Author: Sue Young

How Quote Of The Week Changed My Day

Sue Young's avatarThings In My Head

Paul_Newman_1954 American actor Paul Newman.Handsome…inside and out.

People say the most amazing things sometimes. A lot of the time, us ordinary folk say the best things, the most encouraging things, the most enlightened things. Those wise words get spread around like rich, thick verbal butter. It’s yummy and greasy and once you get that quote on your hands, it’s difficult to wash off, so we’re better off just licking our fingers really.

Why, just the other day, my friend Mike said to me, ‘A trouble shared, is a trouble doubled’ and I thought that was absolute genius. He has been called a genius before interestingly enough, of the musical variety, but that’s another story.  But back to the point, I thought I should catch up on the Friendship Book before getting down to sorting out my Quote Of The Week. The Friendship Book is one of those thought-for-a-day books, full of…

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How Quote Of The Week Changed My Day

Paul_Newman_1954
American actor Paul Newman.Handsome…inside and out.

People say the most amazing things sometimes. A lot of the time, us ordinary folk say the best things, the most encouraging things, the most enlightened things. Those wise words get spread around like rich, thick verbal butter. It’s yummy and greasy and once you get that quote on your hands, it’s difficult to wash off, so we’re better off just licking our fingers really.

 

Why, just the other day, my friend Mike said to me, ‘A trouble shared, is a trouble doubled’ and I thought that was absolute genius. He has been called a genius before interestingly enough, of the musical variety, but that’s another story.  But back to the point, I thought I should catch up on the Friendship Book before getting down to sorting out my Quote Of The Week. The Friendship Book is one of those thought-for-a-day books, full of philosophical musings, spiritual insights and the occasional uplifting quote thrown in to make a point. Things to warm the heart on a daily basis. It never works out like that and I end up reading two or three weeks worth, all in one day. My heart is toast by the end of it.

Anyway, the first day to catch up on was 15th June or something, so I wasn’t too far back. The first words were ‘What are the ingredients that make up a man? And how are they best shown in his words and actions?’ followed by a quote from Tennessee Williams about the deceased actor Paul Newman, ‘You never really know what he’s thinking or what he might do but it always ends in kindness and fairness. A mighty recipe produced this man.’

What I found out, is that  Paul Newman wasn’t just a ‘Hollywood Great’, as they used to call movie stars from the forties to the seventies. He was much more than that. We don’t seem to have ‘Hollywood Greats’ anymore and when he died, he was one of the last to go. (Hold on in there Kirk).

I was never really paid attention to Paul Newman, he was a very good actor but in a way, just seemed like just another pretty  boy to me.  What I learned about him is that he wasn’t like most of the other Hollywood stars, he was different. That’s what turned him from just another pretty boy actor, into a man.

‘He was a philanthropist, who had distributed more money – in relation to his own wealth – than any other American during the 20th century.’

– The Guardian. Paul Newman Obituary

He burned his tuxedo in his driveway and that was the last time he went to a black tie dinner event. He began making his own dressings and sauces in a washtub in his barn. He would tinker away for hours like a mad scientist, until getting the right combinations, flavour and taste, then he would bottle them up, wrap them in ribbon and give them away as Christmas presents. They were an absolute hit with the neighbours and Martha Stewart, now a famous American television personality, was actually one of them at the time. She once did a blind taste test on one of his relishes.

He called up his friend, A.E Hotcher, American playwright and novelist, and he came over and helped him with his mixes. ‘Newman’s Own‘ was born. The sauces went from the barn to the supermarket but that’s not what makes this special. I mean, it’s all very nice and interesting but it’s what he did next, it’s what Paul did next that I love. He started selling his sauces commercially and every cent of the profits went to charity. In 1988 the first Hole in the Wall Gang Camp was set up, helping 288 seriously ill children. By 2012, the camps would reach 384,700 children globally .Paul has been gone from this world now for eight years but the one hundred percent charitable donations continue. It gave me chills when I went to the website for Newman’s Own and it has a countometer thing, counting up the money made from the profits, in real time. Four hundred million dollars and counting. It goes up while you watch! Gave me shivers, but in a good way. The profits of Newman’s Own’s products go to charity , ALL OF THEM, and it made me go in search of the product and buy it. It just makes me feel all warm and gooey inside, a bit like his sauces.

saucy

 

 

 

 

Quote Of The Week

‘You never really know what he’s thinking or what he might do – but it always ends in kindness and fairness. A mighty recipe produced this man.’

Tennessee Williams talking about Hollywood actor Paul Newman, sourced from The Friendship Book 2016

Library Finale

I think reading books in public has gone out of style. Or else, that is just denial speak for giving up. Today, I made the decision not to visit Blackpool Library again, at least not alone. I thought I could beat the system. I thought I could be alone there and not be bothered in any way. It is no longer a solo project. I can go into the gambling den that is Coral Island and there are no problems there. i think because everyone is busy haemorrhaging money. Coral Island is not interested in the sin of sex, at least not until kicking out time. They’re interested in that other addiction.

If I want to be left alone to read, then Blackpool Library is not the place to go. I don’t want to be unaccompanied or un-escorted there, from now on. Or rather I don’t want to be. I thought I could hack it. Unfortunately not. I may have tried to make a joke of it, earlier on, this year, or rather last year. I did the whole bravado thing, but I know when I’m defeated and there were so many people there last time I was there, too many and none of them were reading books. In fact, over in the cafe, there was some kind of open friendship day with the amazing aroma of well cooked, quality meals and all these friendly faces. But I can’t just walk into a sea of strangers, however much they smile so beautifully and smell of delicious food.

So I went into the quieter section but of course, the quieter section has its own problems. Everyone with social issues goes to the quiet section. My niece, who has always been very wise for her young years, advised about negative experiences regarding people. She said, ‘You’ll never see that person again, so don’t stress about it.’ That was always a comforting thing but recently, I discovered, to my horror, that is not strictly true. The straw that broke the camels back was once again, seeing a  Misery style Annie Wilkes (played by Kathy Bates in the original film, based on the novel by Stephen King).

She had returned. The first time, I saw her, she followed me around and then took photos, when she’d got a good full frontal shot. I think it was her blatant over confidence which disturbed me most, just like Annie Wilkes. She was defiant, confrontational and self important, like she had a right to stand in front of me and take photos without my permission, just like Annie Wilkes. You can get arrested for that in Dubai.

Why couldn’t I just laugh about it, why take it all so seriously? This is a woman with thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears, just like everyone else, but I’m sure Annie Wilkes has thoughts and feelings and fears. It all just felt too much of an invasion of personal space. The fact that she was holding up an envelope and not a camera, means nothing. It was the fact that she felt it was a camera and that’s all that matters. What if she felt it was a knife and came at me with it? An A 4 jiffy envelope might not do that much damage, if she tried to stab me with it, but still, imagine the trauma. It’s the intention behind it, that’s the important thing. If they think it’s a knife, then in their mind they’ve stabbed you with it and are trying to cause serious harm.

But this time, thankfully, I had a witness. ‘Look,’ I said, to my husband, ‘there she is. There’s the woman who’s been taking photo’s/videos of me with an envelope.’ It was a huge relief to be able to prove there was a woman, who, as we spoke, was indeed taking pictures with a big brown envelope and really meant it. When I produced a witness, she ran off. She ran last time, once she’s cottoned on, that I’d cottoned on. One moment there, one moment gone.

My husband had to go off for half an hour and he leaves me here precisely because he thinks it’s a nice safe, quiet place for this hothouse flower to be, but I was grabbing at his shirt sleeve and saying ‘Please, don’t leave me!’

This is a library. I shouldn’t be saying things like that in a library. That sad truth was, I was scared of this woman. I theorised that she was mentally ill and not some undercover journalist, as I’d first fantasied. And that made me feel guilty but no less afraid, as there seemed to be a certain maliciousness in her actions, like Annie Wilkes. So I now had guilt, as well as fear, to add to my arsenal of negative emotions. I wasn’t relieved that she may have mental health issues, obviously, but I was relieved that she wasn’t a conspiracy person. Yet, things were coming to a head, because I was thinking of the infestation of P.U.A’s and all the intoxicated, middle aged divorced men and disenfranchised people, all of us, hovering like lost souls, among the books, but not really reading them. One thing I did do here though, as well as hovering like a lost soul, is read books, but no-one else seems to think that’s what this library is for.

Ninety percent of the visitors here are in the multi media section, on the internet, right next to the cafe. No-one’s interested in books, really, not the smell of them, not the look of them, or the touch of them. Am I the only one that has this fetish? For years, men have read newspapers in libraries. I remember them, hidden behind their gently rustling ‘Daily Mirrors’ in my youth. So, I understand, that’s a thing, I get that, that’s a library staple, but why isn’t anyone here reading the books?

And then it hit me, not only is everyone on the internet and not only is no-one reading the books, I’m the only woman in the reading sections, apart from Ms Envelope Camera. It’s always all men. Middle aged men reading newspapers, not books. P.U.A‘s pretending to read, not reading. No women, at all, unless they are there for social purposes, in social groups, or in the cafe, making friends and eating wonderful food, or taking pictures of people with envelopes.

Oh, why do I want people to read books so much. Why?

I love the uniqueness of this library but not the unpredictability. Perhaps I should welcome that in this mundane, greyed out world, but I don’t like surprises and I had a bit of a panic attack last time. So instead of sitting quietly and reading, which I didn’t feel able to do, I went to Coral Island and gambled.

But the gambling den was a breath of fresh air, especially when you’re just on the Two Penny Falls. A lot of fun to be had and you do win stuff. I wasn’t down by more than seven pounds fifty by the end of it all, and with a couple of cheap but nifty plastic key-rings to show for it.

No one will bother you at Coral island and you’ll be able to spend as much money as you don’t have there. It’s so noisy and chaotic and Earnest Hemingway is nowhere to be seen and yet…even if you love books, you will feel safe. It’s like a library should be, but without any books. Safety comes in numbers and bright lights, never forget that.

 

Who’s Afraid Of Naomi Wolf?

I have a strange and rather emotionally tense relationship with Blackpool Central Library.

Before I begin, I need to make a few things clear. It is a wonderful library. It boasts beautiful stained glass windows. It is clean, organised and well run by friendly and efficient staff. There are also many worthwhile and thriving social groups that meet here that are important and richly beneficial to the community, which is typical of British libraries, central and local.

There are also a lot of books.

The vision of libraries for most people is a place where the quiet and shy will be in their element. It is a place where there is peace and quiet, for the studious and those hungry for knowledge and those in love with books. It is also a place, this place in particular, where young men will continually attempt to pick up women and where middle aged men frequently go to peruse a newspaper and socialise with others of like mindedness and similar circumstance.

I have taken my natural paranoia into consideration, and weighing up all the facts carefully and doing controlled experiments to prove it, no, not really, but I’ve been there enough times to weigh up the social ambience. I’ve done enough social experiments of my own now and the pick up thing was not a one off, as I thought, hoped, imagined. I only know because I returned and the same kind of things happened. Lone young men will begin by hovering and pretending to pick a book. They will go away for a few seconds then return, and hover round again, and again. This will happen several times until it becomes unbearable. At first, it was a novelty. It was quite exciting, at first, as a mature married women, to be given that attention, but it has become an irritation. If I’d have wanted to flirt, or I was sociable, or the Mae West type, or I wanted to commit adultery, or I wanted to cop off, I’d have gone to a nightclub. Look, I came here to read all right? It just shows you how naive I am. It is interesting though, I mean it’s an interesting place and I do love conspiracies.

They will be wearing sports wear or be the complete opposite, really scruffy and badly dressed or completely uniquely dressed, kind of like Mystery. They will make the mistake of pretending to pick a book from the girl-y self help section or the cooking section and then when you don’t look up or act like you’re alive or take your nose out the book, they will rattle the metal bookshelves, so they nearly come down on you. I’ve tried ignoring it but the steel bookshelves vibrating noisily by my ear got too much.

Anyway, by that time, I’d already devised a cunning plan. I had premeditated. If I started to feel uncomfortable in the event of abnormal hovering, I decided  I would get up and move around. They can’t get you while you’re transient. And that’s the word that kept going through my head ‘transient’. Keep yourself moving, it really puts people on the back foot when you keep moving. Anyway, I suddenly stood up very suddenly and walked away. I completely threw him.  A triumph! I went down the aisle and several bookshelves later, I find myself in the ‘SEX’ section (there is none really, but it sounds good, I think, well it is kind of like a sex section. I will tell you more later)

I pick up a book, any book, and start to read. As I read, I stand with my legs apart. Girls, if you ever feel intimidated or afraid, or harassed or upset, or vulnerable, stand with your legs apart. It gives you instant grounding and it says, ‘I’m standing with my legs apart, okay? Wanna make something of it?’

The man who had been hovering was totally thrown, as I said, and it was wonderful, very liberating. I had devised a plan and it had worked. He followed me down to where I was, and I have done the puffed up cat thing many a time in the past, walking home from a nightclub, in my youth, at 3. a.m. It also helps to have your house keys in your hand, with the biggest, sharpest key, held point down, between forefinger and index finger. Instant opportunity to gouge out the eyes, or crotch, or the nearest softest flesh of any imagined or possible attacker. Just remember the puffed up cat, if you find yourself walking home late, although I hope you don’t, as there’s no substitute for a taxi and a plan. When there are no taxis and no plan and no money and it’s late and you are alone, (God Forbid, but yeah, it happens, it happened to me plenty of times) just think, puffed up cat and keep the sharp point of your front door key between your index and forefinger. Oh, I forgot, you have mace and mobile phones as well, these days, don’t you?

Anyway, I discover that the book I am reading, with legs apart, puffed up cat stance, is the one and only, ‘Vagina‘ by Naomi Wolf. So, there I am, reading a book called Vagina, in puffed up cat stance, when he comes down to look for me. Perfect.

There is really  nothing more that acts like a natural shield than puffed up cat and Naomi Wolf’s ‘Vagina’. One, on its own, may have been inadequate, but the two together…invincible. There was something about reading a book called ‘Vagina’ that created a wall. I felt suddenly protected. Secure. Safe.

He goes away, the young stranger. The magic of the Vagina and puffed up cat, a volatile combination has magicked him away. He has gone. Or so I think, more on that later.

I start to read, in acting mode, but then I actually begin to read. Oh, this is good, I think, really good, suddenly I’m not acting any more. I could never get a book like this out, I think…I could never look the librarian in the face when I handed it over, but wait a minute, that’s in the old days. Nowadays, we have machines, the equivalent of the brown paper wrapping for the soft porn mag of the rain-coated old man.

Hey, wait a minute. I’m not a rain-coated old man and vagina is not a dirty word. So WTF?

So, I’m thinking, this would be a no go normally, I would never get this book out. I would have to process my ‘Vagina’ book through a middle aged lady librarian (I know, stereotyping, but it’s true) And she would be thinking, ‘Oh, you just got a book out called ‘Vagina’  Well really! What kind of a woman are you?’ or ‘Ooh, fancy!’ while looking you up and down, but thanks to the non judgemental machines that allow you to scan your books, non humanly,  a few hours later, I’m at home reading it. I laugh, I cry. I learn. Ahem.  This is a good book. Recommended reading for EVERY woman…and every man.

Thank you Blackpool Library for being so…weird…scrap that…unique. Well, here’s the thing, when my husband met up with me in the library, I discovered said P.U.A hovering around another woman a bit later on. He was just up to his old tricks again, I guess.

But Naomi Wolf…now I was herded towards her, inadvertently…I was chased towards her Vagina, and it worked. It was a silver lining….every cloud has one.

Blackpool Library…we may still have one more chapter.

 

 

 

 

 

Quote Of The Week

‘If we find ourselves getting impatient, we can try to bear our impatience, patiently. If we lose our tranquillity, we can endure that loss, tranquilly. If we get angry, we ought not get angry with ourselves for getting angry. If we are not content, we can try to be content with our discontent.’

– Jean Pierre de Caussade from The Spirituality Of Imperfection – Storytelling And The Journey to Wholeness by Earnest Kurtz and Katherine Ketcham