by compound complex 730 Replies latest social entertainment
The Little Foxes, a play written by Lillian Hellman.
Did you know Ms. Hellman had relatives in Demopolis, Alabama, right across the river from where I spent my childhood?
I believe Tallulah Bankhead, also from Alabama, was in the original play.
I've known several Birdies in my lifetime - also several Pinkies.
We Southerners are something else!
Sylvia
You win, Snowbird!
I wasn't aware of Ms. Hellman's family background; thanks for providing that tidbit.
Tallulah Bankhead was heralded for her performance in the play. I believe it was William Wilder that asked Ms. Davis to see the play in order to get a feel for it. She regretted having gone. Davis felt that she might be unwittingly influenced by the legendary actress's performance; the Bankhead's somewhat sympathetic portrayal of Regina apparently did not suit the scenery-chewing Davis.
So I gather.
Thanks again!
CoCo
Bette Davis took no guff, did she?
Sylvia
She was incredible ... a woman ahead of her time....
Not unlike the women in my life.
Thanks, Syl!
CC
It's only natural to be curious about the folk who inhabit your life from afar. On occasion there is the rare, inscrutable one.
An old lady passes by my home daily. I peer down at her elderly yet still somewhat spry frame from my drawing room window. Without any variation in routine whatsoever, she stops dead at the same spot - a little break in the waist-high stone wall - and leans into the smoothly cupped-out hollow. Her midriff and elbows rest upon stone polished by wind and water come from the sea. Her chin sits solidly in her upturned palms. Given the angle of my window relative to the depression in the stone wall where Madame resides, I have no difficulty ascertaining her stance.
What does she gaze upon so intently each day, from noon till one o'clock, whatever the weather? Beyond the surf there lies a plump and verdant island and, farther still, the open sea. Does she patiently but futilely await a love long ago lost at sea? Perhaps she watches the sky in the hope of being taken unto her deity's warm and protective embrace. Is she, therefore, awaiting something or someone, or is she simply wiling away the time, longing to escape the mainland and adopt the barbaric tribal life on that mist-enveloped tropical isle?
I am as perplexed as I am curious but do love a mystery. I shall be content to spin a yarn or two at the old dame's unwitting expense. Heaven forbid I should go down to the wall, make her acquaintance and - when the time is right - ask her to explain herself.
She and her story could very well cease being extraordinary....
You're right; leave her be.
The real is never as interesting as the imaginary.
Anyway, I was going to mention that The Little Foxes is taken from this passage in the KJV Bible.
Song of Solomon 2:15 Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
I plumb forgot about it earlier.
*smites self on forehead*
Sylvia
Thanks, Syl:
I loved when the sympathetic ones in the movie were gathered around the table outdoors, lamenting the earth's being eaten up by evil people. Then Horace Giddens recites those searing words ...
Have words appropriate to an occasion ever been more eloquent than those declared in that choice observation of antiquity's Sage?
Thank you for bringing that to our attention, Snowbird!
CC
Hello CoCo,
Perhaps if you were to make her acquaintance,there could also be an extraordinary story?
Anyway,I sometimes feel I am in the company of a higher class here.I am just a simple minded guy.Maybe I should not post on this thread.But,I really do enjoy reading your thoughts.I may be gone for a bit.But will check in when I can.
Take care
Hi Musky,
If you're going to be away, I hope it's only because of necessary business. I would miss the camaraderie and coffee !
I've just returned from my daily walk and the very thought crossing my mind while out and about was my own simple-mindedness. I am so inept on a number of scores. I look with envy upon those skilled in the trades, I who can hardly swing a hammer and drive a nail. Those scholarly threads on Bible matters simply sweep over my head.
Believe me, all of us feel inadequate in many matters. It would be a loss for you to go, but, of course, daily posts may not always be possible. That I can understand ...
Please remember this address:
CoCo
Old House on the Hill
Barberry Road
Tangle Town, NA, Zone 34
Hurry back!
CoCo
So much can be said in the silence of the lips. The eyes say what needs to be said: often so eloquently, so scathingly, so very to the point. Yes, the eyes have it.
Theresa, never before seeming to possess a thought of her very own, has been forced to think, to act, without reservation. She was such a child in a number of ways, but her father's brutal execution turned her into an adult overnight. The physical comfort and security of her home could not, of itself, assuage the emptiness she felt, that of herself and of the cavernous mansion.
As Renata approached Theresa, breaking into her daughter's troubled reverie, she put a cold hand upon Theresa's shoulder. She hadn't the emotional capacity to embrace and comfort her daughter wordlessly, as a normal mother might do. Yet, strangely, the readily confident and glib woman had no words. If there had been any, they would have stuck in her throat. Theresa looked into her mother's eyes and said nothing.
The inwardly distraught but poised Mrs. Gettleman sought sympathy from Theresa with her eyes. Traits such as compassion and mercy, typical of any decent human being, were scarcely spiritual waters deep within the well of Renata's soul.
Theresa's awakened eyes saw fear in those of her mother. So unnatural, so untypical for the woman who plowed her way through every obstacle, challenge and person who stood their own shaky ground. With her right hand, warm and utterly feminine, she firmly grasped and removed her mother's hand, still upon her left shoulder, this bold gesture a silent declaration that never more would they touch ...
Nor speak.
Miss Gettleman has left her childhood home for the last time, never to return. The shell of a woman, ghostly in pallor, stands motionless on an upstairs landing and stares at the street below ...
Through a darkened pane....
