The National Library of France in Paris. There wasn’t an image of the library where I was and besides, this photo is proof of heaven itself, as long as I can read French in heaven, which I imagine could be arranged.) Image: Wikipedia.
The other day, I spent some hours doing research for my Big Project in a downtown library. This library is a very, very quiet one. If you turn your pages too loudly, you get murderous stares from the librarians and the aides and anyone else in the place. I tried to open a piece of butterscotch and that was not gonna happen. The moment I pulled it out of my purse, two people looked over at me like, “Really? Really, with the candy?”
So you can imagine the shock when I heard a very loud “knock-knock-knock!” It was a pronounced rapping on a wooden door: “Knock-knock-knock!” The library’s main reading room is a rotunda with storage spaces off its main floor and inside the round room are bays and stacks and shelves. You can’t really get lost in there but there are alcoves. There are nooks. What I’m trying to say is that I couldn’t where the knock was coming from.
I looked up when it happened. The gal at the next table over looked up. The squinchy library aide looked up and looked annoyed. No one came in or out, though, and there was no sound of a door opening or closing. But whatever. We all went back to our researching or our homework or our squinching.
Then it happened again, about five minutes later: “Knock! Knock! Knock!”
The gal and I looked at each other. Where was the knock coming from? I whispered, “That’s a knock, right? Someone is knocking.” She nodded and looked about. I got up and peered around our immediate vicinity and into the alcoves nearby. I spied an elevator; I hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe someone couldn’t get out of the elevator! I went over to it and pushed the button. But when the doors opened, the elevator was empty.
I decided the knocking was definitely the work of a library ghost. Hey, there was a library ghost in Ghostbusters. It happens all the time, people. And the moment I thought about there being a real-life (-death) library ghost, my brain went into Edgar Allen Poe mode, dreaming up storms and candles blowing out in the wind, of doomed lovers who die writing poetry in the library and haunt it forever. I imagined a gloomy scholar trapped in the stacks!
When I got back to my chair, the gal at the next table over widened her eyes a little and made a face like, “Okay, this is all super creepy.” And before I had time to think better of it, I whispered to her:
“One imagines someone trapped in the stacks!”
It just came out that way. I told you: I was in Poe Mode!
The girl looked at me like, “Ooo-kay. Let’s not pursue small talk.” But she didn’t have to worry; I had a lot of research to do and I needed to be available for the ghost if he needed anything.
L-R: Rebecca, Mark, Marianne. We moved from the porch mentioned below to Mi Pueblito, the local Mexican restaurant. Photo courtesy PaperGirl Photo Editor. (That’s me!)
It’s Iowa in May. It’s 7:30 in the evening and it is gorgeous. I’m sitting out on the back deck of the house in Winterset. We moved here when I was in fourth grade and I left this home when I headed to college at seventeen. It’s a good house.
My mother, my stepfather Mark, and my younger sister Rebecca and I have decided to have a glass of wine out here. I have decided that I ought to interview the people I have just dubbed The Iowa Theater Three. What follows is the conversation, edited for length because we had to leave to get some food for heaven’s sake. We got Mexican food at Mi Pueblito. (See above photo.)
PAPERGIRL: Mark. The theater is officially open. How does this change your life?
MARK: Having the theater open will allow me — and everyone else in town, as far as I can figure — to stop having to go into Des Moines anytime we want to see a movie. I like the big screen. I like the movie experience. Having the theater back in town saves us an enormous amount of money and time and grief because we don’t have to drive into Des Moines to see one.
PG: And how about, like, domestically?
MARK: My home is a storage warehouse! I’m hoping we can get some of this stuff out of here, now! (Laughter.) You can’t imagine. Everything you can think of that you need for a movie theater, it’s all in the house: candy, cleaning supplies, cups, straws, napkins, office supplies. And it’s in the garage, too! An old rewinding machine, an new desk, still in the crate.
PG: You’re a good man, Mark. Mom, how has Mark been helpful in this process?
MARIANNE: There’s no better cheerleader than Mark Davis. He just rolls with it. And I have to say this: As a man who loves order, he has been very understanding of the — well, it’s not chaos. We’ve been doing all this in a very orderly way. But he’s been so good about the usurping of his space. Mark has been as supportive as a person can be. You know he sold his boat and donated all the money to the theater.
PG: Incredible. Mark, how much did you sell the boat for?
MARK: $3400.
MARIANNE: His name’s on the donor wall, now. And he drove two-and-a-half hours to Breda, Iowa —
REBECCA: To Snappy Popcorn —
MARIANNE: — to Snappy Popcorn to pick up five boxes of coconut oil for the popcorn machine. That trip saved us over $200 in shipping.
PG: Mark, you’re a good man. Now, the donor wall is something I wanted to ask about. It’s looking great. But I have a concern that now that the theater is open, people will stop donating. There’s still so much to do, but now that it’s an operating theater, I just wonder if people will understand that fundraising hasn’t ended — and people may not even understand that the Iowa is a non-profit. So Rebecca, can you just tell me a little more about where you guys are with donations and more about the choice to build the theater as a non-profit in the first place?
R: Sure. So, when Mom and I were first approaching all this, of course we had long conversations and did a lot of investigating into for-profit vs. nonprofit business plans. Mom’s background is in for-profit businesses; mine is in non-profits. When we did the pie-chart for a for-profit, it was basically ticket sales and popcorn. Which is risky, for one thing. But it wasn’t just that: It was that with the non-profit model, you get so much more involvement with the community. In applying for grants, sponsorships, and donations, or launching things like membership groups, the foundation of the organization becomes way more interesting.
PG: Right. Like, the grants you apply for become part of the story.
R: Yeah, like… Like we could apply for a grant from the state to preserve a piece of Iowa history with a renovation project. That kind of thing.
PG: So you’re always going to be grant writing and fundraising. It’s a living, breathing thing.
R: Fundraising is ongoing and always will be. Of the million dollars it has taken to do all this, we’ve got $200k in debt to pay off. There’s a lot to do — and we still have construction to finish.
PG: The office and the green room, right?
R: Right. And as you said, now that we’re open, some people will say, “Oh, well, they’re open, why should I give money?” And some people won’t give. Other people will give with their patronage, which is obviously important and valued! But some people may have been waiting to give until they saw the finished product.
PG: Ah. I didn’t even think of that.
R: Yeah, I mean, everyone who gave before the theater was open gave out of faith. Some people have been waiting to see if we could pull it off. For some, seeing is believing.
PG: Rebecca, that should be your new fundraising slogan: “The Iowa Theater: Seeing is believing.”
MARIANNE: I love that! By the way, Mary, in the two years we’ve been working on this, Rebecca and I made a number of field trips to other small, independently-owned theaters in Iowa. All these single-screen theaters are non-profits. We’re part of a trend. At the end of this fiscal year, and every fiscal year, the idea is to be in the black and the profit for the theater equals $0.
PG: And then you might even be able to invest in other non-profits.
R: Exactly. And one last thing from me on this: With non-profit status, we can do great fundraisers and offer tax deductions. Rather than this theater just stopping with the Fons family, it’s something bigger. The income goes to the space and the staff.* We have grants we have our eyes on for programming and historic improvements like a permanent display of the evolution of the building from the 1800s to now; a film club for the high school. Soon we want to offer pre-movie ads for local businesses and we want to get ready to rent the space for weddings and parties. And we want to do a yearly fundraising party! A special screening of Gone With the Wind, maybe. Oh, and we could live-stream the Superbowl.
PG: That’s amazing. I don’t even care about the Superbowl at all and I’m coming to that. I mean… The Superbowl in a movie theater?? Can I throw stuff?? Not at the screen. I just want to throw stuff. Like in the air. Not a football. Just things. And I want to shout.
MARIANNE: We’ll save you a seat. Look, by being a non-profit, our cultural mandate is clear: We want to provide a multi-use cinema and performance space for the community of Madison County and beyond.
PG: Mark, should we go get something to eat? Are you ready to head out?
MARK: Honeybun, I’ve been ready. Let’s get a move on.
I’ve been pourin’ wine and stackin’ chairs. I’m wiped. I’m also happier than anyone in Madison County tonight. Well, except for countless people in my hometown and environs who are thrilled have a movie theater in their hometown again.
To those people: Thank you. Thank you for buying a ticket for the screenings/gala tonight. Thank you for giving to the Kickstarter campaign, Thank you to the businesses, the clubs, the associations. Thank you to the crew. The staff. The cheerleaders. Thank you Mark, my stepdad; to Jack, my brother-in-law. You all/we all, have a part of this thing. How I feel, the fullness of tonight, it isn’t my joy. The reopening of The Iowa and the excitement and glitz of tonight, it’s our thing. It’s our Winterset thing. Doesn’t it feel good to do something together?
My eyes are closing because it was a busy day full of tasks, and I did 50% of what Mom and Rebecca did, believe me. This is partly because they had more to do. It’s also because part of my day was taken up with eating a good deal of the local, organic, fully-buttered, Iowa Theater-popped popcorn we serve at The Iowa. Let me tell you something: There’s nothing quite like watching a batch of fresh, Iowa-sourced popcorn burst out of the movie theater popcorn maker in your family’s own movie theater. It doesn’t get much better than that — until, of course, you butter that popcorn yourself, using the popcorn butter thing, which runs on a sensor, and that is rad.
But it gets really good when you get to cram your paw down into a paper bucket (filled by your other sister) and then you get to cram that mitt full of popcorn into your mouth while your sisters make you laugh and your Mom takes your picture. Did I mention there were Junior Mints in the bucket? There are Junior Mints in the bucket and they are melty in the popcorn and you have your mouth full and the whole theater smells so good because everyone in your family smells amazing. It’s perfume and deodorant and shampoo. Who knows what it is. You smell good. It’s something you can count on, weirdly.
What I’m trying to say is that everything is perfect. Life is full of terrifying things. But sometimes, you get to stick a mitt into a bucket of popcorn and it’s really, really special popcorn.
This one’s leather. Hermes Ostrich Birkin Bag. Photo: Wikipedia.
I had an experience yesterday that made me happy in my heart, though even as it was happening I thought, “Mary, you are so weird.” But I’m okay with being weird if it means moments like these.
On the way back from my infusion appointment yesterday, I felt all right. Actually, I felt pretty good. I decided to get a coffee for the bus ride home. It just so happened that the nearest place to go for a coffee was Nordstrom’s. I was right outside the doors! Nordstrom’s has a good cafe! Don’t look at me like that.
I went inside and noticed big red signs plastered everywhere announcing a one-of-a-kind, do-not-miss-this-or-you’ll-never-forgive-yourself sale (this happens a lot at Nordstrom’s.) Though I was in no mood to shop — really — I decided that after I got my coffee, I’d look at the handbags. There was a sale, after all, and I was iron-enriched. My evening would be simply be reading and writing and hanging out with my couch; some innocent designer handbag perusing before I headed home couldn’t hurt. Knowing me, it would help.
I made a beeline for the designer side of the handbag section. There was a wide table with a shallow lip full of bags of various sizes, all of them gorgeous. There were Alexander McQueen clutches embellished with Swarovski crystals and silk flowers. There were a couple structured leather Proenza Schouler satchels. There were Fendi totes. My heart went pitter pat as I looked through them all. I love a great bag.
But it wasn’t going to happen for me yesterday.
The bags, even at 40% off, were expensive. Like, slap-yo-mama expensive. What’s 40% off $2700? I don’t know, either, but that’s how much one of the satchels cost and I just don’t have that kind of scratch to drop on a purse right now. Oh, I’ve purchased some expensive handbags in my day. But I could count on one finger the number of times I’ve dropped [INSERT FIGURE HERE] on something that will soon contain exploding pens and smashed cashews and get kicked under my seat on my next Southwest flight.*
There was a Nordstrom’s clerk standing near the table. She was super pretty, a little older than me with white-blonde hair. Her job was to keep an eye on the merchandise, of course; those handbags were usually under glass or hooked to security cords. I greeted her and smiled; she smiled back.
Right before I decided to head out, I took a second look at a killer denim shoulder bag. It was Stella McCartney. A heavy, shiny chain ran up the sides and ran along the top. It was padded, but only slightly. It might not sound like much (puffy denim??) but trust me, this was one hot purse. Then I looked at the price: on sale at $830 dollars. Eight-hundred-thirty dollars! On sale! In that instant, I heard in my mind one of my all-time favorite lines from a movie:
“$830 dollars?! It’s not even leatha!”
It comes from Joan Cusack in Working Girl. Since so many readers love the exact same movies I do (Overboard, Baby Boom, etc.), I’ll bet many of you know this line, too. It happens when Melanie Griffith (Tess) is at her boss’s house, trying on her boss’s clothes. Tess’s friend Cynthia, played by Cusack, is with her. When Tess takes something off a hanger that still has the tag on it, Cynthia looks at the price, splutters, and says, in her thick Bronx accent, “Six-thousand dollas?? It’s not even leatha!” It’s so great.
Standing there with the Stella McCartney puffy denim handbag, I really had to laugh. And then I thought, “I’ll bet the clerk would laugh at this, too. Should I tell her?” I decided to roll the dice, a la my Uber tour of Savannah.
“You know,” I said, coming around to her side of the table. “I think you’ll appreciate this. One of my favorite lines in a movie comes from Working Girl. Have you seen it? Do you know what I’m talking about? Melanie Griffith? It’s an eighties movie.”
The clerk sized me up right away, like, “What is she saying? Why is she talking to me like she knows me? Is this woman safe to talk to? ”
There was no time to waste. I told, very quickly, about the line in the movie, how Joan Cusack looks at the price tag and goes, “It’s not even leatha!” and how I thought about it when I looked at the denim puff bag.
The clerk loved it. She legit laughed, as in threw-her-head-back and laughed at the line. “Oh, wow,” she said. “That is so good. It’s great. You have no idea how much merchandise we have in here that that line applies to. Thank you. Seriously, thank you for that.”
So there you go. I’m weird. I sidle up to store clerks and launch into lines from Melanie Griffiths movies from 25 years ago. I have no intention of stopping this kind of behavior as long as it makes sense. Making people laugh while they’re at work makes sense to me.
*I fully intend to be the sort of person who sees a handbag on a table like this and says to no one in particular, “Would [SISTER/FRIEND/MOM] like this?” and then promptly buys it without blinking. Be patient, sister/friend/Mom. I’m working on it.
Now that’s a great place to jog! A beach! You go, girls. Photo: Wikipedia.
I was going to write about how I’m what’s called “a hard stick,” how at last week’s infusion appointment and today’s infusion appointment, the gals nicked a vein and/or my IV blew and ow, ow, OW does that hurt. Did I cry? Sure, I cried. I cried like a wee babe. My bruises are gnarly. But boo-hoo, Fons. Boo-hoo. Perhaps you should think about someone other than yourself!
Capital idea, old chap. In fact, you’ve given me an idea, Mean Voice I Just Made Up. This the perfect occasion for a light rant I’ve been meaning to deliver. Yes, I shall channel my personal woe into a light rant regarding those who jog on busy city sidewalks. Thoughts of myself are already evaporating.
Before anyone gets upset, let me plead my case — and please note that I’m delivering a “light” rant. My rant is a light one because my ire over this issue does not run that deep. I’m only interested in examining a simple annoyance. If you jog and you are already bristling, if your hands are already poised over the keyboard to upbraid me, wait until I make my point. If you’re still mad, know that I have braced myself for chastisement. Sort of. I hate chastisement.
To the rant!
I have no quarrel with joggers or jogging. There have been seasons in my own life when I enjoyed a nice jog. I may jog again, though the last time I tried it was too cold and my knees hurt. But I totally get the joy of the jog, the runner’s high, finding “the zone.” And city folk who jog — or out-of-town joggers just visiting — should totally jog in the city! I’m not anti-city jog. In fact, I think city jogging is a terrific idea! Just think about all the great urban spots begging to be jogged: Central Park in Manhattan; the miles of gorgeous lakefront here in Chicago; San Francisco’s hills and that Embarcadero thing. For a jogger, a city is a runner’s paradise.
Except that paradise does not include the entire city. I’m thinking specifically about congested sidewalks in the downtown area. Jogging on Michigan Avenue, for example, on a Saturday afternoon is maybe not the best. There are so many people there. They are walking and talking and shopping and eating things and trying to navigate the north/south or east/west of the narrow cement path they’re treading. When joggers come along — they are so often in pairs — it’s a problem. You’re walking along, thinking about your errands or how you need to call your mother and suddenly a man in neoprene is running at you and you have to jump out of the way. If you don’t jump out of the way, he gives you a dirty look, like, “Excuse me. Ever heard of jogging?”
It can’t be a good jog, the busy city sidewalk jog. Can it? Duckin’ and divin’ and getting slowed down by the packs of high school kids and the ladies who lunch, the throngs watching the mimes and the picketers outside the AT&T store? Wouldn’t you rather find a boardwalk or a stretch of sand dunes? A track of some kind?
For all those who disagree with me, you have the floor. Make your case for jogging on busy city sidewalks. Someone will probably convince me I’m wrong and I’ll change my mind. (I’m either very open-minded or a total pushover, I’m never sure.)
