Writings, Revelations, and Other Nonsense

Here I post a daily diary entry from my grandmother, Maggie, who lived on Saint Mark’s Place, Manhattan, in 1937, and a blog entry from yours truly, who lives in Brattleboro, Vermont, 2010.

January 4th, 1937, Saint Mark’s Place, Manhattan, Maggie’s diary continues:

just picture her with a round beach ball for a belly!

The doctor was having a busy morning.  Miss Glenn says baby won’t come until Feb. 7,  but he seems to think may arrive before. After doctor to Peck & Peck’s to buy six pairs of their Bread & Butter stocking on sale at 3 pairs for $2.75, and the best I ever had for wear, then to Russian Bear on Lexington Ave for lunch with Bertha Anne and Edith.  Home on bus and found Grace busily cleaning, thank God, with woeful tale about tonsils.  Checked large holiday Esposito bill and paid rent.  M. called to say he asked Jack Cluett down for bridge. Jack said had flu but would come when well and bring fiancée, not Belle. Very curious about this. In evening late to Fritz and Kate’s to get cold serum (cost $10 on “ward” rate), syringe, gauze, alcohol, and lesson in sterilizing equipment and injecting M.  Quite an epidemic of flu now but not very virulent type.  Made practice jab into him under Kate’s eye, and glad I did as found myself loath to sink needle in up to hilt, seemed so brutal, but compelled by her stern eye, did, and didn’t hurt him at all. Am to do this about once a week, giving him different tenths of cc. of various dilutions according to instructions.  Fritz playing with cat, Cashmere Bouquet, which M. insists on calling Bel Paese.  Cat got down on floor in knee-chest position so happily that Kate said they would lend me cat when I had to do this, as incentive.  Home and read the first Ducas –Gordon housing column and thought sounded exactly like ad.

And what did Suzanne (yours truly!) do?

Oh isn’t it just wild that Maggie has been writing in her diary for five days now, and this is the first she’s mentioned that she’s eight months pregnant?????  Times sure do change.  Except for one thing: Writing salons do still exist.  And that’s what I did this day when back in time, Maggie was pricking her husband with the cold serum (well, actually, we’re one day ahead of Maggie, but whatever…).  You can time travel even further back with me, if you like, to Paris, in the 1920’s.  Just stop by my place any Tuesday night at 7.  Tuesdays are my  inspirational, magical SALON days, where all my dearest writers pile into my living room and laze around on the silk cushions and velvet couches and drink wine and eat stuffed grape leaves and write write write for hours and then read aloud to each other.  It’s just exactly like Christmas except no weird relatives.  We are only allowed to say what we like about each other’s writing. We concentrate on the strengths, which is very easy since everyone is enormously talented.  And this living room happens to be just perfect for it because it has high tin ceilings with interesting filigree and swatches of silk hanging from the ceiling and oriental rugs and nine foot windows that overlook the Connecticut River . It makes you feel like you could be anywhere at all, Paris for instance, in any time period at all, the 1920s for example.  Tonight Bryana wrote memoir about death and how incredibly alive it can make you feel and Fred continued with his wise, amazing, stakes-filled novel and Laurie wrote  a very funny piece about marriage and Ross wrote a sensual, erotic poem about gossamer gowns and the blue mooon and Diana wrote one of her killer essays about motherhood (to see more Diana, which you must must must, go to her blog at www.spiltmilkvt.com, where she blogs about marriage and motherhood, she’s also a yoga guru).  I was absolutely stoned after they left by how absurdly powerful words can be.  Off to bed ta da….  I can’t wait to find out when Maggie has her baby.