Keep Calm and Carry . . . a Purse?

When it comes to the carrying of purses, there are four kinds of women* (at least among the various women I have observed throughout my life).

  

In the first category are women who carry teensy tiny little purses that allow room for a tissue, some keys and, what—lipstick, cash in the old days and nowadays a credit/debit card, and a driver’s license?  If you are fortunate enough to accompany one of these women to a movie or a restaurant or a concert, chances are she will ask you to stick something into your purse for her because it won’t fit in her minuscule reticule (“Hold on to my sunglasses, will you?”).  I do know one woman with one of these miniature marvels, and she clips and hangs all kinds of accoutrements on the outside of it. It is freely festooned with keys, loyalty cards, hand sanitizer and even a pill bottle.  One could almost call this a chatelaine—although the ladies who carried chatelaines never had hand sanitizer but they surely could have used some in those germy days of yore.  But I digress, back to my friend.  It is a rarity to see her with any purse large enough to contain everything she carries.

The miniscule reticule

Type number two carries what almost amounts to a suitcase.  Everything they seek is to be found within its shadowy deeps.  They hear their phone ringing—“It’s in there somewhere!”  How about a pen? “I know I have one. Let me see if I can find it!” “I think my checkbook is in there!”  Within these gigantic satchels they frequently carry massive wallets with every credit card and piece of identification known to womankind.  Plus coupons, receipts, ID—and who knows what else? Oh—and a beauty salon’s worth of make-up and hair products.

I fall into category number three.  I call it the Goldilocks purse, not too big and not too small:  just the right size for what I need to carry with me on any given occasion.  My current purses are usually either black or red.  I have medium sized ones and several smaller sizes. They must come equipped with pockets (some with zippers)—although not too many pockets, thank you very much.  I spent a good twelve hours one day hunting for a coin purse which I knew I had just used the previous day, yet that morning at the bank I could not find it.  I hunted all over my shop on and off all day, searched in my car several times, turned my house upside down in the evening—and where was the elusive coin purse?  In a pocket inside the purse (hand-me-down L.L. Bean cross body sling bag) that I missed during the two times I thought I had emptied it!

Mind you, I have not always been in the Goldilocks category.  In the seventies I carried a Guatemalan knitted wool shoulder bag that had no interior pockets so I just chucked everything in there and it kept expanding and expanding.  A customs officer once remarked that that bag could be classified as a lethal weapon because it was so heavy.

I must have a shoulder strap on any kind of bag—otherwise, why bother?  Clutch purses are ridiculous—do you really want to go around with that thing in your hand all night?  I made myself a macramé clutch purse for a special formal evening out but only used it once because it was so stupid to have to actually carry it around everyplace.  But then again, that is how everyone totes their phones around.  Maybe they should carry a purse, which brings us to category number four.

And what is category number four?  Some women do not carry purses at all.  Keys in one hand, phone in the other.  That’s about it, as far as I can tell.  Baffles me completely.  But maybe they keep their stuff in their pockets.  I rarely buy any garments without pockets; in my humble opinion garments without pockets ought to be illegal.

Speak softly and carry a big purse

Women on television and in movies rarely carry purses.  From soaps to sitcoms, dramas to documentaries—how many purses have you seen?  One of the rare exceptions to this observation was also one of my favorite women on TV—Deputy Police Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson (played to the absolute hilt by Kyra Sedgwick) on The Closer.   She fell into in purse category number two—at one point in the show she was even carrying her late cat Kitty’s ashes in her purse and she always had an ample supply of cookies, candy bars, and sweets.  It was her favorite prop in the interrogation room—no one ever quite knew what damning evidence she might dredge forth from its deeps.  When she marched into the room and flung that thing down onto the table, the suspect’s eyes would widen in dread.  I cannot remember seeing an actor have so darned much fun with a single prop (with the possible exception of Tom Baker and his versatile scarf in Doctor Who).

Kyra Sedgewick and the Tote

Brenda Leigh’s handbag (they called it a tote) was a Michael Kors designer original in leather but it proved so popular with fans of the show that a knock-off (I suppose they called it a replica) was created and sold on QVC.  That bag should have won an Emmy for a supporting role!

My grandmother always made sure to carry a roll or two of Lifesavers in her purse, because she knew they were a treat for me.  My mother, in addition to wadded shreds of Kleenex, carried a small tin of tiny hard licorice pastilles called Helps.  She was an uneasy rider so these settled her stomach on car rides.  And until just before she died at the age of ninety seven, my stepmom never went anywhere without her precious lipstick (Revlon Persian Melon) and her vital compact (Cover Girl Translucent Light).

No matter what size purse I am carrying it will contain these items: lip balm, a tissue or two, Band-Aids, nail clipper, a few business cards, a gel pen and a mechanical pencil, and a 3x5 spiral notebook, and appropriate ID.  When I am carrying a larger bag it will also contain at least one camera and extra batteries for it, one dumb phone (turned off unless I need it), maybe a small tripod, a larger (4x6) spiral notebook, pocket calendar, coin purse, ID, and perhaps a hi-lighter or two, a thumb drive or three, Neosporin, Tylenol, Rescue Remedy, and Gin-Gins.   And rocks—I always carry a few mineral specimens, including a Zuni horse fetish, and the Labradorite disc which I inherited from my late friend Barbara (she carried it with her everywhere she went).  Sometimes I also carry a small refillable water bottle.  And maybe even a hairbrush.  And a flashlight.

 

I only carry a credit card if I intend to use it that day.  It always astonishes me when I see women who reveal a library of dozens of credit cards in their wallets—I believe they are the ones who complain the loudest when their purses are lost or stolen and they have to spend all day on the phone cancelling all those cards.

Purses, foiled again!

There have been times when I have gotten a hankering for a particular kind of purse and have been unable to locate one that meets my style, color, size, and price criterion.  That is when I have made my own purses—either sewing them out of fabulous fabric or knotting them with macramé.  Once in a great while I have found the right bag in the right size but the wrong color so then I have dyed it.  I had a great cotton bag in dark olive (a color I loathed), so I used RIT color remover to get it down to white so I could dye it red.  I was really pleased seeing the horrid color disappear, but when I took it out of the solution and it began to dry—to my amazement all of the olive returned.  I ended up having to use chlorine bleach.  Yuck.  But it dyed nicely and I was pleased with the outcome, despite the extra steps needed to achieve it.

Some of the purses I have made over the years.

Purse with color removed.

One day I found a nice black leather bag at the thrift shop.  It was a Giani Bernini (never heard of him, mind you) designer bag worth hundreds and I bought it for $5.  Unfortunately when I got it home and looked at it carefully in good light, I discovered it was dark brown.  Not acceptable!  So I stripped off the finish on the leather and dyed it black with leather dye.  Figured for $5 I could live with the hideous brown interior.   Oh, and the price of the leather conditioner and dye.

 

Another time I found the perfectly sized bright red nylon LeSportsac on eBay.  Unfortunately upon its arrival I discovered the rubber coated waterproofing in the lining was deteriorating and had turned into a gooey mess.  With a bit of experimenting I discovered that isopropyl alcohol dissolved this goo and for the cost of a couple of bottles from the drug store (enough to soak the bag) I was able to restore it to its original non-sticky state.  So what if it is not waterproof.  I don’t care and the vendor refunded me the cost of the isopropyl alcohol so that made me very happy.

One of my recurring nightmares is always that I have somehow lost my purse.  My ID!  My keys!  My stuff!!!  I awaken in a cold sweat.  But whew!—it was only a dream.  Maybe women who have never carried a purse are never cursed with this particular nightmare.

Dogs and cats have an insatiable curiosity when it comes to the innards and contents of purses.  I was taking a shower at Kim’s house one night before we went out to the Continental, and when I came out of the bathroom I grabbed my purse and started hunting for a Kleenex.  Kim sheepishly admitted that Tarot had rifled through my bag and had eaten all of the tissues he could find.  Her dogs were always famous for eating weird things out of her own purse.  Dillie once ate her diaphragm (she asked her vet if that could be dangerous to him and he replied, “I don’t know—no one ever asked me that question before.”)  On another occasion he unearthed and ate a batch of special brownies, tin foil wrapping and all; they did him no harm—he mellowed out and slept really soundly for a couple of days.

  This is Mama Lucy investigating one of my purses.

Another night out with the Regular Gals found me at my Sweet Cousin Jackie’s apartment; we were getting ready to meet Barbara, Pamela and John and go out to dinner with another friend—to meet his new girlfriend (and impress her with what a wonderful bunch of friends her new man had).  I was sitting on the sofa with my purse on the floor at my feet.  I glanced down to find sweet little calico kitty Cupcake crawling into my bag.  Without thinking, I reached down to grab her and extract her when she turned on me like a mountain lion and clawed the living daylights out of my arm.  I had completely forgotten that adorable little Cupcake was the devil in disguise.  Of course Jackie did not have any first aid supplies (not even a Band-Aid!) so I ended up at dinner looking like some junkie with massive bruises and puncture wounds all over my arm.  This incident may well have been the beginnings of my determination to carry Band-Aids and Neosporin with me whenever possible.  (Wouldn’t I have made a great Boy Scout?)

So, whether you call it a purse or a handbag or a pocketbook, a clutch or a tote or a messenger bag—we are all fortunate that these wondrous things have been invented and are available in so many sizes, shapes, and colors.

 

Carry on!

*Men also carry purses but of course they would rather die than call them that in public.  They call them briefcases, backpacks, shoulder bags, satchels, sporrans, pouches, camera bags, or even saddlebags back in the days of the Wild West. They also carry their stuff in gym bags and golf bags.  Just big purses—nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more, say no more.

Do you carry a purse?  Small, medium or large?

What is the weirdest item you have ever carried in your purse?

If you don’t carry a purse, how do you carry anything with you?

Radio Days and Radio Nights

Hi, my name is Mar and I am a radio junkie.  It is an inherited trait.  Grandpa Mac always rushed home from the bank to listen to the 5 o’clock news on the big console radio in the living room.   Mom and I listened to George “Hound Dog” Lorenz on the kitchen radio and danced around on the linoleum floor to early rock and roll hits of the fifties as “Rock Around the Clock” and “Shake, Rattle and Roll” by Bill Haley and the Comets.

When I was about fifteen I received a radio of my own.   It was a turquoise Sears Silvertone transistor model, about the size and weight of a brick.  It even came equipped with a spiffy brown leather case.  I listened in the evenings when I was supposed to be doing homework and after dark when I was supposed to be sleeping.  That radio pulled in the 50,000 watts of WKBW 1520AM from Buffalo, but also WBZ in Boston and WLS in Chicago.  I was a fan of Danny Neaverth and Joey Reynolds and Tommy Shannon on KB as well as former Buffalonean Dick Biondi on WLS, and Dick Summer on WBZ who spun amazing tales about Irving the Second, also known as Super Plant (maybe an ancestor of Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors?).  I wrote them letters and joined their fan clubs.  I discovered my first folk music:  Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Peter, Paul, and Mary.  I listened to comedy:  The Smothers Brothers, The Chad Mitchell Trio, Tom Lehrer.

It wasn’t until I moved to Canada in 1968 that I discovered the CBC.  Their CBL 740AM powerhouse could be heard for miles.  I devoured every minute of this aural feast (music, talk, drama, and news) and I learned a lot about my new country in the process.  I fell in love with Max Ferguson, Don Harron, Vicki Gabereau, Bill Richardson, Arthur Black (Basic Black), Stuart McLean (Vinyl Café), and most of all, the inimitable Peter Gzowski first on This Country in the Morning and then my beloved Morningside.  I wrote letters, sent in suggestions for stories, and received letters and pictures back in the mail.  Peter read a few of my letters on the air and even interviewed me at the old Ministry of Truth (CBC) building on Jarvis Street in Toronto.  Bill and Vicki made my mouse story famous.  I bought everyone’s books and still have precious signed copies.  I listened on the radios I had in every room of my house, I listened in the car, and I listened at work.

I was listening in the back room at work one day and my boss came by and yelled at me for “using his electricity.”  He most definitely did not want anyone to be in a happy work environment.  My radio was audible only to me, and most of the time I was alone back there.  I was crushed when he forbade me to have my radio plugged in.  So what did I do?  I bought a battery-powered radio and he didn’t have a leg to stand on; I was no longer stealing his precious electricity.

During the seventies and the eighties I listened to a couple of Buffalo area alternative stations, when long-format songs were perfect for those wild and crazy days of FM before it was captured and neutered.   Of WPHD, WZIR (Wizard), WUWU, and WBNY, only the latter (Buff State college radio station), is alive and well.  In those days the music was more important than the DJs but I have fond remembrances of Jim Santella and Gary Storm (Oil of Dog) and several friends who worked at BNY when they were in college.

About the only shows that did not interest me on the radio were sports, opera, most classical music and jazz.  In a fateful turn of events both CBC and NPR were going on and on about sports late one night back in 2000 when I stumbled upon an interesting discussion on my radio dial.  It was Mike Siegel on Coast to Coast AM, talking about some paranormal subject.  I was immediately hooked on this program, and listened every single night for many months.  But one night Siegel announced that he would be moving on because some guy named Art Bell was making a huge comeback to the show.  The callers were apoplectic with excitement at this news.  Harrumph, I thought.  Who the hell is Art Bell and why is everyone so damned excited about his impending return?  I never heard of him.

Well, I decided to give this much-ballyhooed and alleged paragon of the airwaves a chance (mind you, just one chance) and I tuned in with a huge load of skepticism to keep me company. 

 

At midnight this buttery baritone oozed out of my speaker, introduced himself as Art Bell, and he proceeded to hold me spellbound for the next twenty minutes or so by telling the story of his cat Abbey who had fallen ill the night before.  Art and his wife Ramona lived in the high desert an hour outside of Las Vegas and it was to the emergency vet in Vegas that they had rushed poor Abbey Chapel Bell (rescued as a stray in the streets outside the wedding chapel the night Art and Ramona were married).  They had spent the whole night in the waiting room, wringing their hands and praying and pacing.   Morning finally came and Abbey had been miraculously saved from the brink of death and the relieved Bell family returned home so Art could catch some sleep and prepare for his radio return.

Well, between the voice and the cat story, I was hooked.  Mike Siegel was forgotten (sorry, guy!) and I have been a fan of Art Bell ever since.

One aspect that I enjoyed about shows like Morningside and Coast was the music that they played.  Although not music shows per se, Canadian radio had rules in which they were “mandated” to play an increasing percentage of Canadian music (makes sense, eh?) and this eventually spawned a massive Canadian music industry (and gave the world Celine Dion and Justin Beiber – sorry!).  Morningside, Basic Black, and The Vinyl Café introduced me to many new songs and artists.  And Art played little clips of songs known as “bumper music” at the beginning and end of talk segments and to my great delight his taste was very close to my taste; he played many old favorites of mine and introduced me to a few that soon became new favorites.

Art’s interviews were mesmerizing and his fascinating array of guests ranged from astronauts to abductees, astronomers to astrologers, physicists to psychics, animal communicators to actors, and famous musicians to the average folks down the road.  Frequent topics of discussion were the so-called Quickening, Florida’s Coral Castle, the pyramids, out-of-body experiences, reincarnation, Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, chupacabras, remote viewing,  the Philadelphia Experiment, chemtrails, crop circles, time travel, life after death, the lost continent of Atlantis, and of course conspiracy theories concerning UFOs, Area 51, and alien abductions and visitations.  And then there were the one-of-a-kind individuals such as Richard C. Hoagland talking about The Face on Mars, Mel Waters of the infamous “Mel’s Hole” fame and the totally whacked out “J.C.” who simply defies description.

  

From the sublime to the ridiculous, the shows were riveting.   Art was not one to suffer fools, but for the most part he seemed to take everyone at face value and exuded a tremendous sense of enjoyment at the plying of his craft.  His calls were unscreened and he mentioned this frequently but every so often someone would call in and start talking about Art in the third person and he would let them go on for a while and then completely flabbergast them when he’d chuckle and announce that they were talking to Art Bell.  I never had the nerve to phone in because I was afraid I’d not recognize his voice and sound like an idiot (although after laughing at them, Art always endeavored to make these callers feel better).  (I might add that I did email him several times and he always wrote back to me.)

 

Art also kept listeners on the edge of their seats by retiring and then returning from retirement a number of times.  It was like a soap opera.   When his beloved wife Ramona died, he bared his soul to his audience, (something I had never heard from any radio personality) and he was such an amazing combination of powerful and vulnerable that people seemed to either adore him or loathe him.  With that voice of his he could have been reading the telephone book and he would have had an audience.

In the last couple of years we have lost Stuart McLean,  Arthur Black, and then Art Bell.  Fortunately for all of us late night listeners, upon his last unexpectedly abrupt retirement, Art passed along the reins for his latest show, Midnight in the Desert, to his startled producer and hand-picked radio heir Heather Wade.  She had huge shoes to fill but she was able to do an admirable job in a challenging and ever-changing radio/livestream climate.  She was also a cat person with a deep buttery voice, she held her own with guests and callers, and she continued to play Art’s beloved bumper music.  Unfortunately, after Art died, Heather was too grief-stricken at the loss and also hounded ceaselessly by Internet trolls and although she tried her best to continue, she was eventually unable to do so and has subsequently disappeared completely.  

 

One of Art’s favorite pieces of bumper music was “The Highwayman” by The Highwaymen (Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Johnny Cash, and Waylon Jennings).  I figured Art deserved his own verse and this popped into my head.

I sure hope there will be radio in the afterlife.  I don’t know what I would do without it.   

When Worlds Collide

A funny thing about framing – while there may be many thousands of approaches to the framing of the unending variety of two-dimensional “stuff” people bring in to a frame shop, folks always seem to want the same style of framing that they have always seen.  Maybe it’s just me, but after almost fifty years as a framer, I have found that birds and botanicals generally end up in traditional gold or dark wood frames with cream colored or deep green matting; watercolors find themselves in simple white mats and plain black or natural wood frames (especially if the artist is framing for a show); larger paintings (realistic or abstract, prints or canvas) seem to go home matching the sofa or woodwork.  I could go on, but I won't.  (You're welcome.)

 

But when it comes to the framing of posters, photos, tickets, autographs, and the like from any area of Fandom (movies, TV shows, bands, and even sports) – framing is usually chosen to match the items themselves.  For instance, team colors always go on various sports memorabilia (bores me to tears . . .).

Bands have been selling merch for years – I have framed   posters, photographs, guitar picks, drum sticks, set lists, serigraphs, tee shirts, album covers, ticket stubs, wrist bands, and backstage passes from classics such as Bob Dylan and the Grateful Dead to current performers who produce high quality limited edition posters.  Fans pay a premium for tickets to these concerts, sometimes traveling great distances to attend events, and they want to remember every detail.  So fabulous framing is a must.

Of course I have been framing my own stuff for all these years and my collection has fallen into five primary categories: relatives, cats, horses, pop culture, and art.    Some framed pieces have been on my walls since I was a child.  Oh, and I have some of my own artwork as well.  I am running out of wall space and therefore my latest additions have shrunk from poster size to postcard size (and even smaller).

My pop culture heroes have come and gone over the years; I have a couple of little pictures of Indiana Jones and Han Solo (Harrison Ford), and my favorite image of Ross and Demelza (Robin Ellis and Angharad Rees) from the original Poldark that I stuck into simple frames and which have been on my wall for decades.

Then, a few years back, full blown Robin of Sherwood Fandom arose in my brain and I bought a nice little painting of Herne the Hunter from a fellow member of the show’s Facebook fan group.  Nice prints of drawings of Robin and Marion (Michael Praed and Judi Trott) followed, and then on ebay I found the lovely promotional postcards from the series.  I framed all of these images in shades of cool greens with rustic/Ren Faire frames to hint at Sherwood Forest.

Robin and Marion by Carmen Modde

Herne the Hunter by Iain Chinn

Michael Praed as Robin of Loxley

After a decent interval, I fell in love with the TV series Haven and framed a little print of Duke Crocker (actor Eric Balfour) plus a temporary tattoo (adhered to clear Mylar) of the Guard symbol/Haven logo in a driftwood frame (to match the weather-beaten seaside landscape where the series was filmed and Duke's bar, The Gull).

Eric Balfour as Duke Crocker on Haven

And then along came Doctor Who with its bonus attraction, Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood, and the beginnings of which I described here, in my last typically verbose post: https://tiltingatwoodpeckers.blogspot.com/2018/10/help-ive-fallen-into-tardis-again-and.html

Tom Baker had always been my favorite Doctor – and he was my “First Doctor.”  I spent a lot of time searching images of Tom to make a little print to frame.  I needed two very important aspects of Tom to be in the photo – his smile and his scarf.  The curly hair was a plus.  I rummaged through my personal private frame collection, and I cannot remember where it had come from originally, but the wood frame with the colored stripe inlaid at the bottom struck me as perfect.  All I had to do is sand off the glossy finish on the inlay, add the proper colors here and there, and then cut a narrow TARDIS blue mat (Bainbridge Indigo #8526).

Tom Baker as the Fourth Doctor

By the time I completed the Fourth Doctor frame I had finished watching David Tennant's Tenth Doctor’s series with his third companion, Donna Noble (Catherine Tate).  The CD of Series Four, which could be blamed for starting my entire episode of Whovian madness, included a lovely photo of Donna from the “Planet of the Ood”.  I printed up a copy of it and, wow – I found the perfect golden wood frame (The color matches the highlights in Donna’s fabulous red mane), cut a TARDIS blue mat – and it looks amazing.

Catherine Tate as Donna Noble (DoctorDonna)

Then I discovered little trading-card size magnets in one of the DVDs.  I found a frame in my stash that was the perfect size, so I painted it TARDIS blue and added a two-opening mat so both Ten and the TARDIS cards could be seen.

David Tennant as the Tenth Doctor and his TARDIS

My next prize was the Alice X. Zhang drawing that I found on the cover of a Doctor Who comic for David Tennant’s Tenth Doctor.  I had planned on framing the entire cover, but discovered to my delight that there was a full page reproduction of the cover drawing included in the comic – but with no writing on it!

I ordered a frame for it that should have been absolutely perfect – it had seemingly random squiggles carved into the frame and the color was a perfect combination of warm cream, gold, and red.  Unfortunately the frame company had changed manufacturers and, alas, the frame no longer matched my sample.  It was too pale, too regular.  Not wibbly wobbly at all!

See how awful this frame is compared to my sample?

I went to work on the frame, determined to somehow make it match the artwork.  I painted it blue.  I scraped some of the blue off.  I went over the blue with dark green, red, cad yellow, and blue again.  I sanded it, I scratched it up, I added paint – I subtracted paint.  Finally with a TARDIS blue mat, I installed the print and it was good.  A perfect wibbly wobbly timey wimey frame!

Ten by Alice X. Zhang

I kept thinking my grouping was finished but then the first Torchwood sound track arrived and within was the best photograph of Captain Jack I had ever seen.  It had all my favorite Captain Jack elements – penetrating blue eyes, hint of a smile, and, of course, the greatcoat.  The only thing I found myself annoyed with was his hair which was far too neat. So I printed a copy of the photo, and worked at tousling up his hair with some Prismacolors.  Made the eyes a bit bluer, and colored the coat a bit closer to gray-blue.  Then I got the brilliant idea to add a TARDIS blue hexagonal mat, to echo the Torchwood logo.  For the frame I found another in my stash, flat, wide, grainy stone kind of finish, with crumbling edges.  I repainted this a steely silvery gray, so it gives an appearance of strength with a sense of timelessness (not unlike Jack!). (“IN THESE STONES HORIZONS SING.”)

John Barrowman as Captain Jack Harkness in Torchwood

By this time I had finished watching the Peter Capaldi run as the Twelfth Doctor.  As his song was ending I realized I had grown quite fond of his take on the role.  I went hunting and found the perfect photo of him from the last episode, when he appeared weary yet still strong, and his hair was out of control.  Of course I found another perfect frame in my collection, and I painted it to pick up the silvery blues in the photo (hair and eyes).  The style of the frame itself is a nod to the first role Capaldi played in the Who reboots (and the Twelfth Doctor’s answer to “Why did I choose this face?”) – in Ten’s “Fires of Pompeii”.  It has the appearance of ancient Roman architecture.

Peter Capaldi as the Twelfth Doctor

So this is what happens when a passionate and slightly crazy picture framer frames her own collection from various fandoms. God help me if I ever make it to a Con and meet any of these icons of mine in person - I will need a bigger house with even more wall space!