I’ve never been to the Anne Frank House, or even to Amsterdam or the Netherlands. I stepped in to one of the train cars, though, that carried people to the camps. They have one at the Holocaust Museum in DC. It was less horrifying to me than I thought it would be, maybe because of the not unpleasant environment, or because I steeled myself for it. This poem is from today’s Poetry Foundation email. It’s called “Anne Frank Huis” and is by Andrew Motion.
Even now, after twice her lifetime of grief
and anger in the very place, whoever comes
to climb these narrow stairs, discovers how
the bookcase slides aside, then walks through
shadow into sunlit rooms, can never help
but break her secrecy again. Just listening
is a kind of guilt: the Westerkirk repeats
itself outside, as if all time worked round
towards her fear, and made each stroke
die down on guarded streets. Imagine it—
four years of whispering, and loneliness,
and plotting, day by day, the Allied line
in Europe with a yellow chalk. What hope
she had for ordinary love and interest
survives her here, displayed above the bed
as pictures of her family; some actors;
fashions chosen by Princess Elizabeth.
And those who stoop to see them find
not only patience missing its reward,
but one enduring wish for chances
like my own: to leave as simply
as I do, and walk at ease
up dusty tree-lined avenues, or watch
a silent barge come clear of bridges
settling their reflections in the blue canal.
One “rule” of crosswords that I wasn’t aware of before I started taking them more seriously, is the rule against “dupes,” or duplications. It says that the same word should not be used more than once in a puzzle, especially in answers, but even in clues/answers. So, e.g., if a puzzle had “growing up,” and “toss up” as two answers, it might be pointed out by Rex or in a comment as a flaw. But it so often occurs that the rule may be fading away. Dupes never bothered me. I don’t usually even notice them until someone complains.
I enjoyed this back-and-forth from Tuesday. MAC (the computer) appeared in the clue at 1A, and the answer at 10D was IMAC. It led commenter Mike to post: “What about the horrible duplicate of Mac in the 1A clue and the answer to 10D??? Yeesh!”
And this was Gary’s response:
I suppose we all set the bar for what “horrible” means. Feels like some set it at family members dying, putting pets to sleep, war, famine, oppression, or anything to do with a political opinion of the opposition. Others find “horrible” when their hot dog falls on the ground at the fair, when the wind musses a highly orchestrated Dippity-Doo-ism, or when grampa expresses an opinion gleaned from his media savvy TV watching all day. Maybe the boy your daughter is dating is horrible. For us here on the blog, KIVA crossing KEG is horrible, ARSES magically vanishing when a new editor is promoted is horrible (for me), and for some, puzzles shaped like pizzas are horrible (or not). So when you ask, “What about the horrible dupe…” I guess I need to ask the circular question, “What about it?”
And, BTW, Gary’s avatar is a photo of himself. He looks just like you’d think he looks, it seems to me.
A story in the Style section of today’s NYT discusses London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, in particular, a new exhibit featuring clothing and other stuff of Taylor Swift’s, carefully placed among historical artwork and artifacts to which they relate thematically.
The first two paragraphs tell the tale:
“Disappointed Love,” painted in 1821 by the Irish artist Francis Danby, is a scene of eternal teenage wistfulness, its visual codes as readable now as they were back then. A young girl sits by a river, tearful and heartbroken, her head in her hands, her white dress pooling around her legs. In the water, pages of a torn letter float among the waterlilies. By her side are props of femininity: a straw bonnet, a bright red shawl and a miniature portrait of the man who wronged her.
The work hangs in the collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, in a red-walled gallery tightly packed with Georgian and Victorian paintings. As of recently, Danby’s weeping beauty has a new neighbor: a ruffled cream Zimmerman dress worn by Taylor Swift in the music video for “Willow,” from her 2020 album “Evermore.”
Over a dozen items are strategically (and thematically) placed so that a Swiftie (or non-Swiftie, I suppose) will follow a trail through the museum to catch them all. Here’s another pairing:
Kate Bailey, the curator, placed the red puff-sleeve Tadashi Shoji gown Ms. Swift wore in the video for “I Bet You Think About Me” next to a colossal velvet-draped four-poster bed, commissioned by the Earl of Melville in 1700 to convey status and political success.
Well, duh — where the hell else would you put it?
Of course, once our Phil caught wind of the show, he talked Taylor into sneaking in with him after hours so he could get a shot of her in the Zimmerman dress. They ended up getting chased by a 60-year-old museum guard who had trouble climbing stairs, so they made it out safely. Nice shot, Philly.
Our Gnats have fallen on hard times. Not only did they lose Jesse Winker, as discussed a while back, but Lane Thomas is gone now too. We loved him. I’m not saying they can’t adjust, but since the departures of Wink and Lainie, they had a no-hitter thrown against them by the Padres, and lost to ‘Zona 17-0. Ouch. Double ouch.
Let’s give Lucy Brown, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) the last word tonight. Here’s what she posted:
“I have used the same hair towel for 30 years. It no longer has any colour to it, some parts are threadbare and it has started to lose the shape. I have tried to use different towels and I can’t.”
Here are some comments:
Your description of your hair towel matches my description of my hair.
Have to ask this. What is a hair towel?
It’s a towel made from hair. Like a hair shirt, it’s used by Penitents.
I’m approaching 60 and am currently on my second hairbrush, I estimate this one has another 15-20 years in it.
I have used the same hair for over 50 years.
I use the tellytubby towel my son got when he was 4 months old. He’s 27 next week
For the love of god get some bleach
And, last, wisdom from Annette Wilkinson: Always know where your towel is.
Hard to argue with that. See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 