kid’s book (which consists substantially of full page pen-and-ink drawings rather than text) as we wonder exactly what we might be watching unfold -- with a minimum of expectation or even tension – and why? Furthermore, Ben Kingsley will always, always, always be Gandhi to me no matter what role he plays. That is not his fault but mine.

“The Help” and “Bridesmaids” totally resonated with this movie buff, to maximum effect. “Midnight in Paris” qualified as a favorite, attributable to writer/director/soundtrack composer and Renaissance man Woody Allen -- and scintillating portrayals of literati Gertrude Stein and Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald and their chum Ernest Hemingway -- as well as appearances by artists Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dali – with the crème de la crème provided by bewildered transplanted script writer Owen Wilson who never disappoints no matter what cinematic endeavor he graces.

Finally, I applaud a film which really should have been academy nominated -- adapted from a stage play and re-titled “ Carnage”… a real-time parlor piece featuring four faux sophisticates degenerating into battling childen -- within 80 minutes -- right before our eyes. But persona non grata Roman Polanski directed this improbable confection, so this delight shall never be heard from again. As a matter of fact (or taste), the Academy Award for female lead “actor” should have been a toss-up between Kate Winslet, who convincingly vomits during the tale’s progression, and Michelle as Monroe. Critic Roy wrote: “What a masterfully acted, suitably claustrophobic comedy of bad manners! All four principals – Jodie Foster, Kate Winslet, John. C. Reilly, and Christoph Waltz – let it rip with rich material that plumbs the depths of superficial courtesy as well as the cruelty and competitive monsters lurking beneath parent-to-parent interactions. And the final third that lays bare the misanthropy and misogyny underpinning the relationships of even the most ‘sophisticated’ of couples is brilliant, troubling, and revelatory.”

The only tricky part of our adjustment to the whims, follies, foibles, and promotional shenanigans -- emanating from Hollywood in this 21 st century -- is not preference for Orville Redenbacher’s home-nuked popcorn over the movie palaces’ buttered variety -- which requires a bank loan -- but that at our advanced ages, we do become confused about whether we are seated inside a darkened theater or snuggled into separate recliners within our own living room. Conundrum? We cannot press the pause button to accommodate frequent visits to the “powder room” while totally mesmerized and “Spellbound” in some Ft. Wayne cinema complex…not that we haven’t tried searching for our remote control device once or twice nevertheless. Whoops!

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(Talk of the Town photo provided) Above, characteristically surprised (and probably annoyed by the camera) Susie reminisces with noted local historian Elmer Heinley. Below, the Sexton family stands together following Susie's recent Rotary program. From left is Roy Sexton, Susie Duncan Sexton and Don Sexton.

By Susie Duncan Sexton

Without one doubt whatsoever the final month of each successive year sends me into an absolute tailspin!  December’s always super-special within our family, for several glorious reasons, and outdid itself in 2011!

Some new folks entered our lives.  Darlene Wright, Teresa Dowell and Nelleen LaFever wrote beautiful letters of appreciation sent to our mailbox.  Jerry Freewalt called with the most supportive words I may have ever heard from another living soul outside of Bob Wannberg and Paul Schrade.  Mick Long sat beside us at Coldwater Crossing Theater Complex during our shared enraptured viewing of Stephen Spielberg’s incredibly moving new film “War Horse”, which all of us in attendance literally applauded even though “Joey” the cavalry horse onscreen could not hear our thunderous appreciation.
 
Cookie trays from neighbors sustained us. Our longtime pal Larry Wardlaw got dubbed Ft. Wayne’s Citizen of the Year!  Noel Phegley shall ne’er be forgot. Susan Grabner Wilson ( the best cursive writer of all time), Melinda Boyer Kelly (who collected more Riverside Dairy milk bottle caps than I managed to squirrel away into my flip-top desk),  and I revisited fourth grade and our West Ward days. Keith Kleespie presented us with a poignant photograph. Nicky and Ricky included us in their New Year’s celebration. The Langohrs and Bakers are such gracious folks, and we shall miss beautiful Jean.
 
Jane Uhlrich boosted my confidence as she exited Parkview Hospital on December 27th…we stood outside in the falling snow, she a released patient and I about to present a program to Rotarians.
 
Our son turned Jack Benny’s age right after Christmas, and in his new status escorted his ma to a Rotarian speaking gig at our new hospital.  He practically had to drag me there although I am a seasoned speaker and thespian.  Stage fright nearly carried me away for weeks on end before this appearance.  My nervousness might be the culprit that caused me to mis-step upon our staircase one week prior to the holidays, nearly demolishing my tailbone as I thudded down, down, down.  My mind seldom concentrated itself upon preparations for the manic season but rather dwelled upon a pronounced phobia of speaking in public – about my newly published e-book the topic of which is (drum-roll):  my mildly candid observations of this community and my “coming of age” here.
 
Rotary once got circled on calendars as a Wednesday evening event in Columbia City, our own Grover’s Corners, and high school girls, assisting with the “Men Only” club’s weekly suppers at Grace Lutheran Church, used to quarrel over who would serve Mr. Roy Duncan, my exceptionally handsome young father.  Lois Jean Adams Fahl confided this truism to me several times.  I attended a total of two meetings as a child, once as a participant in “father/daughter” night and the other at the First Presbyterian Church, to hear a program presented by a seamstress/doll enthusiast who had fashioned inaugural ball gowns, dressing a series of tiny mannequins representing all “first ladies” ever, from Martha Washington through Mamie Eisenhower, the then-current President (General) Ike’s wife!  Jacqueline Bouvier, my  favorite, probably had recently accepted “Jack” Kennedy’s diamond ring and wedding proposal, so she had yet to join the miniature stationary/runway/red carpet extravaganza! 
 
Thus, some 55 years later, here was I about to “speak formally” to Rotarians ranging from “young enough to be my children” to such stalwarts as Mr. Elmer Heinley and my very own grammar school principal Mr. Dale Pence as well as a quartet of “girls” I attended high school with during the sixties!  Dr. John Meier, seated directly across from me while documenting -- in words and photographs -- my presentation, husband Don and son Roy flanking me, and Jim Banks introducing me … all unbeknownst to themselves … added considerably to my angst!  Yet they were all very receptive and wonderfully attentive and smiling at me and often laughing at my jittery sense of humor????  Even Mike Rush behaved like a gentleman when I razzed him about his past and squealed (a reverse) “mic check” his direction several times.  I feared he might be a potential heckler, so I headed him off – at the pass!
 
There I stood at the podium, breathless and nervously coughing as beads of sweat accumulated on my furrowed brow.  I once appeared in stage plays and musicals and sang solos and delivered speeches at National Forensic League competitions, and I majored in Speech at Ball State.  Hyperventilating to beat the band, I am delighted that I did not swoon and faint right there on that spot before God and everybody!
 
Remembering to thank members Jennifer Romano and Rick Kreps for their support and for publishing my monthly columns “Old Type…Writer” and “Homeward Angle” respectively, I proceeded to ad lib unleashed, like a house on fire, until reading aloud an excerpt from my e-book “Secrets of an Old Typewriter…Stories from a Smart and Sassy Small-town Girl” (NOT my title, but suggested by my editor-publisher located in Greece).  Poised upon the podium a beautiful framed cover of my ethereal book, my life’s-work -- which only appears in its entirety on a Kindle or Nook or Computer screen—evoked my acknowledgment to an exquisitely talented Polish lady artist whose depiction of me as an inaccurately tiny-waisted silhouette thrills my soul beyond measure!  (My sales are high in Germany so I do feel appropriately “international” these days, a citizen of the world!)
 
Now, after what seemed an interminable passage of time (to me -- let alone the club members no doubt), I concluded with a bit of a bow/curtsy.  However, comical Al Anderson literally shouted, “Question!”  Stunned, I silently prayed that his query would be gentle and inconsequential and easy to answer?
 
“How much do you cost?” he asked. 
 
“Four bucks and 99 cents…” I replied.  Then I added that I was “cheap”-- but that he might already have heard that theory around town. 
 
What a fabulous and cordial audience; yet how delighted I felt that finally I could  plop into a chair -- upon my very sore coccyx (or vestigial tail/tale) once again.  “Resting on my laurels”, so to speak…chatting with old friends after the “show”!
 
On the ride back home, we laughed that I very nearly had replicated the “Shrine Scene” from our 1963 high school production of “Bye Bye Birdie” -- cavorting with fezzed male club members within a private banquet room, behind closed doors. (Math teacher Miss Berniece Carver, “back in the day”, almost succeeded in censoring that particular musical number.)
 
We recalled Mr. Heinley being photographed with me as he reminisced about shoveling snow for my dad at the Blue Bell parking lot, then rewarded with a steaming cherry pie fresh from Ft. Wayne’s Char-king -- for oodles of consecutive years about a half century ago. 
 
John Meier’s very amiable and complimentary “Axle Grease” coverage appeared that same afternoon via e-mail. Camera-shy and for good reason, I marveled at my (bad-)side-view double chin and another snap-shot of me resembling Macaulay Culkin in the film “Home Alone” and a group photo of my family all lined against a wall similarly to the doomed Romanovs, me in the middle with the prissiest demeanor humanly imaginable!   No fault of the gifted dentist!
 
However, reporter John likened me –in print-- to that former surveillance expert of all time, FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover—perhaps I agree somewhat regarding the resemblance?  However, I most certainly never would have wiretapped phone calls of JFK or Dr. Martin Luther King, nor do I ever, ever wear dresses!  (My book entitled “SECRETS OF AN OLD TYPEWRITER…Stories from a Smart and Sassy Small-Town Girl” can be accessed at my web-site www.susieduncansexton.com, and I am available for live readings and sharing of collective memories as far back as anyone can possibly remember – please leave your cameras at home though?  I am very shy.)

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(Talk of the Town photos provided) Above and below, Susie's happy memories of Christmas morning as a child growing up in Columbia City.

Thanks so much for following these columns, thoughts, and blogs
(And joining me in loving both kitty cats and dogs!)
How fun and fine it is to remember happy times,
Sharing moments of small town life in prose or in rhymes.
 
Memories flood into minds via our willing hearts;
One leads to another in sequential fits and starts.
Enjoyment of each other and old-timey places
Creates mental photographs of treasured, dear faces.
 
Continuation of past reflections I do vow --
Since yesterday’s much easier to recall than NOW!
Misplaced packages, tape, ribbons, car keys and glasses –
All forgiven because old age happens!  Time passes!
 
Fortunate are we cuz Jennifer keeps us informed,
Our intellects humming, and each reader soothed and warmed.
“Talk of the Town” provides a grand opportunity
To revive spirits -- and pride in our community!
 
Merry Christmas and Happy 2012, friends!  You are dolls!
 
Susie Duncan Sexton

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By Susie Duncan Sexton 

Headed toward an iPADDED cell --
Carly Simon’s VAIN fresh new HELL!
Intervention’s around the bend.
Let’s admit defeat, friend to friend.
Facing each other in real time,
Oh, abandon the “pantomime”!
Technology’s fun and quicker,
But we’re too drunk on THIS liquor?

All that I ever required of a clunky old manual typewriter and its keyboard?  Non-sticking keys, occasional fresh ribbons wound tightly enough yet a tad loosey-goosey, the capability to shift/capitalize and italicize or employ quotation marks to highlight -- as per stage directions -- for perhaps later reading the finished result aloud, ease of indenting, and a smooth carriage return accompanied by a zinging sound effect, etc., etc. and so forth. 
 
No computer geek, communication -- via “floating anxiety” language transformed into permanent print -- satisfies my psyche to the maximum.  Computer equals typewriter in my limited world.  I ask nothing more. 
 
Wait!  Googling’s magic. I concede that miracle of referencing the entire world, and its contents thereof, to be phenomenal. Wiki you!  Wiki me!  May bulky, dusty, gilded, out-dated encyclopedia volumes, A through Z, rest in peace or live on as collector items.
 
However, in spite of myself, I currently claim membership in imaginary humanity via Facebook’s Goodreads, Linked-In, Blocked-Out, Up Yours, Back Off, Network Me a Little Higher and More to the Left, Kindle Kuddling, Nook Nonsense, and Discounted or Buy One Get One Free Items No One Needs or Wants, as well as On-Line Obits ‘N Stuff (leave a message for the deceased).
 
You and I can access cyber-life through stationary, awkward, overly wired-up PCs (old hat by now), cell phones if top o’ the line, iPods, iPads, Blackberries, teensy tiny hand-held devices, or the entire surfaces of coffee-tables. 
 
Probably, soon we only need to flail our hands through the air to conjure up atlases, strings of movies, any magazines still in existence, chess boards, bridge partners -- then simply scooch our motions up, down, right, left, to move onward and upward and into or outta there.  Maybe, someday, we’ll wave our arms at our over-priced electric vehicles (Automobiles, the bane of mankind!) which will tool driverlessly all over the roads, then load their trunks with groceries (more swooshing of limbs), OR consume – simply by pointing -- virtual food photographs peering enticingly up as mouth-watering succulent delights hovering upon the kitchen table top.  (Super diet plan!)
 
When a seasoned Linked-In, affectedly professional, Mr. Jolly aloofly demands that I justify my fresh existence on said site, I long to reply to the stuffy part-time comic book illustrator. ”Me?  Are you joshing?  I am over-qualified and wearing an American flag motif Jantzen bathing suit equipped with a cantilevered brassiere effect, am ‘spike-heel-booted’ up to my outrageously slender knees, and go nowhere without a huge star poised dead-center atop my tiara which itself perches upon a grandly bluish-raven, overly-teased coiffure.  Now, sir, do you wish to ‘friend’ me – or not?  Together, through teamwork, the two of us might go very far (out!)”  An offer no grown man feverishly churning out literary masterpieces, for mass consumption by kids with more money than sense, ought to refuse.
 
Daily/nightly recommended “reads” crawl and often sprint onto my notifications. However repetitiously and seductively their cover-art advertises “BUY ME…DOWNLOAD NOW”, at my age … nude folks enjoying their water-color status, while wrapped tightly about one another, only inspire giggles or yawns.  One exception – “What to Do with a Naked Leprechaun” very nearly earned a PayPal nod from this bookworm.  “Deviant Devil!  Hades Squad.” and “Knight of Passion” and “Zebra Wore Red Stockings” as well as “Victorian Erotic Romance Trilogy” or “Wicked Missions” may be other titles to consider.  Having recently gloried in the publication of my first E-Book, I should investigate adjustment of both my writing style and choices of topics should I ever contribute a second “novel-approach” to this zany, one-note world. Salability at all costs – the bottom line!  The VERY bottom.
 
Carly Simon’s infectious musical composition YOU’RE SO VAIN never fails to transport me into Henry Mancini’s “dreamy Dreamsville “-- her necessary message coordinated with that perkiest of finger-snapping beats.  Were I ever fortunate enough to enjoy a steaming, aromatic cup of latte with the composer, relaxing at a Martha’s Vineyard sidewalk bistro, I’d lean pronouncedly forward to examine whether or not “clouds”  float within …  or maybe instead seriously clot …  her java.  “Clouds in (her) coffee…clouds in (her) coffee…”  Until that day, her mystifying phrase continues to replay between my ears each time I re-visit those totally unrealistic, role-playing cyber-sites-links with a click of my mouse or whenever I devise my own inventive, directive phrase to stimulate my search engine in order to escape this world.
 
Five syllables now with suggested emphasis on each fourth syllable, almost waltzy-schmaltzy…altogether (Humming’s helpful to the tune of CLOUDS IN MY COFFEE)…”and uh-one and uh-two”!  Get ready!  Get set!  Go!
 
Head-hunting’s silly!  Net-working’s nutty!  Hacking’s a booger!  Bragging’s so pointless!  “Act” like we DO care!  Find songs on YouTube!  Enter this contest!  Send a donation!  Praying for you now!  No-ti-fi-ca-tions!  Pills on our bureaus!  Hide from maniacs!  Posts in our daydreams!  Blogs in our nightmares!  Twiddle Blackberry!  Obsessed with status(-es)!  Wrinkles in his shirts!  Forget the laundry!   Boycott telephones!  Notes on our dashboards!  Cupboards seem quite bare!  Clean sheets—what are those?  Always, we’ll eat out!  Aches in our back-sides!  Admit addiction!  Numbness in both feet!  Typos all over!  “You’ve reached your limit!”  Stalkers on my page!  Copy ‘n paste THAT!  Buy more equipment!  Facebook dominates!  Shut off devices!  Remember real life?  Good-bye to all strife!  New day is dawning!  Sun’s in its Heaven!
“All’s right with the world!”  (from “Pippa Passes” by Robert Browning, 1841)

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(Talk of the Town photo and image provided) 

By Susie Duncan Sexton

Katy Keene & K. O. Kelly. Brenda Star & that eye-patched Arrow Collar type guy, answering to Basil St. John. Clark Kent & Lois Lane, Nancy Drew & a girl-friend named George, Eloise & her turtle Skipperdee, Little Iodine & her nuttiness, Nancy & Sluggo, Mutt & Jeff, Archie & Veronica & Betty – “say ‘Hello’ to my little inky friends!”

ARGHHHH!  BLEACH!  …and do my tonsils show?  No other pulpy paper heroines informed me as beautifully and dutifully as did Little Lulu cavorting through my comic book collection which I perused repetitively.  Oh, I still do check in occasionally with the little spunky imp, via a slick anthology series.  Her friend Tubby seemed harmless, pretty bratty, and clueless in the 50s.   Little did I know that he needed to speak up more although not in ornery argumentativeness but rather in fair-minded teamwork with that short little asexual girl-person named LULU!
 
HINTS FROM HELOISE?  NO WAY!
 
Herein, LULU’S LITTLE LIFE LESSONS:
 
Chivalrous Role Models --
 
Actor Ossie Davis won my heart forever in the early 80s when he rather brashly scolded an IPFW audience, during BLACK HISTORY MONTH, for neglecting to extend a formal invitation to his Academy Award winning wife, Ruby Dee.  Since, the exquisite actress did not receive her own gracious inclusive “invite”, she remained at home in California (or New York) that evening.  Ha!  I personally congratulated him for his gentlemanly spunk, shaking his hand and requesting an autograph post-lecture.
 
Henry Fonda enthusiastically supported his politically active, gorgeous daughter Jane Fonda in a huge public forum (revisiting the Academy Awards Pageant I am) with the phrase, “I think she’s perfect!”
 
Thirty Rock’s Alec Baldwin, back when happily married, would screech his automobile to a halt on L. A. freeways, in the midst of downpours, to rescue stray dogs and cats from heavy traffic to gain points with animal activist wife Kim Basinger.
 
Actor Jeremy Irons could not have been more correct when he stated that marriage is a bold yet fragile commitment which far too many humans on the outside peck away at, in order to divide and conquer?   Why?  Why?  Why?
 
Societal Road-Blocks to Sheer Bliss --
 
A few of my friends understand that the misconception that males are quietly THOUGHTful while females should be labeled as “opinionated” sucks!
 
Other acquaintances, few but astute, realize that the concept of “the Mister” -- as patriarchal god -- should be relegated to some weathered old timeline chart, categorized under the heading of … the Era of B.C.  The Neolithic Epoch!
 
Vulgar humor and filthy jokes at the expense of females should be swallowed prior to expulsion as hot air.
 
Beetle Bailey ought never have been syndicated.
 
Stag functions should advertise that Pathetic Paranoia, Immobilizing Insecurity, and Nutsoid Bonding all will be gathered in agonizingly time-warped group attendance inside a FOR MEN ONLY boozy bar or on some hack-happy golf course or at a staged political rally or around a mind-numbingly monotonous race-track.
 
Arched eyebrows, barked commands, sighing for effect, snide put-downs, rolling eyeballs, cussing, condescension – in conjunction with bashing the gentler gender -- rated spankings in real time. When these miming/”blowing off” activities remain past puberty,…why, say HELLO to … certain, obvious barometers indicating that spoiled boy brats failed to mature beyond age eleven.
 
“Nagging” emerged as an invented word meaning “somebody” did not listen the first 27 times “somebody else” stated a FACT or requested a tiny favor, such as painting the house’s entire exterior or installing a new kitchen sink.
 
Escaping both conversation and meaningful engagement by retreating to another part of the house or yard, or another geographical location altogether, should have been squelched in children (by our mamas who should not have been precursors of Jean Stapleton’s intimidated portrayals and our Daddies who ought to have been ashamed to behave like Archie Bunker), laying the groundwork for future bliss and harmony and communication skills for their eventually hitched progeny.
 
PMS, a marketing ploy manufactured by some MAD MAN, cannot hold a candle to 50 mood swings FELT when a curvaceous doll in a skimpy sun-dress purposely wiggles past a pathetic cluster of mis-directed males trying HARD to impress…each other!  Any time of the damned month…daily as a matter of fact.
 
Daring Deductions --
 
Attempting to function in this society as thinking, caring, participatory human beings too often could be compared to navigating land mines, as every third person appears never ever to have comprehended that people are people, regardless of whatever gender stereotypes far too many of us are too lazy or stubborn to shed or abandon.
 
Being a lady, I relate to the idea of Feminism yet yearn for the day when that word evaporates into thin air because eventually we shall blend in as human beings who neither dress provocatively nor disguise our thinking processes in order to meet expectations of shallow popularity’s rules and regulations.  Dorothy Parker’s memorable line lamenting that “men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses” might cease to be quoted ever again…too quaint and archaic and no longer relative?
 
Lulu’s physical description and impact upon civilization--
 
A squatty little shapeless girl in a trapezoidal red dress who bustled about and sometimes whined and appeared unfortunately plagued with an inky brown naturally cork-screwed hair-do and an upturned “^”where her nose should be.  Under-developed as a person and stuck in time, she seemed headed always toward what she agitatedly and impatiently yet longingly referred to as the status of  “human bean” and remains THE prototype of Lily Tomlin’s “Edith Ann” who sobbed:  “I am NOT bossy—it’s just that my ideas IS better!”
 
Gloria Steinem, Marlo Thomas, Betty Friedan, Carly Simon, Bella Abzug, Kathy Griffin, Madonna, and even Germaine Greer probably plopped down upon their canopied, frilly beds, tummies downward, elbows bent, tiny hands holding LITTLE LULU comic books, too.  Maybeeeeee, Ossie, Jeremy, Alec and “Hank” also snuck a peek at the little determined munchkin when nobody was looking?  She should be required reading for bunches of people I have known and continue to run smack into or “up against” occasionally!  YECH!
 
Advice --
 
(For further instruction and inspiration, “google” LITTLE LULU!  ;D)
 
Bibliography –
 
Every Little Lulu comic book ever published and bought at the corner drugstore, while handing over either a dime or a quarter at a pop, from 1951-1956.  (The series enjoyed lengthy syndication from 1950 through 1969.) Hallelujah!   (Foot-notes include references to Lulu’s tiny ticky-tacky bungalow/ranchy type house setting back from a very flat front sidewalk, Ol’ Hazel the sea-witch who lurked beneath a an oval rag rug in Lulu’s bedroom, Tubby’s sailor hat??????????, and frequent bee stings and bumps on the head which called for special cosmetic effects from the artist’s brush.)

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(Talk of the Town photo provided) An quiet moment with Roy and Edna Duncan. 

By Susie Duncan Sexton

Tiny Kodak photograph’s an inspiration,
Nudging all toward joy and stifling frustration.
Poised upon my perfectly round kitchen table --

Crafted by Floyd Sullivan, Bob Hiss from maple!
 
Scrambled eggs, grits, corn-bread, home-grown sliced tomatoes,
Phone calls, door-bells, surprise visitors—friends and foes,
Parties, consultations, band-aids, grand-children, pets,
Jokes, laughter, tear-drops, card decks, cup and saucer sets…
 
Off to Blue Bell’s front office, West Ward School or church!
Start each day with napkins -- and silverware drawer search.
Meet again -- noontime -- vegetable soup for lunch.
Congregating at supper – tired yet happy bunch!
 
Ah, “Mr. D”, synonymous with love and cheer,
Father-hen to family, employees.  So dear!
Role-model of protectiveness, consistency,
Friendliness, encouragement, and FIERCE loyalty.
 
“Snooks”, aproned, bustling, inclusive, and witty,
Short of stature, ever eager, fun and pretty,
Seldom recognized for your brilliant mind -- your strength!
To channel your fervor, I’d go to any length.
 
Fascinating!  The two of you loved, lasted, rhymed.
Up, over, through, around Life’s challenges I’ve climbed.
Do be proud that I’m certainly no dunce –
Here’s a “Thank You” I’ve OWED  “y’all” more than once!

Posted by jennifer321 at 04:38 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

(Photos provided by Susie Duncan Sexton) Does anyone recognize any of the familiar local faces above?

By Susie Duncan Sexton
 
May’s celebrations run the springtime gamut from Mothers’ Day
Through my birth-date to culminate in soldier’s wreaths on display.
Lilies of the valley bloom, bowing down soon to peonies,
As June debuts officially to kick off summer’s soft breeze.
 
Memories of angst, somewhere within this frolicking time frame,

Produce reflections of society’s once forced dating game—
Going steady, first or French kisses, sock-hops, dreading acne,
Halitosis, how far to go, and if “what will be will be”?
 
Prom season fell within those months—NOT FOR ALL so gleefully.
Wall-flowers yearned for the phone to please connect us to a HE!
My sis attended once on the arm of Johnny Whiteleather
Who brought her home EARLY; our moms had hustled them together?
 
She’d looked so beautiful. I’d  wanted to tag along. She cried…
With her bungled eve in perspective, I vowed one day to hide!
No gymnasiums transformed, behind fake oriental screens.
Forget those after-parties and courts of penny-pitch kings, queens!
 
However, when “little sis” became of frantic high-school age,
And forced social conventions started to fill page after page,
Eagerly anticipating at “least” two mating-type calls,
I ashamedly rejoiced I’d stare ne’er at my bedroom walls!
 
Junior year:  “Intercom Jimmy” proclaimed countless committees!
Each morn, listening closely, I sulked, ”Not on even one?”  Geez?
Rebel!  I wore a white spaghetti-strapped sundress the “big”night,
When Eugene rang the door-bell and pinned a corsage to the right.
 
I’d boast of four dates in four years: Komet Hockey game with Wayne;
Movie “on” Steve; nearly two dates that “Eugene” night!!!  (How insane
Would it have been for Jerry Paulus to join us?  He asked, too!
Mike Andrews appeared on my Senior Prom dance card -- called me “Sue”!)
 
Bussing -- nor smooching -- never occurred!  Closest ever? John Fleck
Drove ME home to glimpse dream-girl Kathy, next-door-- stretching his neck!
Archie, Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Moose and Jug-head rocked!
MY teen-aged years drifted by, Rapunzel in her tower locked.
 
Gary Galloway and I watched a drive-in WEST SIDE STORY;
Walt Meyers’ grand-son, Martin, charmed me with Doc’s degree glory!
(Postscripting both who’ll rate as unnoticed and incidental
By curious local peer group who’d question!  Soooooooo judgmental!)
 
But “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina!”  Book-worms play Canasta
‘Round parents, attend the cinema with siblings. Disaster?
Nah!  Pa rigged a gig as a Wagon Wheel apprentice for me!
Painted scenery, danced with college kids in BYE BYE BIRDIE!*
 
-- Which propelled me to an artificial romance after all!
Ray Moore cast me in his first high school musical*, in the fall!
Handsome male lead Jon Schubert, I’d never spoken two words to,
Took me in his arms, singing!  Each show I earned a “smackeroo”!
 
His main squeeze seethed off-stage for each and every performance!
Due to her presence and that of “extras”, I felt like a dunce!
Yet, I’ve photographs proving that “All’s Well That Ends Well” -- in bliss!
With 400 locals watching, I DID receive my first kiss!

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