Heaven Waited: March 20, 2025

Heaven has been waiting for Joe Pendleton since 1978. He wasn’t supposed to arrive until “10:17 a.m. on March the 20th of the year Two Thousand and Twenty-Five.”

That was what was written, and Joe would have been happy to abide by what was written. But there was a little mix-up right when Joe was back in the pink—er, had just gotten his body back in shape. The young quarterback (well, in any other profession he would have been young) was set to start for the Los Angeles Rams in a few days, but there was an accident as he rode his bike into a tunnel on an otherwise quiet highway.

Joe Pendleton (Warren Beatty). Disaster ahead?

Except, as an athlete, he had fantastic reflexes and would have missed the car careering toward him. Probably. But his heavenly escort did not wait for the outcome, bringing Joe Pendleton to the Way Station nearly fifty years before his time.

Mr. Jordan himself verified Joe’s expected due date as March 20, 2025. It was written.

"Im not supposed to be here! You guys made a mistake!"

"Joseph Pendleton, due to arrive 10:17 a.m., March the 20th, the year 2025."

This is what was written by Elaine May and Warren Beatty in their 1978 screen adaptation of a play by Harry Segall, Heaven Can Wait. (An earlier screen adaptation was called Here Comes Mr. Jordan.)

To remedy Joe’s (Warren Beatty) loss of several decades of winning Super Bowls and falling in love, and so forth, Mr. Jordan (James Mason) scouted an available body for spirit Joe to Quantum Leap into. The requirement was that the death of this neomort would not yet have been discovered, so Joe could simply assume his identity. He was to carry on as that person, rather than as himself. But Joe couldn’t help being himself, could he?

Spirit Joe would have turned Farnsworth into a philanthropist

First up was the unscrupulous industrialist Leo Farnsworth, murdered by his wife and private secretary (Dyan Cannon and Charles Grodin). Joe transformed this not-yet-dead Leo into a naive but fair-minded (scrupulous) industrialist. And of course he fell in love with the first beautiful environmental activist he met (Julie Christie). She saw something in his eyes. (Remember that.)

"I'm not really Leo Farnsworth! My name is Joe."

Whatever had been the rich bastard’s destiny in life ended with his interrupted murder, and we can assume the real Leo Farnsworth abided by what was written for him, whether his final destination was Heaven or Hell. No matter. Joe needed to get Leo’s body in shape in order to pursue his own destiny—playing in the Super Bowl.

To help him, Joe called on the Rams’ trainer, his good buddy Max Corkle (Jack Warden). Joe first had to convince Max that this Leo Farnsworth was just a body and that, inside, Joe really was the friend Max had mourned. It helped that spirit Joe still carried his old soprano saxophone and could play a single tune, very badly and recognizably so.

"Joe, you never could play that thing!"

Reunited, Joe and Max then had to get this Leo Farnsworth a tryout with the Rams. Anticipating failure, Joe used Farnsworth’s wealth to buy the team so he could install himself as the new quarterback. Joe’s skill and athleticism easily converted the skeptical team.

Whatever had been written in Heaven or Hell for the rich bastard Leo Farnsworth, it did not include playing quarterback for the Rams in the Super Bowl. So once again his wife and secretary conspired to murder him.

Sensing that his time as Leo Farnsworth would be cut short, spirit Joe reassured his sweetheart not to be afraid of what might happen. She might even meet another quarterback and see that something special in his eyes.

Murdered out of Farnsworth’s body, Joe must abide by what was written. So Mr. Jordan took Joe to the Super Bowl where the Rams’ quarterback, Tom Jarrett (not seen in picture) collapsed after a violent play on the field. Joe, back on his proper journey, rose as Tom to complete the win.

Spirit Joe rises as Tom Jarrett

Max Corkle would be the first to recognize the real Joe in Tom Jarrett’s body. It helped that the saxophone arrived with spirit Joe in the locker room.

But Mr. Jordan threw a twist into the metaphysical plotting here. Or playwright Segall did. Or screenwriters May and Beatty did. It has always bothered me.

"Wanna tell me why you keep calling me Joe?"

"You're the quarterback!"

Mr. Jordan erased Joe Pendleton’s memory and merged his spirit completely with the body of Tom Jarrett. He was to live the next 47 years—until March 20, 2025, as Tom, not as Joe.

That’s what was written? Are you kidding me? Max lost his friend, but at least Tom got the girl (yes, she saw spirit Joe in his eyes). Hopefully, when Joe makes it back to Heaven this week, he’ll have a word with Mr. Jordan about that whole big chunk of life he lost.

Love, hosaa
restoring lifetimes

Lensing Test

 The sole point of this post is to use Google Lens to try to identify some of the birds and blooms I've photographed over the years.

possibly Northern Mockingbird

Water lilly

Blue Jay

American robin

possibly a black squirrel with genetic [or environmental] defect

Conclusion: Google Lens is of limited value if it can't be more specific in identifying the stuff in my pictures. Also would need to upload everything to this blog, because Google Lens doesn't work on Facebook. At least not on my phone. 

Correction: Google Lens does work on FB and IG, but only on my laptop, not my phone. And I have to not mind it sending my page to Google. That's life.

bottom-to-top: roses, Canterbury bells, asters

Love, hosaa,

image hunting

2024 Books I Read, and other stuff

Shakespeare once again dominated my reading schedule, and not just because I can read a play in an afternoon. For the record, this year’s plays were Macbeth, Merry Wives of Windsor, Comedy of Errors, and Much Ado About Nothing. There is also some Shake-related nonfiction in the 2024 list, a little on the academic side but worthwhile reading nonetheless.

Notably, this year’s list is shorter than in past years, though I did dip into some short story and poetry collections. I blame my fractured vision (cataracts) and attention span (Olympics, college reunion, comedy improv with Clay Aiken). Here’s my year, in roughly chronological order:

1. The Razor’s Edge, W. Somerset Maugham (fiction; re-read). Not the only first-person autobiographical tale on the list, but not by design. I’d read this many years ago and remembered liking it, but couldn’t remember why. Philosophy, I guess: A nonmaterialistic hero wants everyone to be happy. I like that.

2. The Brothers Karamazov, F. Dostoevsky (fiction; re-read). More psycho-philosophical fiction. Handy to have class notes in the margins of my college-days paperbacks so I could continue underlining themes and significant passages. I seem to have a fondness for the nonmaterialistic hero who wants everyone to be happy type. Note: this list only takes me through March. Slow reader with distractions.

3. Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen (fiction; re-read). Hm. Curiously unambitious choices so far. I usually like to mix things up. Jane’s first story probably could have used some paring of extraneous characters, as I much prefer the Emma Thompson script. But it’s far more sophisticated and engaging than …

4. Mount Vernon Love Story, Mary Higgins Clark (fiction). George and Martha Washington as Hallmark Channel love interests, a bit too “she gazed into his soft gray eyes” for my taste. Blech. Still, it seemed sufficiently well-researched to merit becoming a nice giveaway to new donors to the Mount Vernon Ladies Association, a very worthy cause.

5. Modern Ethics in 77 Arguments, Peter Catapano and Simon Critchley, eds. (philosophy). Apparently a collection of New York Times columns, though I suspect the readership and the authorship were the same demographic. I skimmed through the topics that interested me—morality, religion, race, women, the future. There was something in the discussions about women that annoyed me when I read it back in April, but I’m too lazy to re-read that stuff. Much, much more interesting is …

6. An Unfinished Love Story, Doris Kearns Goodwin (history, memoir). Doris specializes in writing about the great men of American history, but here she truly makes a case for the historic greatness of her own husband, Dick Goodwin (Kennedy speechwriter best known to some of us as the guy who went after the Quiz Shows back in the day). And like Doris’s stories of other American heroes, she does not forget their ladies—in this case, herself. So you say you want a love story? This is it! Now I wish she’d write that George and Martha thingy.

7. Ocean Breathing, Barbara Mathias Riegel (fiction). I admit I bought the book because a dear friend’s mother wrote it. I like to be supportive, and the story takes place in our familiar neighborhood. The first-person narrator is dealing with severe anxiety, which she only begins to overcome when other people’s problems supersede her own. A less-than-gentle therapist (or reader) might say “Get over yourself.” She does.

8. Shakespeare’s Language, Frank Kermode (literary studies). Survey of how Shakespeare’s command of language (metaphors, motifs, and stuff like that) matured from play to play and advanced the English language along the way. Maybe a little academic, but like Shadowplay (a survey of the plays through the lens of religious and political conflict), an interesting way to review the plays and Shakespeare’s greatness.

9. The Code of the Woosters, P. G. Wodehouse (fiction; re-read). Speaking of a master of language! Not that Wodehouse advanced the English language itself, but he sure had fun with it.

10. Philippe Halsman: A Retrospective (photography). One of the great portraitists of the 20th century, showcasing some of the greatest personalities of the time. Yes, we like looking at celebrities. Halsman made them jump for him. Literally.

11. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens (fiction, though likely autobiographical). A first-person narrator reflects on his life, and it’s a ripping yarn. There are people! Things happen! It’s how I can get through an 800 page book gladly, whereas with some remembrances-type fiction I can’t get through four pages (I’m looking at you, Proust and Joyce).

12. Shakespeare’s Sisters, Ramie Targoff (literary history). Okay, it got a good review in The New Yorker and it had Shakespeare in the title, so I bought it. Targoff covers the work of four key women who wrote at the same time as William but were not in fact related to him. Well worth reading, but I’d quibble about the book’s title.

13. Headlong, Michael Frayn (fiction). Art history in a comic mystery! What a fun book.

14. The Bully Pulpit, Doris Kearns Goodwin (presidential history, biography). While Teddy Roosevelt made the cut for Doris’s top four presidential leaders (with Lincoln, FDR, and LBJ), the well-liked and judicious William Howard Taft had a lot going for him. Another one of my heroes who wants everyone to be happy? Despite their epic rift, Doris gives William and Teddy a happy enough ending to make me cry. (Also sobs-inducing, the Titanic death of Archie Butt, their mutual friend and security man.)

15. Circe, Madeline Miller (fiction). A “Wicked”-type retelling of familiar myths from the witch’s point of view. Richly rendered language thick with metaphors and similes, if you like that. I did.

16. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens (ghost story). Rereading this every year might become a tradition for me, along with watching as many different versions as possible (from Magoo’s to Patton’s, er, George C. Scott’s). There is no perfect rendering of the story, however, other than Dickens’s. They all leave something necessary out or put something unnecessary in. And I think Scrooge was really more indifferent than angry or hostile. Scott’s rendering of the character wins on that point.

Confession: I broke my rule this year about finishing everything I started to read. As mentioned above, I couldn’t make it into Proust’s Swann’s Way, for its lack of characters and actions. This is also the reason I couldn’t make much headway into 2025 from the old Coates & Jarratt futurists shop. I spent a career making futurists’ writing accessible to nonfuturists. The book’s many scenarios of new technologies and future problems were devoid of any human beings doing anything. I just couldn’t take it.

The real 2025 looks promising, bookwise: I spy James by Percival Everett at the top of the pile!

Love, hosaa

Happy New Reading

Haiku Redux (for Edward Duke)

 This bit was from 10 years ago, but it summarized Edward Duke and his  show, "Jeeves Takes Charge":

Edward Duke

June 17, 1953 - January 8, 1994

Slow tap-dance, quick change,

a heart full of joy.

His limited engagement.

Martha Swope, photographer; Billy Rose Theatre Division, New York Public Library Digital Collections, 1983.

No Love

I sought “Love” in poetry encased 
in volumes long collecting dust
and realized, as I must, it would be unjust
to quote their thoughts
as though they were my own.

No love but my own will I ever know, 
if I ever do, but I know

your own vision lengthened when you met:
past, into one another’s experience;
future, into new destinations;
inward, into empathy beyond words;
outward, to worlds beyond a lonely reach.

Love that keeps you close will take you far.
No love leaves a heart that lives in “We Are.”

(for Rachel and Derek, May 9, 2024)

Window Visitors

The ladybug made

no sound but her wings' whisper

as the mourning dove moaned.

Arise, Jeeves!

Normally I’d only reminisce about Edward Duke on the anniversary of his birth (June 17), but ‘tis the season of my “Jeeves” reflections, ignited this year by the spectacularly long-overdue revival of Edward’s Jeeves Takes Charge stage frolic. 

At the time I saw it, JTC was billed as a “one-man, two-act, 12-character, award-winning comedy tour de force.” Now, the new adaptation lists 22 characters, managed nimbly (I imagine) by Australian heartthrob Sam Harrison in three sold-out performances, February 11–12, at London’s Theatre at the Tabard, Chiswick.

Sam Harrison

It is thanks to the P.G. Wodehouse Society of U.K. (and X/Twitter knowing all about my interests) that I discovered this revival. Following all the rabbit holes of social media, I also discovered that Edward’s   IMDb page had been (lovingly, respectfully, and I assume accurately) updated. 

The biggest treat of all was discovering the archive of original publicity photography for Edward’s “cheap little show” when it landed at New York’s Roundabout Theatre in 1983. 

Only a sample here; credit to Martha Swope, photographer; Billy Rose Theatre Division, New York Public Library Digital Collections, 1983.

Edward Duke as Bertie Wooster

    

Edward Duke as Jeeves