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Behind A Pane of Glass
In 1992, the English poet Elizabeth Jennings was awarded the Commander of the British Empire (CBE) by Queen Elizabeth II for “highly distinguished and innovative contribution on a national level.” By this time, Jennings, a fragile and eccentric woman and a brilliant poet, was beginning to show stress marks. She was increasingly reclusive and erratic, and perhaps many of her friends thought she was fantasizing when she told them that she would receive the CBE from Her Majesty, the Queen. On the day of the ceremony at Buckingham Palace, Jennings’ sister Aileen helped her dress for the event. She wore a flowered skirt, knitted sweater, red wool beret, black oversize…
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Not Sure Whose Will Be Done
I’ve long detested men who cultivate trademarks and eccentricities. Far too many in my past and present who wear garish socks, or inappropriate hats, or bizarre haircuts or outlandishly-sculpted facial hair, or a certain color of clothing every day (because the world needs more Johnny Cashes), or who steeple their fingers when offering their ninth-hand opinions, or who fondle pipes and cigars because a certain professor did so, or who carry hundred-dollar water bottles snapped onto their noncombatant and too-wide hips. It’s one thing to have a natural quirk; many men have them. But to read the biography of a famous or infamous man and then affect an eccentric mannerism…