Now You Are….Three! Happy Third Birthday to Phantom Noise In Ordinary Time!

I nearly forgot we had a birthday! I was reminded because Sunday was Bastille Day, and I recall penning (tentatively) the first entry the next day. I’m thrilled and delighted to celebrate three years of ink and toil. I’m also terribly pleased with the steady growth of readership, fans, and support. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

I wish I had time to write more and often – don’t we all wish for more time? I am making a promise to myself to DO IT!!! Not merely fret about not writing.

I want to thank the many friends who have contributed in various ways to our little home here. Especially my wonderful friend, dear Blanca, who has and is getting me organized and sorted out, AND contributes her excellent artistic eye, web-mastery, and overall wisdom. Stay tuned she has more for us soon. Thank you all. And a special thanks to all who wittingly, more often unwittingly, contribute the raw material for what I write here.

So, there you have it: deep gratitude, more and better & Oh, all the places we shall go!

Love, Love, Love…everything in THREE!

Clare

Deadline Alley

“City Desk? Clare Irwin speaking. Don’t bother with a rewrite, man, take it direct! Ready?”

It’s the end of June and I haven’t much to show for it, so here goes nothing…’cause I got nothing. Nada. Zip. Truthfully, I have too much and my brain can’t decide what’s next. So for the feeble sake of getting one more post in under the wire — my “writing more” self-imposed rule — here goes not much.

May and June, like last year, marked my return to people and places for rites of passage: graduations, proms, and this year weddings! A wonderful addition. Actually one wedding. The other was mysteriously, via text (a real etiquette violation in my book), cancelled due to a “family emergency” with no other information forthcoming. This wedding everyone was instructed to wear pink which was annoying until my dear friend, who has lots of gorgeous clothes, came up with this little number to borrow: 

My friend pointed out that Joan Crawford would not approved of the wire hanger!

The other wedding went off without a hitch. Unfortunately for me, it was in Miami and I could not attend. It was small, intimate, on the beach, barefoot, good food, close friends – perfect! And two of the sweetest people I know. So that was lovely.

As were the graduations of my favorite teens and early 20 somethings. And prom! This year all the rage was something called promposal. Promposal was explained to me by three different attendees and I still don’t get it. What I do get is that it’s an exhausting amount of work (and an inordinate waste of time), with the added opportunity for public humiliation. So we’re down!

Let’s see what else: You haven’t lived until you listen to an 18-year-old recount his group trip to Disney World, with minor adult supervision, which was a mix of endless discussions over EVERYTHING, heaps of drama, and peppered with who threw up on what ride. They’re planning a day excursion to the nearest Six Flags/Great adventure…a Zagat’s guide of the best rides on which to “blow chunks?”

Various: college trips, preparing to leave for college for the first time, vacations: Ireland, Wales, a cruise through Mitteleuropa, the Hamptons, Vermont, and Ohio…well why not?

“City desk? This is Clare Irwin, take it direct! I’m staying put and looking forward to hearing everyone’s excellent adventures.”

Be Magical & Love,

Clare

A Brief Meditation on Mother’s Day

Good Mother’s Day to all! For those who have raised up their own children, for those who have raised the children of others, for those who have loved and cared and nurtured the young….and the old…for those who have taken loving care with loving kindness of those who need tending…I salute you and say a heartfelt thank you filled with love.

These beautiful tulips came yesterday in the arms of a sweet, shining, smiling young one who is on her way to great things. What a joy to see them get ready to fly.

I’ve been thinking a good deal about my mother these past days and weeks. Most likely because I have been clearing out closets, files and whatnot, and I come across her in many forms, paintings, photographs, notes, cards….We lost her too young, while we were too young. 

I am proud of my mother’s accomplishments as well, and her success in her career. In fact, I have been meaning to write — for some time — about my mother and her mother’s (my grandmother’s) marvelous achievements in the context of “feminism.” A word that both would eschew — and I as well — even though they were in every way “liberated” and did exactly what they wanted. And cheers to my dad and grandfather for being enlightened to appreciate them, to delight in their success, and to encourage them. 

Well, I suppose many people are out today taking their moms to lunch, dinner, a play or just kicking back and spending time with them. So to all, enjoy. To my mother, and the extraordinary women in my family, thank you for everything you gave me and for doing so with wit, wisdom, humor, strength, courage, and….quite a bit of glamour.

With Love,

Clare

 

 

 

 

Western Biological

OK! I’m way overdue in replenishing this site with fresh content. I can’t decide if it’s time for a rosy gaze, a bitchfest, or a middle ground. I’ve been rereading Cannery Row which is beguiling and wonderful — sort of a Western version of Damon Runyon’s denizens of the old Times Square. That area near Carmel and Monterey is long gone – too valuable a real estate to stay rusty. I remember the area when I was little – it was gone then too, but there was a lingering sense of the time that Steinbeck so gorgeously captures. 

The startling difference is the attitude. Hobos and ne’er-do-wells being pretty much okay with who they are. If you had some sort of roof over your head, food and drink – life was good. Now, nothing ever seems to be enough.

The writing is enviable. Two pages on how to repair a Ford Model T — even if you are not a car person it’s engrossing. Steinbeck’s treatment of his characters is forgiving and affectionate: we are all a little, or a lot, broken and that is perfectly okay. Then there is Doc – the somewhat mysterious marine biologist who likes classical music and his solitude. Doesn’t everybody want to know a Doc? I know I do. 

I read Cannery Row when I was a teenager and enjoyed it, but I think you have to be a bit older to fully appreciate it – and to have had some of life’s knocks to understand the characters’ skins. It makes me nostalgic…nostalgic for a time that I wasn’t alive for but can imagine…when the country was uncluttered, unpaved, unchained/unbig-box stored.

Reading Steinbeck had me thinking of a summer when I was 19. I met a friend in Denver and we rode a Honda Gold Wing motorcycle through the Badlands of the Dakotas and other points of interest. How different the landscape is on a bike! Yes, it’s terribly dangerous but I am so glad I did it – it is a beautiful memory. That part of the trip I didn’t share with my mother because she would have freaked out, even though my dad had an old Indian Scout motorcycle which was off limits. It sat in the garage looking beautiful and propping up skis and other paraphernalia. 

I’m sorry we didn’t drive the Pacific Coast Highway into Steinbeck country. I would do it now, this time not on a bike and I think even with the changes, I could catch a glimpse of Doc’s tide pool, the Palace Flophouse, Lee Chong’s emporium, and out of the corner of my eye see the flutter of a girl’s dress as she strolls back to the Bear Flag.

“It is the hour of the pearl – the interval between day and night when time stops and examines itself.”

Happy Reading and Dreaming,

 

Clare