pjthompson: (Default)

old shoe

Shoes are magic. Many a woman will tell you that they have the power to ensorcell. Imelda Marcos, for instance, seemed to be the victim of a particularly strong shoe enchantment. But aside from the compulsion to buy these items, shoes have a traditional protective magic which seems just as strong.

I first learned of this aspect of shoe folklore when I read The Archaeology of Ritual and Magic by Ralph Merrifield, a wonderful survey of European (mostly British) folk magic and ritual from prehistoric to modern times. Shoes, as it turns out, were the most common protective magic for buildings, from at least the 14th century into the 20th. Generally they are found walled up in structures, sometimes pairs or new but usually an odd shoe and very worn, sometimes in groupings, but often solitary. These hiding places are usually spots where it’s unlikely they would have arrived accidentally: bricked up in chimneys, under well nailed down floorboards, behind pristine plastered or bricked walls and the like. This practice is found all over Europe, as well as Canada, Australia, and the USA—anywhere, I suppose, where the European diaspora happened. There may well be non-European examples of this belief.

It was apparently quite a secretive rite, considered bad luck to talk about. The last known examples of concealed shoes are from the early 20th century, but who knows? Given its secretive nature, the practice could still be going on. We can only speculate and piece together other superstitions to figure out what it may mean. Mr. Merrifield does an excellent job of this:

There are a few known superstitions about old shoes that may be relevant. There was a belief that a shoe thrown after someone setting out on a journey would ensure good luck and a safe return. This is a custom still observed when the bridal pair departs after a wedding…There is a strong association with fertility; we all know the fate of the old woman who lived in a shoe, and there used to be a custom in Lancashire of trying on the shoes of a woman who had just had a baby in order to conceive.

He also makes extensive use of the work of a paper written by June Swann, a pioneer in the study of shoe magic. (Thanks to the Apotropaios website for hosting a copy of this article.)

Concealed shoes might also be a magic device for containing evil spirits, a tradition at least dating back to the story of John Schorn, a 14th century priest in Buckinghamshire, who supposedly conjured the devil into a boot to trap him. This may be why shoes are often found near entryways to houses, so that they could contain evil spirits which might try to get in.

I can’t help wondering, and Mr. Merrifield also speculates about this, if it has something to do with a person’s soul being imprinted on items closely associated with them. Shoes and clothing were enormous expenses for people in centuries past and folks tended to wear things and repair them until they were in shreds, then repurpose parts thereof before actually discarding them. And if something has been worn that long and that extensively, might not a person leave some essence of themselves imprinted on the object? Might that essence bear some protective quality, some ability to guard and protect a building in the owner’s stead, a soul outside the soul?

I’m not sure I’d want to remove one of these shoes if I somehow found one in my walls. If tradition isn’t a strong enough motivator, the possibility of hauntings might give me pause.

There was an episode of Syfy Channel’s Haunted Collector featuring one of these concealed shoes—in this case, an old boot. (Episode 2.6 if this episode list from Wikipedia is correct.) Now, I think all paranormal T.V. shows should be taken with a grain of salt, sometimes an enormous boulder of salt. (And yet, I still watch them, a guilty pleasure.) But I found this episode genuinely fascinating because of my familiarity with the subject. John Zaffis, the curator of a Museum of the Paranormal, investigated a home from the 1800s in Lorain County, Ohio. The current owners reported that when they decided to renovate an old fireplace, they found various objects concealed within it, including an old boot. As soon as these objects were removed, they began experiencing paranormal activity. Zaffis determined that the shoe was the focus of the haunting (I can’t remember how), had it blessed in some way (memory fails me), and removed from the premises to his museum. According to the show, the paranormal activity ceased thereafter.

What’s interesting from a folklore perspective is that Merrified reports a similar haunting via June Swann:

Miss Swann is of the opinion that this is essentially a male superstition connected with the building trade, and understands that it is considered to be unlucky to remove the shoes from the house. There is even a story of an apparent haunting that began when a shoe was sent of the Museum of London for identification, and ceased completely when it was returned.

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe. Please pass the salt.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (lilith)

Driving west on Manchester from Crenshaw, I noticed the neon sign for the Love Divine Chapel looked a little worse for wear: dirty, chipped, lacking in light. Neon signs always look a little depressed when they aren’t turned on, but I imagine that even when the giant L-O-V-E shone in the night it would still look dingy. The tiny meeting hall beside the sign needed paint and repair, the revival bus parked in the miniscule lot needed new tires. The homeless man holding up the hand-scrawled cardboard “Need Food” sign didn’t seem to notice the irony of standing beneath dingy love.

Further down Manchester, the planes coming into LAX paralleled the avenue, low and seeming-slow, though I knew they were speeding over the depressed neighborhoods below.

Customers lined up twenty deep at Randy’s Donuts. Even if you’re not from L.A. or have never been here, you’ve probably seen Randy’s Donuts in some montage or other: it’s the gigantic donut sitting on top of the tiny building right off the freeway. A sort of emblem of L.A. in it’s way. The space shuttle parked outside it for awhile, resting on its cross-town journey from LAX to the Museum of Science and Industry.

Randy’s is a kind of demarcation point between the poorer neighborhoods and the gradual swing to upscale as you head west. As the blocks whiz by the prices of rent and purchase gradually rise towards affluent Westchester. My parents bought in when Westchester was still a down at the heels lower middle class neighborhood, but it got “discovered” in the nineties and it’s fully gentrified now. Anything west of Sepulveda Boulevard is pretty pricy.

As I got closer to Sepulveda I saw a giant billboard advertising a place where they freeze fat for cosmetic reasons. I don’t even want to think about that too much. “Fear No Mirror” the billboard declared in far larger letters than the LOVE of the Divine Chapel. I realized we’d moved from the land of Fear No Evil to the land of Vanity of Vanities.

I fear no mirrors, comfortable in my aging skin, even as another birthday approaches. I do fear the fear of mirrors, however.  There is peace in accepting the passage of time, the transformation of the flesh, but we don’t live in an age—and I don’t live in a city—that accepts such peace. Rather the hard lessons of perpetually hard bodies, ever in denial, ever running too fast to stop and listen to the soft words of the soul.  What evils have been wrought in the name of vanity, and continue to be wrought. Yea, verily.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: astronomer (observing)

1 Oct
I have bookmarks from book stores that have been out of business for twenty or thirty years. They’re raggedy and limp, but I haven’t the heart to throw away the last vestiges of places I loved.

2 Oct
I was up half the night with stomach crud. I just can’t get a break lately. I’m feeling better this afternoon, escaping the heat under the peach tree. As is often the case in SoCal we’re having our hottest summer weather in September and October. Really looking forward to real autumn.

4 Oct
The sign spinner at the corner of Admiralty and Via Marina whose specialty appears to be dropping the sign.

5 Oct
Just shifted around my retirement funds. I still can’t retire before OhGodI’mSoOld but at least it felt like progress.

5 Oct
It’s mostly on TV and in crime books that people need Big Motives to murder. In real life they murder for a pittance.

6 Oct
If it’s Ye Olde Anything Shoppe you know it’s going to be terrifyingly quaint.

7 Oct
The Simpsons do the Mayan prophecy: “The world will end in 2012 and it will be Obama’s fault.”

8 Oct
I’m trying to live my creative life not asking favors of anyone since I haven’t got time to return them, but sometimes it’s very hard.

9 Oct
I love my habits more than I love my health.

10 Oct
Just when you think you’ve learned a few things, that maybe you are a grown up after all, your Inner Five Year Old reasserts herself and makes you the fool. Hypothetically speaking, of course. I couldn’t possibly be talking about myself.

10 Oct
I asked my 91-year-old mother if she wanted to read up on the State Propositions before voting. She said, “No. I just want to go and vote for Obama.”

10 Oct
A mega-billionaire/hypocrite threatens to lay off employees if Obama is re-elected: http://finance.yahoo.com/news/ceo-workers-youll-likely-fired-131640914.html  The Koch Brothers threatened to do the same thing: http://bit.ly/PxPWMx

10 Oct
Mercy me. A printed hardcopy book from a reputable house in which passed got confused with past. The world is not what it was

11 Oct
Mom on the Ryan/Biden debate: “Who is that young putz?” Me: “Congressman Ryan.” Mom: “He’s an arrogant little s***.”

Mom on the debate: “This is a good debate. Joe Biden is kicking butt.”

12 Oct
Mom on a debate she’d like to see: “I want to see Michelle Obama debate Ann Romney. Michelle would clean the floor with her.” In case anyone wonders, my mother adores Michelle and doesn’t think much of Ann Romney.

12 Oct
Lindsay Lohan is voting for Romney. I rest my case.

12 Oct
I was home with a bad stomach, sleeping. I kept hearing helicopters circling and circling, usually an indication of a celebrity arrival at LAX or a big accident somewhere nearby. When I finally woke up out of the half haze, I realized that today was the day they started moving Endeavour from the airport.  It’s traveling right through my ‘hood, starting about six blocks from here. I was too sick to go out, but I watched it for hours on TV. So weird/weirdly exciting to see all my familiar landmarks on television. “Oh, there’s my Starbucks. There’s Mom’s doctor’s office. There’s my local Del Taco,” and etc. Here’s some of the “live feed”:

Watching Endeavour on mute now. Does anyone enjoy the endless patter?

Now I know why they laid down all those steel plates on Manchester.

The shuttle is inching past Jet Car Wash.

The shuttle is approaching Randy’s Donuts, that giant donut you see in every montage of L.A., at the corner of Manchester and the 405 freeway. Apparently, Randy’s Donuts made special Space Shuttle Donuts which they can’t sell today because the city asked them to stay closed for crowd control issues. I guess there’s always tomorrow. (And Toyota paid them for the use of their lot to film a commercial, so it’s not a total loss.)

And now the shuttle is waiting be towed across the 405 by a Toyota truck while they film a commercial. Toyota have been big contributors to the museum (millions, I hear). If my stomach wasn’t bad I might go buy one of the commemorative donuts tomorrow. But as a friend pointed out, donuts freeze really well.

13 Oct
On the way to dialysis this morning while traveling on the elevated 105 freeway I saw the shuttle’s tail and back in the distance as it moved along Manchester. No shuttle on the return drive to dialysis. It’s turned north and disappeared, alas.

I told my pharmacist that I saw the shuttle and she thought that was neat but added, “I want one of those shuttle donuts from Randy’s.” Yes, as does everyone else in L.A., apparently. I’d swung by Randy’s earlier to see about those special but the line was down the block so I kept going. Only a three and a half hour window to get my errands done before I have to pick Mom up again at dialysis. At least I’m not sick this morning.

Donut Quest 2012: Mom and I stopped by Randy’s at 2:30 on the way home. No lines, but they’d sold out of shuttle donuts until Monday. How did they sell out for tomorrow already? The bakers went home for the weekend. I’m hoping they’ll recognize they’ve got a little gold mine there and keep making them. I’ll keep trying. We now have a nice stash of non-shuttle donuts in the freezer. (You didn’t expect we’d leave empty-handed, did you?) I’m glad to report that Randy’s isn’t just a tourist attraction. They make good donuts.

14 Oct
This morning I was singing “I Kissed a Kitty and I Liked It” to Min and she was all, like, “Yuck, ick!” But she purred as she said it.

14 Oct
Today I got to clean out the pigeon coop that hadn’t been cleaned in a year. I bet you’re envious. I won’t let it go quite so long next time. A half hour shower didn’t seem long enough.

14 Oct
The hazards of sitting in the fall garden: my favorite chair was infested by a nest of baby spiders. I didn’t know I could still move that fast.

15 Oct
It’s probably a bad sign when you start writing a negative review halfway through a book. I’d never post it without finishing. Still.

 

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)
I'd seen stories about lost civilizations in the Amazon before on Discovery or History or one of those cable channels: the "garden cities" mentioned in this article. But it looks like the civilizations were far more complex and widespread. What was fascinating about those shows was that the journal of the first Spanish explorer to go up the Amazon told of fabulous cities. He escaped with his life but most of his men died and when the Spanish returned several years later, there was no trace of any such civilizations. He was branded a liar until recent archaeology proved that he didn't exaggerate at all. Scientists believe that the diseases he and his men carried wiped out thousands of indigenous people and the jungle reclaimed their civilization.

Do you think kitchen chores are endless, never completely done, a continuum that has been the one constant of your domestic life? You have no idea just how long that continuum has gone on.

My only comment: I hope they washed this before they stuck it in the box.

The Autry Museum is something of a cultural treasure here in L.A. I was skeptical when Gene Autry funded it, but he wanted it to be a serious museum taking on serious issues about the West, the Native American experience, and colonization, stretching that definition quite broadly. They've had some great shows. This "transgender" exhibit looks to be no exception.

I know this winter seems bad, but hopefully it won't be like the Great White Hurricane.

Yeah? And your point is?
pjthompson: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] norilana brought this up in her blog, so I thought I'd make my confession here. Some years back I was looking for a face to base the description of a character on (not Caius, in case you're wondering), and I came across this guy. He was in a Metropolitan Museum of Art catalog I had, and they'd sampled his portrait from this larger painting.

This guy was perfect, and I found myself really captivated by his image, wondering who he was...sigh. But I really wanted a picture of him looking up "at the camera," so I decided to get fancy. I began looking for someone with golden eyes (because the character had golden eyes) and lo and behold, I came across another long-dead gentleman. This is Albrecht Durer's self-portrait of himself at 28. (Talk about a hunky LDG.)

So I got busy in photoshop (actually an older cousin called Color It!) and came up with this guy. Okay, so I'm no Petrus Christus or Albrecht Durer. I look at the paint job today and it looks pretty crummy, but at the time I was quite carried away. Can you say compulsive? Obsessive? I knew you could. I had a lot of time on my hands, what can I say?

I no longer look for pictures to base my descriptions on. I don't know why, but I don't seem to need to do it anymore. But it is a fun game sometimes.
pjthompson: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] buymeaclue reminded me here [broken link] (however, she should not be held responsible for any use I put it to in this entry) that about two or three weeks ago I went to see the Body Worlds exhibit at the California Science Center. I'd meant to blog about it, but what with malaise and busyness at work and blah blah blah, I didn't get around to it. The exhibit has moved on to Hannah's area now and Body Worlds 2 is up here in L.A. This was an amazing exhibit and if you get a chance to go see it, do.

To see the cotton candy effect of the blood vessels of the body; the flex and strain of muscles in use; the various sprockets and whatsitses in the body is awe-inspiring and, yes—it made me want to schedule a full physical right away. Mostly, the exhibit walks the line between macabre/creepy and fascinating quite well. There are even several poignant moments. My friends and I were so enthralled, so concentrated on what we were seeing, that by the end of our two hours there, we were exhausted. The place was packed, too. It was the most successful exhibit the CSC had ever staged.

But there was one pair of onlookers I was almost as fascinated by as the exhibit. A mother and child. The boy looked to be about seven or eight and his mother apparently had absolutely no problem with him staring at the penises of the various gentlemen on display. But every time they would come to a woman, his little head would snap right up to the breasts and mom's hand would slap down right over his little eyes, then she'd muscle him along to the next display.

I had no idea boobs were so dangerous. And apparently far more corrupting than penises. Who knew?
pjthompson: (Default)
Closing in on the end of The Rewrite That Will Not Die 2: The Winnowing.

Chapters completed: 29

Revised page count: 590

Revised manual word count: 145,041 (net words cut 2213)

Revised Word line count with a zero stuck on the end word count: 144,760 (net words cut 1890)



It seems to me that in these later chapters as I'm racing towards the climax, the writing is much tighter than the saggy middle where I did so much hacking. I'm making a bunch of small cuts, the rare paragraph here and there, but not big blocks of text like before. And I'm happy I made it down to 145k. I think realistically, given that I've only got 4 chapters and an epi to go, I can probably expect to get this down another thousand or so, but I probably won't make 140k. Still, I've cut 11,000 words out of this draft so far.

The other thing I'm noticing in these late chapters is that at a certain point I started to do a lot of shortcutting. There's a certain point where you can see the fatigue set in to my writing and I just started taking the easy way out. When I did the second draft, I eliminated quite a bit of shortcutting, but again, the fatigue hit me there, too. There's more to do—but I'm done with this ms. at the moment. When I complete this draft, I'm going to polish up the synopsis and first 60 and set it loose to wander the world for awhile. At some point, I might like to go over the last ten chapters or so and see if I can clean up some more of that shortcutting, but I'm just too tired of it all at the moment. I so want to move on to something else.

Of course, if someone would pay me to do edits, I think my energy level might renew dramatically. :-)

I might even have finished the final chapters this weekend, but my friends are kidnapping me today and taking me to the Getty Museum to see two exhibits currently up:

http://www.getty.edu/art/exhibitions/sea_tails/

This is a reassembling of an 80's art installation featuring sound and visual recreations of the sea.

And "Coming of Age in Ancient Greece" doesn't appear to have it's own web page. It just went up last weekend.

Then my friends are taking me to dinner at a nice restaurant in Brentwood—Zax. I plan to allow myself to be thoroughly feted.

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