Titles, Inc.

Really High Fashion

When you need shoes you go to a shoe store; when you need underwear you go to an underwear store (not men, they buy a 3 pack anywhere); when you need a dandy dress you go to a dress store. 

Now there is a store that says When you need a coat, come to our coat store. 

I went to the private party for Chamber of Commerce members at a new shop in town - Hana K.  What stunning coats! They had whatever you might throw on to layer over your clothes: furs, fabrics, and leather.  There was even a sheer orange organdy coat that won't keep you warm, but will get you noticed.  (Aside: Jane, almost exactly like the pink organdy hand-me-up you sent me last year!)  I asked Hana how and when would one wear the organdy coat (which just hangs glorifying my closet.)  She told me a customer bought this to wear over her jeans and brief top to a barbecue!  And here I was saving my pink coat for something special.  Watch out for me at the next ribs party!

A young woman who owns a lovely (artificial) flower shop tried on several coats and jackets.  Tall and lithe, everything looked smashing on her.  I told her I especially liked her in the short red flashy alligator jacket.  She said she is sorely tempted to buy it.  "How much?"  I asked.  She said, "Around $230."  If I hadn't already swallowed my white wine, I would have choked.  The young innocent.  I found the gorgeous jacket, turned the ticket over, it was as I thought.  $2300.00.  No point breaking it to her gently.  She looked a little abashed.  "And I was trying to justify $230 to myself."  It woulda bought a button.

Hana K. designs the coat and can tailor it to whatever size or shape you are.  He husband is the business man and I like his vision.  He say that there are high-end brands whose names jump to mind when you say purses, shoes, watches.  When you say Coats, he wants you to think Hana K.   This is a shameless commercial because I was so much impressed by the originality of their product.  Each one was so clever.  So much more than just something with two arms, some buttons, and a collar to tighten against your neck.  How does someone think of such artistry in a coat? 

I came in wearing a Members Only leather jacket I had bought at a garage sale (there, I said it out loud), for my young son who looked at it scornfully.  All right, I thought, I bought it because I really liked it.  So I wear it and feel like Lady Marlon Brando.  But when I stepped into the store, a quick look around had me removing it fast, and it was hung in the back.  When it was time to leave, I seriously considered slipping out rather than laying claim to it, but, shoot, it was chilly outside. 

I put it on, said goodbye to all, and exited, pretending to myself that my motorbike was just at the curb.  If I were wearing one of their coats, it would have been a chariot.

---Florence

Salt Water and Modern Medicine

A week long throat tickle, and a dainty little dry cough sounding like kuh-huh, kuh huh, sent me to the doctor today.  I might have ignored it, but the calendar indicates a next week dental appointment, and I could not imagine how lying there with open mouth and some prodding tool inside, I could say, "Kuh-huh," without asphyxiating myself.

Forget a phone pickup from the receptionist at 9AM.  I just showed up at the desk, and waited while she answered the phone, saying over and over, "Doctor's office how may I help you can you hang on please."  Many minutes later when she looked up enquiringly, I told her Sore Throat, she said 3 o'clock, I said See ya.

I'm still surprised when the doctor puts this large bulky shiny instrument in my ear for my temperature.  He did it on the other ear too.  "You get a different reading from each ear?"  "Sometimes."  I ended up with a prescription for an antibiotic, for an over-the-counter anesthetic lozenge, and instructions to gargle with salt water. 

My grandma used to tell us to gargle with salt water.  When she said it, it was an old wives tale - an old country primitive cure.  Maybe this doctor learned it from his grandma.  But there it was, officially written on his prescription pad.  I hope I don't gag when I do it tonight.  The cough suppressant lozenge sounded safer that the anesthetic one, and had a prettier wrapper, so I substituted. 

I haven't started with the routine yet, but I haven't gone kuh huh, kuh huh once.  In fact I feel fine.  I think that's how the witch doctors do it.

---Florence

I Hate Shoes

Today I drifted into our local discount shoe store.  Did I need shoes?  No.  I tried on shoes for the same reason every lady tries on shoes.  We keep hoping for the impossible - a great looking pair of shoes that will feel comfortable. 

Men pull on fat round toed shoes that you can actually wiggle those toes in.  They slip them on, or tie the shoe laces and that's it.  They got shoes.

I like the discount stores so that I can try on eleventeen pairs of shoes, and walk around before discarding them for still another pair.  Open toe shoes seem an easy way out except that some strap will cut into a sensitive toe.  Wait, you found a shoe that feels pretty good.  Cautiously you put on the second shoe and it slips off your heel with the first step. You check the size.  Yup, it matches.  Please tell me you are nodding your head.  I would hate to think I am the only one with normal looking feet that has shoe problems.

So I actually found a pair that looks/feels good.  Big trouble.  This month is Buy one pair - Get the second at half price.  No way was I going to leave that store without my 1/2 price shoes.  The fact that I'm paying for a pair of shoes I don't really want is besides the point, so don't bring it up.  Circling the store again and again, I found a second pair that might come in handy.

I got on line behind a woman buying only one pair for her young daughter, neglecting her motherly job of teaching frugality.  While I waited the clerk called a young man to the next register.  He tried to ring up my purchases, but was having trouble, so he called another fellow over. 

This new young man deftly tapped the right buttons, and started to bag the shoes.  Ever congenial and grateful for the service, I said, "Two young men taking care of me, I like that."  The young man said, " I see you have a wedding ring, so I don't think these two young men have a chance at taking care of you."  I looked at this handsome fellow whom I can only describe the way it's done in trashy novels, "curly black hair, a glint in his sparkling black eyes, and a roguish grin".  I replied, "I don't think a wedding ring would put you off."  He laughed, agreeing, and there was that movie glint on his front tooth.   I said, " I gotta tell you.  Even if I were young, you'd be too much for me."  He loved it, laughing out loud.

And I walked out rather pleased with this flirtatious exchange.  I can see my daughters cringing.  Never mind.  Even when you're a woman "of a certain age", it's fun to be playful.  Dang, he was cute.

---Florence

Reverse Visit

Albert and Sonia of the Galerie Albert Loeb were in Chicago this week. Sadly, a dear friend of theirs died. She was the wife of the artist Robert Guinan whom the Loebs represent in Paris. They hurriedly flew in for the funeral.

Art and I tried to entertain them afterwards during their brief visit. We started with a Sunday breakfast along with two other mutual friends. Albert wanted a bagel with cream cheese and lox, Chicago’s equivalent delicacy to their French foie gras. We went to a busy restaurant in the city known for this repast, and were served platters of this popular meal. Very sterile. Little sealed cups of cream cheese, plain bagels. Properly done, the cheese should have come heaped in a mound, with a variety of bagels covered with poppy seeds or onions or garlic or all of the above on one, called the all-season bagel, my favorite. The thrown-in olives were good. Actually, I had French toast. It seemed fitting.

From there to the MCA (Museum of Contemporary Art) which has a new hanging of Art Shay photos. I chatted with a Canadian couple who came in on a weekend tour, and were happy to be at the exhibit the same time the “artist” was in attendance.

A few evenings later, we had a small party at my shop to introduce our American friends to our French Connection. Simone and I are getting speedy at transforming the store into a social center. Out come the cartons, and in go the books and artifacts from two tables, plus the too much paperwork accumulated on the table that serves as my desk. Tablecloths on all. My table turned around becomes the bar, the other tables serve the food and multiple goodies. Here is advice given me by an old hand at party-throwing. Serve only white wine and white sparkling water. (No red wine or cokes so as not to stain the rug with the inevitable spill.) I have my own horror – the thought of someone touching a book with greasy fingers, so we serve only food that won’t fall off a toothpick.

I had a wonderful time at my party – such a delightfully disparate group with intersecting literary and cultural interests. Merle surprised me by conversing with our guests in French.  I, showing off, grandly said to Sonia “Je m’appelle Florence,” and Sonia corrected the pronunciation of my own name! Flawrrahnce. That does sound much better.

Clean-up was easy with guest Ann, and bartender Peter, doing all the work.  I helped fold one

tablecloth.

Albert and Sonia plan to visit again next year. I hope so. I want to meet with them again, and I don’t see myself in Paris. Unless Art can pull together another ninety five photos for a second show. Actually, easily done. I’m not going to count out that return trip to Paris.

---Florence

Another Art Shay Review

A book review by Peter Byrne on his website, swans.com is so glowing that I have to share it with you.  It is a book by a family member, Art Shay.  The book is a soft cover called Chicago's Nelson Algren, mostly photos, a strong text introduction, and descriptive notes about each photo. 

Byrne's review ends with -- He's a marvel because he's a man and artist of exception.

Wow, am I impressed.  I will start to treat him with more respect.

Nah.

---Florence

Writer's Block

It's a heady experience, seeing your name on the masthead.  I am a contributing editor to the Caxtonian, a monthly journal issued to the membership of the Caxton Club, comprised of people involved with books as collectors, designers, publishers, librarians.  The monthly meetings have speakers, often quite wonderful.  Sometimes the material is fascinating but the speaker is reading pedantically from his notes, sometimes the speaker is dynamic with a topic that doesn't interest me, and sometimes it is just right.  The dinner is always good, the desserts could be more creative.

There is small problem with being on the masthead.  I'm supposed to contribute something.  The general run of articles are scholarly, intellectual, and thoroughly intimidating - to me.  I wrote two published pieces, one about the Tarzan oeuvre, and another about the book business. It has been a long stretch till now.  I'm fearful my editor will cut me off, and I will no longer be invited to the annual festivities at his house.

I tried reviewing two books about the book business, one by a British bookdealer, the other by a Dutch bookdealer.  One book was so heavy, it was cumbersome dealing with it.  The pages were so thick, I had to pause each time I turned a page, trying to separate it into two.  It happened each time - you'd think I'd catch on.  It certainly slowed down reading.  I was astonished when he described buying at auction.  It was an exclusive event, just the major dealers from England and the continent would be in attendance, and they were in collusion not to bid the item up.  When the sale was over, they'd have a private auction.  However, if a dealer was carrying an order for a client, he would indicate it to the others who then engage in lively bidding to run the price up so that the client would have to pay a much larger commission. This system became less effective when the book business got broader with many other dealers competing, and then the telephone bids knocked out their closed society.  This book was too heavy to comfortably read much further.

The other book by the man from the Netherlands was written clumsily, awkward phrasing, inexact choice of words.  I faulted the translator.  On looking back at the credits, it was the author himself who put those words to paper.  He thought he was writing English.  When I read that he discouraged his son from going to law school in order to perpetuate their bookstore, I immediately returned both books to the library. 

I'm stuck for a topic.  The clock is ticking.  This anxiety is a high price for the pride of seeing one's name on the masthead, and an invitation to a party.    I'm thinking, I'm thinking.

---Florence

"Open Wide"

Do we all agree that visiting the dentist is an absolutely unpleasant experience?  Could it be that just holding your mouth wide open is exhausting?  And lying there immobile? 

I had a perfectly healthy set of teeth until I got the routine complete mouth ex-ray.  Yikes!  A failed root-canal under a small bridge that had cracking cement, with the strong possibility of infection.  So a barrage of scheduled appointments between the two specialists. 

The hardest part for the dentist was removing this solid little dental bridge that refused to be lifted off.  I had a lip swelled like it met a boxer's glove by the time it was out.  This was the piece with the cracked cement? 

The doctor who does the root-canal talks incessantly.  A soft murmur without pause about how you might feel later, pain or maybe no pain, and what measures to take - on and on.  If meant to be hypnotic, it was very effective.  He reaches the end of this personal instruction manual just as you are ready to rinse.  The nurse hands me a little cup of water and a funnel suction cup, and advises, "Please bring it close to your mouth and spit right into the cup"  This broke me up and I scattered the water as I barked in laughter.  "You mean people miss the cup?"  She said "Yes."  OK, I got one laugh out of it.

$995. for the root canal.

Two more visits to the other doctor.  Here the office person figures up the bill, and says, "$3500."

"What?" I scream. "What?  What?  What?"  She looks at it now, for the first time, not as a number, but money.  Pause.  Apologetically, she repeats that awful number.  So I say, in jest, "Don't you have a senior discount?"  She looks at her computer screen and says, "Yes, we do."  Calculates. Figures it up.  "$3150."  Somehow, that did not seem much better.  But I thanked her, with dignity.  Who knew you can negotiate your teeth. 

I remember the nurse saying during the procedure, "You are an excellent patient."  When I was spitting into her cup, she repeated, "You are an excellent patient."  I was puzzled.  You are lying there trapped under the wrap around your neck, the doctor leaning over you, his hands stuffed in you mouth - how can you act up?  "People give you trouble?"  I asked.  She waggles her hands and rolls her eyes.  "Really?  How?" 

But here is the dentist, and again you open wide, and the opportunity for gossip is lost.

---Florence

Beating the System

The TV ads showing airplane seats reclining to flat sleep positions fascinate me.  Are they so far apart, or do they angle diagonally?  I forgot to look as I passed them, in the excitement of boarding the plane and finding our seats way in the back with the peasants.  I tried to use my Mileage Plus to upgrade to those enviable seats, but it is not allowed on discount tickets.  Does anybody actually buy full-price tickets in this age of Internet hot deals? 

The TV commercial I just watched reminded me of that unforgettable trip to Paris.  I was prepared for sleepytime on the plane.  I kicked off my shoes, and put the plush neck pillow I thoughtfully brought along around my neck and closed my eyes.  It didn't work.  Eventually, remembering the stern instructions to keep walking on long plane trips to keep the blood moving, I got up again to circle around. 

It brought me through the attendant's area in the back.  They did not approve of my stockinged feet, and told me to get shoes on.  I lied and said I would, while I continued to stoll down the long aisles.  Most passengers were sleeping.  The plane was not fully occupied, so there was some sprawling across two seats. 

Then I saw something eerie that made me pause.  Ahead of me on the floor was a foot.  It was sticking out in the aisle from the center section.  I watched it.  It was attached to a leg, and moved slightly.  I approached cautiously.  When I was next to it I saw it went all the way up to a body lying on the floor partially under the seats. 

Assured that it was breathing I looked up and saw a sleeping woman stretched out across all the seats. 

By golly, I thought, such ingenuity.  Such creativity.  They found a way to recline to the flat sleep postion without paying the restrictive price of first class.  But they were young.

---Florence

So Where Did I Put It?

It's great to have "regulars" in the shop.  They know my inventory better than I do.  I can excuse myself by saying I'm always dealing with new books, checking prices, making sure each book is protected in clear Mylar wrap (if the book is pulled rudely off the shelf, the Mylar keeps its spine and the dust jacket from tearing.)  Then it gets entered into the data base which gets sent up to ABE so that everybody in the wide, wide world can know I have it, and place an order. 

However.  A book can fit into several categories, and I can drift around the store trying to make the most practical decision for shelving it.  That takes some consideration.  Much harder is trying to remember what seemed logical then, now that you are trying to retrieve it.

I am talking about a specific book here.  I got an order for: Official Automobile Blue Book 1918, Vol.5.  It was discussing the geographical area of Ill, Wisc, Ind, and the neighboring states.  So did I shelve it in Americana?  Or in my large section of Chicago and Illinois, very popular in this neighborhood?  Or with Automobiles?  Or did I store it in the large bookroom downstairs, because how likely is it that someone will walk in looking for it? 

Internet order in hand, I looked all over.  Giving up, I emailed customer Paul.  Hey, did you notice it when you were in last week?  He's one of the very few I let downstairs - he's a librarian and respects books.  He wrote back that he saw three automobile books on the shelf with the train books downstairs and wondered about it.  Possibility?

Yes!  As soon as he said it I remembered it myself.  I can excuse that stupidity by saying I put them there for just a moment while I shelved some train books, but even I don't believe that.  I think I started to put anything on wheels together, and then made the practical decision to refine them. 

I went downstairs again and brought it up. 

Such a lot of back and forth and up and down for $30.  And people ask What do you do for exercise?

---Florence

Fashion

Today at the salon, having my hair "done", the fashion magazine I was skimming offered up a delightful idea from Louise Esterhazy: "...my dear mama always told me that one's clothes shouldn't draw attention or remark; it should be by your wit, charm, intelligence and, for those lucky enough, natural beauty..."  Well there it is.  She just explained the need for fashionable clothes.  SO much easier to buy high fashion than exude wit, charm and intelligence.  Forget natural beauty.

Of course my nearest and dearest, and very good friends have so much wit, charm, intelligence and natural beauty they don't need clothes at all. 

Reminds me - I needed a smallish purse to pack for this Paris trip.  There were two occasions requiring same.  I don't part with handbags.  When I tire of them I put them away on a top shelf.  I was sure there was something buried in the pile that would suffice.  Standing on a chair I sorted through them, and there was the perfect purse, small enough to pack easily, large enough for the essentials.  I was leaving behind all house keys, store keys, car keys with electronic gadget, so immediately reduced the capacity needed. 

It was black, some reptile skin, with a raised pointy spine running down the middle - iguana? lizard? dinosaur?  It was cute. 

Imagine my surprise when a French lady at the Galerie Albert Loeb party said, "I love your vintage purse!"  I related this amusing remark to our French hostess, Sonia, who said, "Yes, I noticed it myself, and thought the same thing.  Very charming."

Were they telling me they knew I got it off the top shelf of my closet?

---Florence