Monthly Archives: March 2016

Chapter 2 continues… Excerpts from – “We’ll always have Paris.” A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor’s ransom collected and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, connoisseur.

Proudly presented from www.writerssecrets.com eBook Series

Excerpts from the forth coming E-Book – “We’ll always have Paris.”

A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor’s ransom collected
and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, connoisseur.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Chapter 2 continues.

First part at: http://writerssecrets.com/excerpts-from-well-always-have-paris-a-story-of-wealth-obsessions-and-the-emperors-ransom-collected-and-dispersed-by-christopher-forbes-connoisseur/

Selling such documents is an Osenat specialty, and hence just right for Kip
whose intense interest in autograph documents mirrors that of father, brother,
grandfather, world without end, amen, amen.

These discerning people have assembled (and in due course dispersed) major
collections of American and British history, such as their stunning collection of
items pertaining to Sir Winston Churchill. As such one Forbes or another
has acquired, cherished, and sold more valuable documents than anyone.

Kip told me his favorite was the letter sent by Albert Einstein to President
Franklin Roosevelt advising about the imminent availability of the first atomic
bomb and its impact upon our planet; an important letter indeed.

To give you an idea of what this means to Kip, here are a few selections
from what he sold the first day his treasures on paper went on the block.

Item: The signed marriage certificate of Josephine de Beauharnais and
Napoleon (1804) witnessed by Napoleon’s uncle Cardinal Fesch. Given
the importance of this marriage, the importance of this document can
hardly be overstated. It was wily Josephine’s gambit to stay the wife,
the queen, the empress. It failed, but it made clear the lady was a
fighter.

Item: Intimate correspondence from Napoleon’s mother Letizia (the “veuve
Bonaparte”) upon the death of her husband (1786)

Item: A letter of April 1808 from Napoleon’s brother Louis, King of Holland,
upon the birth of the child who became Napoleon III. And a later letter
(1809) in which he announces his separation from Hortense, Napoleon’s
step daughter.

There are hundreds and hundreds of these documents from the associated
imperial princes, highnesses, serene princesses, crown princes, empresses,
grand dukes, imperial cousins, imperial aunts and uncles, marshals of the
empire, victorious and bumbling; archdukes, dukes of the old regime and dukes
of the imperial regime who replaced them for a spell, only to be replaced
themselves in short order. As these voluminous papers make clear, it was
the preeminent age of titles and decorations, and woe upon you if you made
any error, any error at all.

What Kip Forbes has collected (as the government of France came to
see by their own thorough scrutiny of these and all the other documents)
is formidable, brilliant, splendid. The most cursory of readings gives us
profound insights into the project called Empire.

First of all, whether you were pro Napoleon or not (and many played both
ends of that field) you were kept busy scribbling. All governments, all regimes
are full of people who scheme with grit and determination. That is the nature of
all those who want a piece of the pie, then another, justifying each step by
renewed and interminable scribbling.

Every person in the Napoleonic regimes, seeing how far others just like them
had risen through dint of truth at one moment and denial the next, spent every
waking moment in intrigues. Kip’s fifty years of assiduity, collection and
research make it clear just how much chicanery was going on at all times,
how shamelessly, motives changing as partners changed and then, more
shamelessly still, changed yet again, each move chronicled by quill, by a
splash of ink carried on horseback to its own personal destiny, exalted or
ignominious.

Oh, Kip, how I envy you all those years alone in a favorite place, ensconced
of an evening with a cast of characters, unsavory, unmatched in any work
of fiction anywhere; yours, all yours for so very many happy hours.

It is easy to see, my friend, why you selected the bombastic Bonapartes and
their gimcrack regimes. They never stopped conniving and so never stopped
writing about their audacious plans to remake the world; lead by a rogue,
a thief, an untrammeled visionary leader who did not admit impossibilities,
much less give in to them.

Yes, they were rogues, nary a person of principle or honor among the lot of
them, every nation, every dynasty to be milked and discarded for the benefit
of a single family, every single one a scoundrel, for all the silk, satin, perfume
and swagger they used to disguise what they were about.

“Those were the days my friend. We thought they’d never end.
We’d sing and dance forever and a day/ We’d live the life we’d choose
We’d fight and never lose/ For we were young and sure to have our way.”
(Mary Hopkins,1968)

“Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.”

But of course, these agile, prevaricating, determined makers of
empire, fell victim to just four words my own father wielded with a
skill challenging Excalibur’s. “This too shall pass”. And so it did,
whether it was bounteous and awesome… or whether it was
painful and mournful heartbreak.

It all passed. Some went into the fires of holocaust… some was
swept away by the contrary winds of destiny. Some was eaten by
rats and other fastidious menaces. Some were damaged beyond
repair by waters or deliberately destroyed by those who thought their
prejudices a better future; truth being the last of their objectives.

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my works, ye mighty and despair.
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

(Percy Bysse Shelley, 1818).

This, however, is not yet the fate of the documents and
artifacts which punctilious Kip devoted far more than half
his life gathering, tending and always remembering, a
monument to his considerable energies, resources and what
is so evident throughout the stylish catalogs, and his own insightful
preface. It is all there, his respect, his concern, and his love.

Yes, it is this love, in all its works, for which we must thank you.
For this love has kept the lone and level sands far away though
that will, his stewardship laid down, now be the job of others for
their time. Chevalier Forbes, sans peur et sans reproche, has
set them the highest possible standard; his rise to Officier of
the Legion of Honor recognizing and thanking him for that, and
rightly so.

The Great Chain

Now let us take this man of resolution, his critical “eye”, and a tenacity
that never flagged and link him in the Great Chain of Americans who did
not just like, respect and esteem Paris and toute la France, but who were,
and this is much more difficult to achieve, esteemed and venerated by Paris
and toute la France. It is an honor greater than any red rosette and far,
far more difficult to achieve.

It starts with Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), signer of the Declaration
of Independence, whose utilitarian brain and its useful manifestations
inspired the admiration of the Court of Louis XVI, and particularly its ladies,
who made his crotchets, yes even turkeys and coon skin caps, their crotchets.

Thomas Jefferson, minister to France (1784), was next. He was young,
elegant, not just the purveyor of beautiful language but able to make that
language the beacon for all people and all time, and to do so without hatred,
rancor or murderous intent. He was the High Priest of Freedom and Liberty
and the ancien regime looked to him for a way out of their tangled affairs.

There was a gap after Jefferson, unfilled for over a century until “Fighting Jack”
Pershing immortalized himself in just 4 words, “Lafayette, we are here”, thus
succinctly informing the beleaguered French nation that it now had, first in the
American Expeditionary Force, a great and generous friend, a friend who would
fight and bleed and die for them,without barriers, without surcease, without
regret, without cavil. Vive la France!

Lindbergh and Baker

The ‘twenties were apples and cream for the so-called “Lost Generation”‘;
Americans who claimed Paris as their own, making sure everyone who was
anyone knew not only they were not lost, but had found everything they needed
to scandalize any Americans within media distance while affronting
every Frenchman near or far. They needed no more notoriety. A spanking
was much more called for.

The French tolerated them, then lost patience with the braggarts.
No love-in for the likes of Gertrude Stein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest
Hemingway et al. In due course they got rich, they got famous, but they
were never loved, least of all in the France they gobbled and devoured
whilst complaining the while, crocodile tears de rigueur and abundant.

Then a boy named Lindbergh, Charles A. Lindbergh and a girl named
Baker, Josephine Baker captured the jaundiced eye and affection of
post Great War France.

Lindbergh was a strapping, movie star handsome Midwestern boy who
in 1927 hopped the Atlantic in a one-seat monoplane named  “The Spirit
of St Louis”, its sole cargo the highest octane American pride, and just one
passenger, a no longer common house fly, iridescent stowaway, showing
millions what was possible beyond the blue horizon.  .

Then there was the divine Josephine whose lithe ebony flesh provided the
perfect back drop for gyrations no good woman could ever know, much less
do. She, like Lindbergh, was the Spirit of St. Louis, too, but hers stemmed
from the filth and stench of the midden from whence she emerged clean
enough and driven enough to capture the imagination of the gratin of Paris,
who wanted to dissipate each moment in impossible dance steps and
behaviors supposedly from the Dark Continent, actually derived from
segregated St. Louis. Her fruit of choice was bananas, for wearing,
not eating. She needed a spanking, too, got it and smiled. Ou la la.

They both rose to being media icons, both (some times) as rich as Croesus,
a factor which every Frenchman knows is tres bien, such a relief for the most
mercenary nation on Earth. The French knew the value of a franc They wanted
their demigods to know, too.

“I am the man who…”

Then there was Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy (1929-1994), not merely a
First Lady but an international fashion plate, perfectly coiffed, perfectly
scented, a shimmering vision who charmed the crusty Cross of Lorraine,
M. le General De Gaulle in French, no less; admittedly it was of the
school girl variety, but it was better than in Quebec. She was a francophone,
and that was enough. Her sex appeal and “Noli me tangere” chic made
old man De Gaulle gasp. Madame de Pompadour might have tutored her.
She was that good.

John F. Kennedy knew a good political thing when he saw it. And so upon
returning home from the vast crowds, he turned the incident into smooth history
by saying,” I am the man who accompanied Jacqueline Kennedy to Paris.” A
frisson of bliss went through Camelot that moment. Not since Lafayette had
kissed Martha Washington’s hand when they both lived in Cambridge, right down
the street from me….

The Penultimate. Jerry Lewis (born 1926).

The announcement of the latest honoree in the Great Chain is coming
up in just a minute or two, but first I must attempt to explain the penultimate
winner and why he has been tapped for eternity.

This person, I admit, is a puzzle to me, just as his vast film repertoire
has been a puzzle. However, I am a commentator, and so I must comment.

Here’s the long and the short of it; I find Jerry Lewis’ oeuvre painful to watch
and funny only by accident. But here’s the biggest puzzle of all: why do the
French admire his unrelenting slapstick so, right up to and including making
him Chevalier of the Legion of Honor? It is, remember, their highest award.

It remains inexplicable to me, the award for losing control of your body and
causing the world to explode in hilarity at your expense. It leaves me cold,
but not the French, thereby proving not only that the very rich are different
from you and me, but that Jerry Lewis’ French fans are, too.

I remind you of this pertinent observation: given world enough and time, a
cadre of monkeys with typewriters can and will produce the works of
Shakespeare. By the same token, given enough of Jerry Lewis’ sophomoric
pratfalls at least one is certain to make even the most fastidious and
censorious laugh, maybe even me.

But why decorate Mr. Lewis for his ability to fall down stairs, walk into
swinging doors the wrong way, or take a cream pie in the puss at any hour,
at any place. He deserved nothing but groans for such nonsense. But for his
many years as chairman of the Labor Day Telethon for the  Muscular
Dystropy Association (1950-2011) raising billions, he deserved the highest
recognition from every nation.

“Le jour de gloire est arrive.”

Now it is time to add a new honoree to the short and worthy list of
those who have gone before. It is time to add Christopher “Kip”
Forbes.

He is not being honored for his wit, his charm, or his intellect, though
each of these items in such abundance has its place in achieving
the final result.

Instead he has been elevated because he has helped save a major
period in the history of France, the period of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte
(1808-1873) Prince, Prince-President, Emperor, now exhumed by Kip.

No one needed to tell Kip what to do or how to do it. He went on as he
began, promising nothing, saying little, getting on with his important work.
without bombast or fanfare. For half a century, he has used his informed
judgement to help strengthen not just his magnificent collection but the
nation, not least by giving that nation and its people over 40 lots, lots
given which he might so easily have sold. He gave them to France.
Lafayette, we are indeed here yet again. Let the revels begin…

I have selected Offenbach’s 1867 frothy masterpiece “La Duchesse de
Gerolstein” to dance us to our conclusion. Find it in any search engine,
and let its unexampled overture break over us in joy and happiness. Here
we are in the company of civilized people , their civilized emperor
Napoleon III, and the civilized gentleman who rediscovered them for the
benefit of all, Kip Forbes.
Get a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

George Quacker Production

Div. Jeffrey Lant Associates

All Rights Reserved

Excerpts from “We’ll always have Paris.” A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor’s ransom collected and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, Connoisseur.

Proudly presented from www.writerssecrets.com E-Book Series

“We’ll always have Paris.”

A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor’s ransom collected
and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, connoisseur.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Excerpts from Chapter 2

I didn’t know that Kip Forbes was selling the work of a lifetime
until the hefty plum colored catalogs (2) arrived and, in an instant,
maybe less, left me to ogle night and day, you are the one; in
the roaring traffic’s boom; in the silence of my lonely room, with
apologies to Cole Porter. I lugged them everywhere.

As soon as I dug in, I knew all my worthy and well-meant promises
to “go slow, there wlll be other auctions” went out the window, as they had gone out so often before. This is what happens with connoisseurs.
We mean well but we are putty in the hands of the particular objects
of our affection. We mean well, but that, when decisions must be
made, means nothing. Don’t scold us for our acquisitive dispositions. It could happen to you.

We can’t help ourselves. In for a penny, in for a pound, or a whole lot
more. We ought to have a help group entitled “,
Anonymous,” but it wouldn’t do any good. Even if we were shackled
by Houdini, we’d find a way out. Others may like a thing, but we connoisseurs are obsessed, a feeling we try to disguise, never to admit upon pain of death.

My heart sinks.

I noticed right away that Christopher’s trove was being auctioned off
by Osenat, the Peck’s Bad Boy (1907) of auction houses. They often
snag the best Empire artifacts, from important documents and autographs to over-the-top fauteuils and hard-to-find encoignures; reasonably estimated and so close the deal that justifies exceeding your limit. Oh, if only the story ended there. But it doesn’t.

For example, try asking them for a condition report, as I do with
despair because Osenat seems incapable of providing this necessary and timely intelligence, absolutely necessary in the determination to  proceed, or not.

I email and say, “Please send me a condition report for such and
such a lot.” In my early dealings with Osenat I was so naive as to
expect a precise and helpful response. Silly me. So, I ask again
and again and again; all to no avail and much exasperation. Take
the matter of the royal and imperial photographs available in
abundance thanks to Kip’s ardor and persistence.

Now, I happen to have an extensive collection of such photos,
nearly all autographed and as such exceedingly rare. I add to it
whenever such items come up, though I admit the signed photo
of Alexis Romanov (1904-1918), the last Tsarevich of a doomed
and tragic dynasty, was at $50,000 a bit steep.

Despite numerous requests to tell me which photos were autographed by their subjects, yes, despite my dogged efforts I never did get a response. This is the Osenat way, and it is most irritating. However, it gets even worse….

To make telephone bidding work, it is necessary for the bidder, the
Osenat representative transmitting the bids, and the auctioneer
to be in perfect sync. However here, too, Osenat stumbles. In one
famous instance (of several) the auctioneer was simply not paying
attention.

As a result a pair of the most stunning Empire pedestals in verde
mare marble were sold to a lucky Russian lady, not to me. Hell
hath no fury as a connoisseur slighted. It took me over ten years
to get my hands on them. They adorn the Blue Room where I am
writing you now.

I have never seen a pair with such chic and panache, and have still
not forgiven M. Osenat for keeping me from them for an infuriating
decade.

The same thing happened in the Forbes sale. There was an impressive photograph of Prince “Plon-Plon”, otherwise Prince Napoleon Bonaparte,(1822-1891), one of history’s most unattractive characters. He didn’t matter much so long as Napoleon III’s only son “LuLu” was alive. He wasn’t called the Prince Imperial for nothing.

However, once he was killed by Zulus (1879), Plon-Plon stepped forward as the Number I reason why the Bonapartes and their post 1870 chances of restoration ended with the thrust of an assegai.

He was detestable was Plon-Plon. Of course, I had to have him in my
collection where imperial princes of any dynasty trump all. Kip had two Plon-Plons. I “owned” one for a week until I inquired after my bill and was told “my” treasure was sold the next day to a luckier punter than me . This is all too typical of my checkered experience with Osenat.

Just one more finger pointing…

The first two days of the Forbes sale took place March 5 and March 6, 2016.
Instead of numbering all the items sequentially they numbered each catalog from 1 thus creating some serious muddle, especially for collectors like me who always go over each item with our own advisors, the trusted folk who work for me, not the auction house. I never imagined some of them knew such  indigo lingo as I heard because of this needless error. Thus did Osenat make clear they are still not ready for prime time and a worldwide clientele.

So why, then, did Kip Forbes bestow his golden patronage on such a
place? As he told me, it was because the larger and more well known
auction houses would not have taken the whole collection, over 1300 items,  thus declining the hundreds of documents.

Selling such documents is an Osenat specialty, and hence just right for Kip whose intense interest in autograph documents mirrors that of father, brother,  grandfather, world without end, amen, amen.

Easter Eggs.

Proudly presented from www.writerssecrets.com Article Series

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

The older I get, the less current holidays mean to me… and the more those from years, even decades ago. I see the vivid Easter displays; (these days pharmacies seem to have the most and largest.) But these festive aisles and windows, the bags of candy, and, of course, the seasonal cuddlies do not speak to me. They merely mark the calendar as just another day.

That was not always the case, but years and unrelenting death have so thinned the ranks of the significant players in these annual rites that the dead now significantly outnumber the living, of whom, graying, I am yet one.

I do not mind giving up this present holiday; there is little enough to lose.

But I would mind relinquishing my memories of Easter Days gone by, for there are my beloved ghosts, each and every one as vital in my mind’s eye as quick, not long defunct.

And because these folks are even more precious to me now than then, I wish this Easter to remember them through the medium of eggs, colored eggs, hidden eggs, Easter eggs.

My mother’s Easter eggs.

Without any effort whatsoever, I see her in the way the narrator in Thornton Wilder’s play “Our Town” (1938) saw his characters and Granite state denizens. She was young and beautiful then, far, far younger than I am now. She worried, as so many women before and since, about whether she was a “good mother” because she had outside work responsibilities. When I was much older, she would ask me if I minded her being away when I came home from school. I was too young to know just what I should have said. .So, I stumbled through an answer I hope gave comfort, but must doubt. Perhaps it was some scintilla of this guilt (I cannot be sure) that drove the yearly Easter Egg Project, or perhaps it was simply that this messy business was sure to make her laugh. I was there but perceived little; today I see much more, all impressions secure in my mind’s eye.

I quite recall we’d go to Woolworths, first, and then our local general store and post office, run by Mr. and Mrs. Mackey (I never called them anything other); folks who knew all, but were most times (gratefully) discrete.

Both places would have had the Eastern egg coloring kit (by PAAS?) that was de rigueur for this annual kitchen table rite. This kit had the necessary color pellets, special “swirl” colors, too, for advanced egg coloring…. and a host of decals with seasonal themes. We only used the secular ones. Some of these were certain to be later found in my brother’s hair and clothes; he tried to do as much to me, but I was older and wise to his tactics. He can hardly laugh about it even now…

At first. there was strict order and efficiency. Uncolored eggs here; table spoons for these eggs for dipping. Hot water (mind it needed vinegar) on the stove… pellets here… decals there. This sensible ordering of the event was gone in an instant, submerged in uncouth behaviors, reachings around and over, and of course clever sibling sabotages.

And always and again, laughter that firmly established more than any query ever could, that yes she was the best of mothers, how could she even wonder? And so, some telltale signs of the battle still table top, the now colored eggs packed up (except a few) and driven purposefully to Grammie’s house, where we rambunctious and much loved, visited most every day. Grammie had a task for these eggs… and we knew partly what it was, for these rituals were yearly done.

Each year, Grammie and Grampie, their four adult children and their spouses, would mastermind the family Easter Egg Hunt. There was never any question where it would be held. And while it was not so grand as the nation’s Egg Rolling at the White House, it was as meticulously arranged and punctiliously celebrated.

All aunts contributed the necessary elements — colored eggs of course (always the subject of high scrutiny and devastating comments sotto voce); home-made cookies (the honor of their sex ensured we never had others); and mountains of Easter candy that started with chocolate rabbits and ended with jelly beans. Then circled back to chocolate again. Excess was the order of the day.

Children were encouraged to play outside. Important doings were underway… in the kitchen and in the “rec” room below where the men had the task of determining the hiding places in and out… and carefully writing each location down. These men might grumble… but they never missed this crucial aspect of the affair. They would have been there anyway; we all ended each day in Grammie’s house and kitchen perforce, no invitation ever needed.

At the appointed hour Easter Day, after church and a heavy, formal luncheon which lost nothing of our solid living Hanoverian ancestors, the grandchildren (and that meant every last one of us) were gathered at the starting point in the garage, where on ordinary days Grampie was not above showing off his latest Oldsmobile and his automated garage door. His children, as yet, had neither. The grandchildren’s Easter eggs.

Grampie and his two sons and two sons-in-law including my father were in charge of Order and Efficiency. This year would surely not be a repeat of what happened last year. But it always was…

The children were all sternly and solemnly admonished to put what they found in their Easter basket and, Above All Else, to let one of the hovering adults know Where They Had Found It.

As always, the organizing theory was excellent… but the reality ensured the customary mass chaos (and much laughter).

The youngest grandchildren could never recall where they had found that chocolate bunny, which was already absent an ear. The oldest grandchildren (inspired by me, the oldest of all) were practised predators. We knew all the best hiding places and went to them like a bat from hell, erasing all order as we went.

Such perhaps was the truest indication that we were a family, each and every one of us.

Unwilling to end this giant game of hide and seek, the grandchildren hid and re-hid the eggs (now mostly broken and inedible) and candies, too. There were only to be found when one of the uncles was sure to find in humid July in the toe of his winter boots, a very jaundiced and pungent Easter egg artifact. So, that’s where that one went….

No Easter, however, would have been complete without my father taking us to the feed store and reviewing the new colored chicks and ducks (red, blue, purple, green). We were allowed a half a dozen or so; before we left Grammie’s we got to show our less fortunate cousins What We Got… pets all, none ever to be eaten.

Now all this exists only in my mind’s eye… but, because I’ve summoned this story, it is all quite clear, so many fond details not lost, but here after all and after all these years.

And so I say to every parent, grandparent and distant aunts and uncles, too: this day, live this day and hug every memory close. Each one is yours… and precious, too; not one to lose. It all starts with a colored egg, my privilege too long forgot, to do this day, in remembrance of all , each one alive in me as I in them.

* * * * *
About The Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four college degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities, quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 20 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …writerssecrets.com

 

His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” have garnered eight prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” A good read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now and get a copy of his memoir at http://writerssecrets.co

His new model at Writers Secrets.com helps people to get their messages and stories out to the world! Find out more at: http://writerssecrets.com

ebook cover Writers Secrets newGet a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

 

 

George Quacker Production

Div. Jeffrey Lant Associates

All Rights Reserved

‘And yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ (Matthew 6:28) Easter Lily

Proudly presented from the www.writerssecrets.com Article Series

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

It is today Easter Sunday. Easter came late this year, April 24. And it came into a world that was dismayed by our elusive springtime; temperatures low, hints of snow and even some late flakes, and the bone chilling winds that convince you January has never left, though in fact it is 55 degrees in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

My house is awash with flowers, many more than usual. I saw some lovely orchids at Shaw’s market in Porter Square; they were reasonably priced, too. And so then having nothing blooming inside, I brought them home. It is now two weeks and a couple days since I acquired them; they are faded now, of course. But they still have traces, and proudly too, of the tasteful colors that made me snatch them up.

Doyle Taylor, a perceptive friend, saw that I was preoccupied one recent day and tended to be more caustic than usual. Doyle is a man who not merely believes in saying it with flowers but doing so promptly with a most thoughtful card signed by him and his new wife Casey. They were high school sweethearts who lost touch, married others… then after fate had dealt with them, rediscovered and married each other. They are charming, intelligent, delightful. One can never know too many such but life delivers them sparingly.

Then there is my most recent floral acquisition, the mandatory (for some) Easter Lily. I got it only yesterday (when I inquired a week ago I was told they came in only a few days before the holiday. It has one flower open and many buds promising good value and good looks, too. It is of this plant and its Easter Lily — Lilium longiflorum — that I wish to speak for it is, verily, the symbol of the day and its world-changing events.

Many Easter lilies, not just one.

We speak in common parlance, as people do, of an “Easter lily,” but in fact there are several such. First, of course, lilium longiflorum, the clear winner of the name by its indisputable commercial prowess.

Following far behind in popularity, use, and commercial value is Zantedeschia aethoipca, not a true lily at all, commonly called Lily of the Nile, Calla lily or Arum lily, native to southern Africa. Then Lilium candidum, commonly called the Madonna Lily, native to the Balkans and West Asia. Zephyranthes atamasco, commonly called Atamasco Lily or Rain Lily, native to the southwestern United States… then (you never guessed) daffodils, the daffs we love being lilies after all.

Where did Easter lilies come from?

Ever hear of the Ryukyu Islands of southern Japan? That’s where today’s Easter lilies originate. And therein lies an important fact about why this industry was once dominated by Japan… and why today it is almost completely American. World War II was the transforming event.

Prior to 1941, the majority of Easter lily bulbs were exported to the United States from Japan. World War II changed everything. Today 95% of all bulbs grown for the potted Easter lily market are not only produced in the United States, but more surprisingly within a narrow coastal region straddling the California-Oregon border, from Smith River, California up to Brookings, Oregon. It gets even more interesting; just 10 farms in this area produce almost all Easter lily bulbs in the US of A. Unsurprisingly these farms have dubbed themselves collectively the “Easter Lily Capital of the World.”

An industry completely changed by one man and one bulb.

One man made a huge difference to this US dominance of the Easter Lily and how it looks today. That man was Louis Houghton who brought a suitcase full of hybrid lily bulbs to the south coast of Oregon in 1919. These he freely distributed certain that the weather and environment were perfect for the cultivation of a superior bulb to that grown by the Japanese. When WW II cut off Americans from the Easter lilies which were an integral part of religious services, Houghton was given his big chance on a silver platter.

He was successful beyond his wildest imaginings. By 1945 there were about 1,200 growers producing bulbs up and down the Pacific Coast, from Vancouver, Canada to Long Beach, California. The early comers profited for a time as the price of lily bulbs skyrocketed. It reminded some of the Dutch “tulip mania” of the 17th century, where a single tulip bulb cost the annual wages of 10 skilled crafts people. Were Easter lily bulbs next? A small army of lily farmers bet the ranch on it… and failed. The number of Easter lily producing farms steadily dropped; today there are just 10… comfortably dividing up the proceeds.

The Nellie White.

James White was one of the successful Easter lily producers. However, he thought the elimination of Japan (and its too small lilies) opened the door for other improvements, too. He wanted to end the dominance of the “White Gold” bulb… and significantly improve the look of Easter lilies with an entirely new bulb… in due course named after White’s wife, Nellie. Today the “Nellie White” dominates the U.S. market and thus the entire Easter lily business. One crucial thing in season can completely change any industry, and no one in business should ever forget that.

More about the Easter lily business.

One major reason why so many Easter lily producers closed was the considerable difficulty in growing and managing the plants themselves. First, Easter lily bulbs must be cultivated in the fields for three, sometimes four, years, before they are ready to be shipped to commercial greenhouse growers. During these years the bulbs are never dormant and require constant care and attention to assure superior quality and cleanliness. Each bulb is handled up to 40 times before it is ready to be shipped. And remember the commercial selling season is just two weeks annually at the time of Easter (the date for which changes annually)… and all Easter lilies must be ready and should ideally have at least one flower open, the better to showcase the thing that matters most of all to everyone who sees this stately, evocative plant: the Easter lily itself. It is astonishingly elegant, dramatic, the very essence of purity. As such Jesus saw fit to use this favored plant as a means of quieting nervous Christians.

The Sermon on the Mount.

Of the many seminal moments in the brief ministry of Jesus Christ on earth, the Sermon on the Mount needs special attention. It was given in about AD 30 and contains one essential element of the Christian religion after another, including this reassuring sentiment to believers:

“Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”

And so Jesus turned a glorious flower into a symbol of God’s love for and protection of even erring people. Thus, when you attend Easter services today or any day and see the unforgettable white trumpet-like flowers of the Easter lily, you are seeing an apt symbol and manifestation of a love that can be ours and eternal.

* * * * *
About The Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four college degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities, quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 20 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …writerssecrets.com

His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” have garnered eight prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” A good read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now and get a copy of his memoir at http://writerssecrets.co

ebook cover Writers Secrets newGet a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

 

 

George Quacker Production

Div. Jeffery Lant Associates

All rights Reserved

Christopher (“Kip”) Forbes Opens Up With Dr. Lant On Life, Wealth, and the Joys of Being One of the Greatest Art Collectors on Earth.

Dr._Lant_and_Kip_small_textHere’s one presentation you will never forget!

Christopher Forbes and Dr. Jeffrey Lant. Two connoisseurs in ebullient conversation about life, money, collecting, and the joy of MORE!

F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “The very rich are different from you
and me”… Come see for yourself.

Read about it in Dr. Jeffrey Lant’s latest book “We’ll always have Paris.”: A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor’s ransom collected and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, connoisseur at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01E0ZG9SW#nav-subnav

 

Go to:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/x2hy57hl45xd8nm/Dr.%20Lant%27s%20interview%20with%20Christopher%20Forbes.mp4?dl=0
when your host Dr. Jeffrey Lant,  internationally known author
and commentator, goes toe-to-toe with plutocratic, billionaire
Christopher (“Kip”) Forbes, Vice Chairman of Forbes Publishing
company, whose appearance reminds us “living well is the best
revenge.”.

Kip is the Maecenas of our drab, mediocre, second rate days.
(In case your Roman history is rusty, the good Maecenas has come
down from the time of Octavius Caesar as a byword for a wealthy,
generous and enlightened patron of the arts… and so say all of us
of Kip.

Motor cycle hot shot.

I first became aware of Kip’s joyful family when I was a student at
Harvard. Father Malcolm (1919-1990) was a motorcycle fanatic. He was
indeed the leader of the pack as they gathered at the end of Holyoke
Street where I resided in what were credited as the apartment of
Franklin D. Roosevelt’s valet. With this splashy opening le tout
Harvard Square knew when this impresario, this imp of the unpredictable
was in town. Here was a man who knew how to generate buzz, lots
of buzz, and keep ’em smiling, sugar.

Like father…

I advise my students that if they want a guarantee they’ll be rich
and comfy they should carefully select just the right parents,
and here Malcolm’s two sons (Steve, born 1947 and Christopher,
born 1950) showed  they got the message.

Daddy was rich, granddaddy (a Scottish emigrant with a slew of relations
in the noble Clan Forbes) was rich… get the picture? The key
wasn’t just making money, it was having fun while keeping what
they got and getting more.

Neither for the father nor the sons was wealth a matter of grim drudgery
and punishing responsibilities. They knew that wealth must mean
happiness or its cost is too high. Wealth was never their master; always
their servant. To be around a Forbes is to feel joy and experience their
kindness in sharing. They resurrect in themselves the penetrating phrase
“Noblesse oblige”, an aspect of wealth no wealthy person can afford to
forget or postpone, even if what can be given is no more than the widow’s
mite.

“Ars longa. Vita brevis.” Kip, the Emperor, and high collecting adventure.

My challenge now is to get you to attend my very special tete a tete
with Kip. Knowing him as I do I can promise you it will deliver some of
the most enlightening moments of your life, during which you will see
how Kip salvaged the tarnished reputation of the “forgotten” emperor
Napoleon the Third (reigned 1852-1870) by ordering four days of
non-stop auctioneering at the highest and most ostentatious level’; in
other words pure Forbes and as such followed with breathless interest
by connoisseurs worldwide. Come to the program and add yourself to their
informed ranks!

Useful facts.

Christopher Forbes spills the beans on life, lore, love and lavish living in
conversation with Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Go to: https://www.dropbox.com/s/x2hy57hl45xd8nm/Dr.%20Lant%27s%20interview%20with%20Christopher%20Forbes.mp4?dl=0

then check out the Forbes auction March 5, 6 & April 9. For catalogs of the over 1,300 items featured
go to www.osenat.com Each of the four catalogs commences with
fascinating details about  the Forbes, Kip, and his stupendous
imperial collection, now available to you.

For general information go to www.writerssecrets.com where you
can find the video of this program after it is recorded. While
there, check out Dr. Lant’s new memoirs, “The Connoisseur’s Journey,
Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit discernment, pluck and joy.”



George J. Quaker Production

Div.Jeffrey Lant Associates

All Rights Reserved

 

“A Connoisseur’s Journey” Now Winner of 8 Literary Awards. Come Meet the Man Behind The Book

A Connoisseur's Journey cover large best jpegWe are so proud to announce the awarding of the eighth literary award to “A Connoisseur’s Journey”!

First Place in Class at The GREAT SOUTHEAST BOOK FESTIVAL

BIOGRAPHY/AUTOBIOGRAPHY

WINNER: A Connisseur’s Journey – Dr. Jeffrey Lant

“A Connoisseur’s Journey” also awarded:

Great Southwest Book Festival, March, 2016

Sole winner in the category

BIOGRAPHY/AUTOBIOGRAPHY

WINNER: A Connoisseur’s Journey – Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Great Northwest Book Festival, March, 2016

BIOGRAPHY/AUTOBIOGRAPHY

WINNER: Tesserae: A Memoir of Two Summers – Mathias B. Freese

RUNNER-UP: A Connoisseur’s Journey – Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Awarded FIRST in Class at Southern California Book Festival.

SECOND in Class at the Great Midwest Book Festival.

THIRD in Class at the London (England) Book Festival.

THIRD in Class at the New England Book Fare.

Dr. Lant also was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award with a focus on “A Connoisseur’s Journey” with this citation.

“Dr. Jeffrey Lant. On behalf of the citizens of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I congratulate you on the release of your Memoir, ‘A Connoisseur’s Journey’. Your work is a groundbreaking experiment into the use of musical citations in literature, adding depth and nuance to the reading experience.”

(signed) Charles D. Baker, Governor and Karyn E.Polito, Lieutenant Governor

Preface of “A Connoisseur’s Journey” by Dr. Jeffrey Lant –

This is my twentieth book, but only the first of my memoirs. Over the course of my long connection with books, the discovery, the reading, the writing, the rewriting and rereading I have come across many volumes of memoirs, some glorious and gloriously written, some so forgettable that you cannot remember the author even a moment after putting the dreary pages down, vowing to avoid him like the plague forever after. However I, dear reader, shall give you what you want in a memoir… humor, indiscretion, secrets, stories of the rich and famous, stories about places and situations you’ve longed to visit and enjoy. You will learn much in theleast demanding of ways… and feel more and more intelligent as you read.

 

You will be in the hands of a man of learning, privilege, and audacity, who has been there, done that, and lived to write the tale. There is nothing fair or objective in what you’re about to read. Nor should there be. For a memoir is all about you, your life, your point of view, your unique journey wherever on Earth and in whatever way you choose to make it. And if some — even you! — cavil or object to even a single word or sentiment, why then write your own memoirs, for the genre is open to all.

A Connoisseur’s Journey: Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.

 



Dr._Lant_and_Kip_Combined_framedNow come meet the man behind the book – Dr. Jeffrey Lant

in a presentation you will never forget!

Christopher Forbes and Dr. Jeffrey Lant. Two connoisseurs in ebullient
conversation about life, money, collecting, and the joy of MORE!

F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “The very rich are different from you
and me”… Come see for yourself on Thursday, March 24, 2pm ET

http://www.TheLiveBusinessCenter.com/?id=27538
when your host Dr. Jeffrey Lant,  internationally known author
and commentator, goes toe-to-toe with plutocratic, billionaire
Christopher (“Kip”) Forbes, Vice Chairman of Forbes Publishing
company, whose appearance reminds us “living well is the best
revenge.”.

Kip is the Maecenas of our drab, mediocre, second rate days.
(In case your Roman history is rusty, the good Maecenas has come
down from the time of Octavius Caesar as a byword for a wealthy,
generous and enlightened patron of the arts… and so say all of us
of Kip.

Motor cycle hot shot.

I first became aware of Kip’s joyful family when I was a student at
Harvard. Father Malcolm (1919-1990) was a motorcycle fanatic. He was
indeed the leader of the pack as they gathered at the end of Holyoke
Street where I resided in what were credited as the apartment of
Franklin D. Roosevelt’s valet. With this splashy opening le tout
Harvard Square knew when this impresario, this imp of the unpredictable
was in town. Here was a man who knew how to generate buzz, lots
of buzz, and keep ’em smiling, sugar.

Like father…

I advise my students that if they want a guarantee they’ll be rich
and comfy they should carefully select just the right parents,
and here Malcolm’s two sons (Steve, born 1947 and Christopher,
born 1950) showed  they got the message.

Daddy was rich, granddaddy (a Scottish emigrant with a slew of relations
in the noble Clan Forbes) was rich… get the picture? The key
wasn’t just making money, it was having fun while keeping what
they got and getting more.

Neither for the father nor the sons was wealth a matter of grim drudgery
and punishing responsibilities. They knew that wealth must mean
happiness or its cost is too high. Wealth was never their master; always
their servant. To be around a Forbes is to feel joy and experience their
kindness in sharing. They resurrect in themselves the penetrating phrase
“Noblesse oblige”, an aspect of wealth no wealthy person can afford to
forget or postpone, even if what can be given is no more than the widow’s
mite.

“Ars longa. Vita brevis.” Kip, the Emperor, and high collecting adventure.

My challenge now is to get you to attend my very special tete a tete
with Kip. Knowing him as I do I can promise you it will deliver some of
the most enlightening moments of your life, during which you will see
how Kip salvaged the tarnished reputation of the “forgotten” emperor
Napoleon the Third (reigned 1852-1870) by ordering four days of
non-stop auctioneering at the highest and most ostentatious level’; in
other words pure Forbes and as such followed with breathless interest
by connoisseurs worldwide. Come to the program and add yourself to their
informed ranks!

Useful facts.

Christopher Forbes spills the beans on life, lore, love and lavish living in
conversation with Dr. Jeffrey Lant.
March 24, 2pm ET

http://www.TheLiveBusinessCenter.com/?id=27538

then check out the Forbes auction March 5, 6 & April 9. For catalogs of the over 1,300 items featured
go to www.osenat.com Each of the four catalogs commences with
fascinating details about  the Forbes, Kip, and his stupendous
imperial collection, now available to you.

For general information go to www.writerssecrets.com where you
can find the video of this program after it is recorded. While
there, check out Dr. Lant’s new memoirs, “The Connoisseur’s Journey,
Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit discernment, pluck and joy.”


Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Get a FREE Copy of Dr. Lant’s 69th Birthday memoir

ebook_cover Dr. Lant's 69th“WHETHER I SHALL TURN OUT TO BE THE HERO OF MY OWN LIFE.  REFLECTIONS AT THREE SCORE AND NINE!” by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
A candid look at one man’s spectacular journey from the great plains of America to worldwide renown as author, marketer, and commentator.

Now he shares his deeply personal reflections with you and shows you how to rise higher and higher while having the time of your life.
Act NOW and this book of books is FREE to you.
Go to: http://dashboard.sendreach.com/index.php/lists/ac6426esdv135/subscribe

See more info at: http://writerssecrets.com/e-book-giveaway-whether-i-shall-turn-out-to-be-the-hero-of-my-own-life-reflections-at-three-score-and-nine/

World Storytelling Day – A Story for You.

facebook post storytelling dayIn honor of  World Storytelling Day – some stories for you.

March 20 is World Storytelling Day.  Tying storytelling with the equinox in March is thought to have originated in Sweden as Alla berättares dag (all storytellers day) in 1991 or 1992. Other countries joined to celebrate storytelling on the first day of spring in the northern hemisphere and the first day of autumn in the southern hemisphere, so it is now a global event. To inspire you to tell your own stories, here are some examples from events sponsored by the American Folklife Center that are available as webcasts.  The suggested theme for the 2016 World Storytelling Day is “strong women” and we certainly have examples of strong women to offer.

Go to the source of this article and see their stories at: http://blogs.loc.gov/folklife/2016/03/stories-of-strong-women/?loclr=fbafc

Here’s a story for you from www.writerssecrets.com Article Series.

First snow comes to Cambridge, February 12, 2012, a story of life’s unpredictable savor and joys.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. The sound was unmistakable. It was, quite literally, that harsh, grating noise made when steel of the most tenacious kind scrapes against unyielding concrete; that immutable thing that insists (to the outrage of your ears) it is here today, here tomorrow, here forever.

And I cringed, snug abed as I was… for though the drivers of these inexorable machines would like the shower of municipal largesse that snow rains upon them every single day; these (usually) high school drop-outs and bumptious get such benefaction only when the snow flies. Miserable for the rest of us, this is their happiest time, for inclemency and beautiful large flakes by the million line their capacious pockets and always open palms. Thus are they always johnny on the spot to see this snow, consider the profits in this snow, remove this snow… as loudly as possible and, whenever possible, especially at the moment you grasped slumber.

So does snow, the most silent thing on Earth, make its presence known by one of the most loud, stentorian and coarse manifestations… and that should have been your first indication that this was no simple story… quite the reverse… for life’s first lesson (and hard learned by most, too) is that things are not always what they seem… something too many romantic young things have learned to their peril too late…

“Let it snow…” some idiot’s fancy.

For this tale of our times, a tale you like me might have often experienced in life without a moment’s thoughtful consideration, I have selected an insinuating 1945 tune entitled “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” lyrics by Sammy Cahn, composed by Jule Steyne and sung by one of the most unctuous men ever conceived, Dean Martin. It is a tune that no sensible person likes and which proves yet again (if necessary) that misinformation set to a bouncy tune gets an award… not its just come-uppance. (Go to any search engine, find it, and let its lilt uplift you.)

My Intention.

When I heard the first unmistakable sounds of the snow removal equipment and the loud commands, imprecations and expletives most assuredly not deleted, I knew my fate… for all that it was dark outside and my penthouse walls were gelid to the touch and its windows emblazoned with the rich munificence of frost expertly etched ….. a clear command I needed to bundle up and go out. You see, it’s my self-imposed and onerous duty to report on my neighborhood and its denizens whenever something of note is occurring. And there can be no doubt that the first snow of the new year is such an event… despite the fact it causes me personal misery of the most acute kind to venture out, the better to tell you what is happening and why it is significant. But as the recognized and much heralded Sage of Cambridge, I know my duty and not even the tundra of Siberia will keep me from it… though I am paid out in nothing more than chilblain and catarrh.

It was melting, melting, melting.

I selected this heading for one reason and one reason only: to brag that I was once kissed by The Wicked Witch of the West, the character much better known than the actress who played her in the iconic American film released in 1939, “The Wizard of Oz.” Her name was Margaret Hamilton, and when I was a student at Harvard I gave a tea-party for her one day and, of course, gave myself the best seat on the couch thereby enabling me to rub elbows with a legend.

She, Miss Hamilton I called her, was a sweetie-pie, my highest compliment. I bought her, from my own money too, an exuberant, grand, frilly box of Valentine’s Day chocolates, of the Russell Stover general store variety. She cooed the expected words “For me?” and graced me with a demure, enchanting smile. Then she kissed me and since I was a boy who had been kissed often enough to know, I conceived it was a Real Kiss, earnestly meant. But she was a great actress, mistress of every role; thus I shall never know… but wonder what would have happened had I been as ardent as she… But I digress…

… I simply wanted you to know that the kiss (and the look, mind) she gave me was sufficiently heated to cause the situation which made her famous, the situation where (doused with common water) she melted at the feet of ruby-slippered Dorothy. Perhaps had I melted as well and thoroughly when Miss Hamilton kissed me life might have taken a very different turn…

But, again, I digress, for what I should be telling you pertains to melting snow, not paths not taken or unrecognized (for all they were clear and apparent, had you the wit to see).

The snow outside my door, the snow for which I was well and truly bundled up, the snow that had caused such high jubilation and exuberance amongst Cambridge’s well-heeled proletariat was already melting away, the storm passed on, a wimpish thing to be disdained and dismissed, of no account or significance whatsoever. But here, precipitate in my too swift deductions and conclusions, I was most assuredly wrong… for this storm, puny though it may have been, had the power, ample, too, to change my life… and so it did….

Two incidents, one hard upon the heels of another.

I returned home not as cold as I thought I would be, not as impressed at Nature and Nature’s wallop as I expected to be and thought my due for my preparations before going out… a trifle irked at the littleness I had encountered where I wanted sturm und drang, grandeur, the unspeakable eloquence… you get the picture. But then the phone rang…. and a voice I hadn’t heard for ages… was there on the line, in need, happy to overlook the harsh words which had once, I cannot quite remember when, caused estrangement.

He had gotten off the train at Harvard Square, climbing the steps towards the Church Street exit and had fallen hard down several of them. No, he didn’t think anything broken, but could he come for some coffee and solace… could he come, he really meant, for forgiveness and peace-making?

So the snow, melted into icy peril on steps trod by thousands, had delivered… an unexpected opportunity to mend a fence, a fence that never should have been broken in the first place, much less broken for so long.

And this should have been incident enough for one day, one storm, one sage. But it wasn’t… for puny storms aim to prove a puissance and cool connivance mere bulk cannot deliver.

Thus, moments after my now resurrected friend was absolved de facto and with gladness, a car skidded upon the picayune ice and crashed into an unconsidered telephone pole of great significance, removing my telephone service for one day and still unresolved into two. The message that now appears when you call my number says the call cannot be put through, that I am in fact marooned inside my world, the sinews of my life so reduced. Thus this thought:

Suppose my regained friend had taken a later subway to Harvard… and suppose his hard fall had occurred an hour or two later, after my phones went silent; that he had called, but received no answer. What then? Do you think he, hobbling off, would have tried his impulse later, or simply said “Que sera, sera.” I shall never know… and that’s why life is so interesting, its uncertainties and unpredictabilities its very essence; our detailed and carefully wrought plans so often so insignificant and overpowered beside them.

About the Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four college degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities, quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 20 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …writerssecrets.com

 

His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” have garnered seven prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” A good read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now and get a copy of his memoir at http://writerssecrets.co

 

His new model at Writers Secrets.com helps people to get their messages and stories out to the world! Find out more at: http://writerssecrets.com

ebook cover Writers Secrets newGet a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

So You Want to Be A Writer? A Secret for When You Should Write

So many of us want to be a writer and we have to begin somewhere.

To be a good writer read good writing. Here’s an excellent article to get you started.

“I’ve Been Workin’ on My Rewrite, That’s Right”. An Open Letter to a Young Friend Who Wants to be a Scribbler. By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Go to: http://writerssecrets.com/ive-been-workin-on-my-rewrite-thats-right-an-open-letter-to-a-young-friend-who-wants-to-be-a-scribbler/

At first there will be a lot of garbage coming out. It’s better to get that garbage out so the good stuff can come in.

Here’s a wonderful recording to answer that question So you want to be a writer? by Charles Bukowski telling how to write like Charles Bukowski. It’s read by Tom O’Bedlam. check it out and let me know what you think in the comment box below.

 

ebook cover Writers Secrets newGet a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

 

How to read an auction catalog and intelligently participate in auctions worldwide.

Excerpt from the upcoming book

“We’ll always have Paris.” A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor’s ransom collected and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, connoisseur.

What inspired Dr. Lant to write this book is his upcoming meeting with Christopher (“Kip”) Forbes.

Two connoisseurs in ebullient conversation about life, money, collecting, and the joy of MORE!

F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “The very rich are different from you
and me”… Come see for yourself on Thursday, March 24, 2pm ET

http://www.TheLiveBusinessCenter.com/?id=27538
when your host Dr. Jeffrey Lant,  internationally known author
and commentator, goes toe-to-toe with plutocratic, billionaire
Christopher (“Kip”) Forbes, Vice Chairman of Forbes Publishing
company, whose appearance reminds us “living well is the best
revenge.”.

Kip is the Maecenas of our drab, mediocre, second rate days.
(In case your Roman history is rusty, the good Maecenas has come
down from the time of Octavius Caesar as a byword for a wealthy,
generous and enlightened patron of the arts… and so say all of us
of Kip.

Motor cycle hot shot.

I first became aware of Kip’s joyful family when I was a student at
Harvard. Father Malcolm (1919-1990) was a motorcycle fanatic. He was indeed the leader of the pack as they gathered at the end of Holyoke Street where I resided in what were credited as the apartment of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s valet. With this splashy opening le tout Harvard Square knew when this impresario, this imp of the unpredictable was in town. Here was a man who knew how to generate buzz, lots of buzz, and keep ’em smiling, sugar.

Like father…

I advise my students that if they want a guarantee they’ll be rich
and comfy they should carefully select just the right parents,
and here Malcolm’s two sons (Steve, born 1947 and Christopher,
born 1950) showed  they got the message.

Daddy was rich, granddaddy (a Scottish emigrant with a slew of relations in the noble Clan Forbes) was rich… get the picture? The key wasn’t just making money, it was having fun while keeping what they got and getting more.

Neither for the father nor the sons was wealth a matter of grim drudgery and punishing responsibilities. They knew that wealth must mean happiness or its cost is too high. Wealth was never their master; always their servant. To be around a Forbes is to feel joy and experience their kindness in sharing. They resurrect in themselves the penetrating phrase “Noblesse oblige”, an aspect of wealth no wealthy person can afford to forget or postpone, even if what can be given is no more than the widow’s mite.

“Ars longa. Vita brevis.” Kip, the Emperor, and high collecting adventure.

My challenge now is to get you to attend my very special tete a tete with Kip. Knowing him as I do I can promise you it will deliver some of the most enlightening moments of your life, during which you will see how Kip salvaged the tarnished reputation of the “forgotten” emperor Napoleon the Third (reigned 1852-1870) by ordering four days of non-stop auctioneering at the highest and most ostentatious level’; in other words pure Forbes and as such followed with breathless interest by connoisseurs worldwide. Come to the program and add yourself to their informed ranks!

Useful facts.

Christopher Forbes spills the beans on life, lore, love and lavish living in conversation with Dr. Jeffrey Lant.
March 24, 2pm ET

http://www.TheLiveBusinessCenter.com/?id=27538

then check out the Forbes auction March 5, 6 & April 9. For catalogs of the over 1,300 items featured go to www.osenat.com Each of the four catalogs commences with fascinating details about  the Forbes, Kip, and his stupendous imperial collection, now available to you.

For general information go to www.writerssecrets.com where you
can find the video of this program after it is recorded. While
there, check out Dr. Lant’s new memoirs, “The Connoisseur’s Journey,
Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit discernment, pluck and joy.”


Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Find Excerpts from Chapter 1 at: http://writerssecrets.com/exerts-from-the-book-well-always-have-paris-chapter-1/

Excerpt from Chapter 3

Author’s program note. The autumn auction catalogs have begun to pour in, a stunning library of things rare, notable, luxurious, just the kinds of things you know are necessary for the “look” that screams your name. You are — or want to be — a collector on an international scale… but you don’t know how to get started. You are seized with curiosity for what’s available but need a knowledgeable friend to show you the ropes. I am that friend, and it’s time to start your education.

I have selected Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition” for today’s background music. Written in 1874, it is lush, grandiose, opulent in the Slavic style, just the kind of music that gets you in the mood for seeking the treasures which will enhance your life and present you to the world just as you like. Go now to any search engine and find the rendition of your choice; make sure to include the celebrated “Kiev Gate” portion. Then come along with me as I open a spectacular world to you… by giving you the practical details you need to participate.

A word about your guide… me!

For the last twenty years and more, I have been an active, even obsessive, participant in the auctions presented by the greatest auction houses in the world… Sotheby’s and Christie’s in New York, Rome, Paris, London, Amsterdam… Bukowskis in Stockholm… the Dorotheum in Vienna. Each sale always had a catalog… and I have learned what only other collectors, connoisseurs, museum officials etc. know: how to read an auction catalog and know the essential, hitherto unpublished facts, the facts which crack the code on participating successfully in these auctions. For you see, what the cognoscenti know they are not anxious to share with you. They want to hoard this information and keep it from you; the better to gather the treasures of the earth unto themselves and themselves alone… without being bothered by… you! That changes today…

The pivotal fall sales of the world’s great auction houses are now underway; nearly daily from now until the great pre-Christmas December sales take place, the eye-popping, mouth-watering catalogs arrive to titillate, frustrate, unsettle… for that is what these and all auction catalogs are so artfully designed to do… they aim to plant the seed of desire in your mind and so haunt you night and day. I know that siren song too well; it has insinuated itself into my brain often and expensively over and over again. And if you have an insistent eye for beauty and a need to acquire, it will insinuate itself into yours, too.

First, start today.

Success in auctions is based on these key factors:

1) the development of an “eye”

2) doing the necessary homework for each item of your interest

3) finding and listening to your experts

4) setting and living within a realistic budget.

Let’s look at these points one at a time:

1) Developing your “eye”.

Great collectors, sage and savvy collectors, are people who can see within even the most battered and mistreated object not just what it is now… but what it once was and with tender loving care can be again. This skill is pivotal and can only be developed by constant and detailed artifact review. ALL collectors know the value of doing their homework. The development of the Internet has made this easy, for the information you need is as near as your computer.

Gathering this information long precedes acquiring objects or having the necessary funds to do so. Thus, start visiting the websites of the auction houses mentioned above. ALL now post their catalogs online available for your scrutiny 24 hours a day, a benefit your parents and grandparents could only have imagined. With these e-resources you are able to be better informed than any previous generation of collectors. Use this advantage to develop the all-important eye.

The “eye” that it takes a lifetime to acquire through constant viewing, reviewing, and careful judgements is not something you can rush. Its development is predicated on constant catalog review, reading what experts have to say, attending museum lectures and events… assiduously working on seeing, perceiving, looking beyond the surface into the soul and meaning of each object. This is a lifetime’s occupation and should be undertaken as early as possible. People who do not do this are and always will be at the mercy of the market and will never develop a collection of merit that showcases your impressive knowledge and success on the never-ending hunt.

2) Doing the necessary homework.

Many wealthy people buy art and artifacts by the yard, advised by decorators who may know something about arrangement but who almost universally lack the essential knowledge of history, provenance, and underlying value and significance possessed by real collectors.

Like it or not (and you’d better like it) all true collectors understand the need for intense analysis of any item in which they’re interested. This information comes first by studying the catalog; then requesting a “condition report” from the auction house. This reports consists of what the auction house knows about the object in question. It will be honest but it may well raise more questions than it answers. If so, check the catalog to get the name of the auction house’s designated authority on this object. Either email or call. You will find these experts personable, candid, anxious to be helpful. Just remember at all times: they want to sell this object, and so condition reports must always been read with a grain of salt.

3) Finding and listening to your experts.

Because auction house experts all work to sell, you need your own experts, people who have no other thought than honestly advising — you. Where do you find such people? Auction house experts can help, by making referrals. They will know everyone who is anyone in the field. You will need their expertise. Take full advantage of it. As I can attest these folks, zealous in your service, can spare you the pain of expensive, embarrassing mistakes. Listen carefully too what they tell you, especially once you know they have that all-important eye.

4) Setting and living within a realistic budget. Have you begun to master the key points above? Good! Now it’s time to gather the funds you need to participate. Begin at once.

Depending on your particular area of interest, you may be able to start for as low as a few hundred dollars. Start small, start careful, go slow, as you come to know the vicissitudes of auctions. Remember, these great auction houses have existed for hundreds of years. Move forward with due deliberation. But don’t let deliberation become procrastination. Care is needed but so is the ability to take action as necessary, while always setting and living within your inviolable budget.

Last Words.

You are now ready to begin one of the most important and exciting journeys of your life… as you commence your walk down the red carpet towards the most beautiful, valuable, and important objects on earth. One last thing: don’t expert those who don’t appreciate such things to appreciate you and your sublime and never-ending search. Don’t let their uninformed remarks and blindness infuriate or irritate. By following these steps you will leave such people in the dust while embracing all the connoisseurs, experts, and knowledgeable friends who henceforth enrich your life. Be sure to include me amidst their number… and let me know how with this candid advice you get on with your passion.

* * * * *
About The Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four college degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities, quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 20 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …writerssecrets.com

 

His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” have garnered seven prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” A good read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now and get a copy of his memoir at http://writerssecrets.co

 

His new model at Writers Secrets.com helps people to get their messages and stories out to the world! Find out more at: http://writerssecrets.com

ebook cover Writers Secrets newGet a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

 

On the vernal equinox and the advent of spring. All poets need apply.

Proudly presented from the www.writerssecrets.com Article Series

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

An event occurred just the other day which impacts each and every one of us on Spaceship Earth, but which hardly one of us knows anything about and mentions, if at all, quite casually. Yet so momentous is this occurrence, coming with clock like precision, that our very existences depend upon it; nothing could be less prosaic, nothing more significant.

It is the vernal equinox…

Hereabouts in old New England, the vernal equinox took place at 12:30 a.m., Eastern Daylight Time, March 20, 2016. The spring we have all been awaiting, the spring that delivers the relief from the oppression of cold and damp and short dull days, the spring that blows soft winds, as so many unexpected kisses — and flowers, too — that spring, right on the dot, arrived…

but we were heavy laden and may have been distracted when it came as our new reality.

Good citizens of this galaxy, give an ear now to this great event, which next occurs September 22, 2016 at 10:21 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.

There is nothing that concerns you more than these great celestial movements, the unheard but momentous, unearthly music of the spheres, awesome, terrible, the very stuff of grandeur, eternal, too.

Put aside mundane concerns and remember, for an instant, who you are, a one-way passenger on the greatest of galleons, and wither it goes, you go.

What is an equinox anyway?

An equinox occurs twice a year, when the tilt of the Earth’s axis is inclined neither away from nor towards the Sun, the center of the Sun being in the same plane as the Earth’s equator. The term equinox can also be used in a broader sense, meaning the date when such a passage happens.

The name “equinox” is derived from the Latin “aequus” (equal) and “nox” (night) because around the equinox, the night and day have approximately equal length. Each are, then, about 12 hours long (with the actual time of equal day and night, in the Northern Hemisphere, occurring a few days before the vernal equinox.) The Sun crosses the celestial equator going northward; it rises exactly due east and sets exactly due west.

But of all this, we need remember only one thing: the vernal equinox, and the unending adjustments we make to the matter of human time, are all about light and the Sun at the center of our universe. Sol Invictus.

While the celestial movements, now this way, now that, are liable to confuse; we all know the crucial significance of our Sun; even the youngest amongst us looks up, involuntarily to admire, rejoice, and be glad of it. Our Sun, of an immensity and heat unimaginable, is brought nearer to us, and happily so, with the vernal equinox.

We are, all of us, Sun worshippers… for without it there would be nothing here for us, or of us either.

The vernal equinox brings that Sun closer.

Tinkerings with time.

Because of its unexcelled desirability, we humans have long been beguiled with the notion of how to get more of the Sun we crave. All ancient peoples, particularly the Greeks and Persians, the sophisticates of antiquity, gave serious attention to the matter. Sadly, much of their findings are lost; what remains from the works of Greek astronomer and mathematician Hipparchus (ca. 190- ca.120 BC) and Aristarchus of Samos (around 280 BC) is suggestive of their expertise and insights. But we cannot tell more.

However, we do know about Benjamin Franklin, jack of all trades, master of all.

Franklin, with his unstoppable curiosity, wanted what only God could deliver: more time. It is easy to see why he desired it so: he, long before Edna St. Vincent Millay, burnt the candle at both ends, and not in purely scientific endeavors, either. At the Court of the Bourbons of France there were any number of elegantes who found Franklin, American minister, worthy of closer study. There was never enough time to gratify them all…

And so Franklin advanced the suggestion that became daylight savings. It was a quintessentially American proposal — bold, audacious, practical, based on science, not theology. Sadly, it is still not clear that it actually works… and each American state, every single one, is by law entitled to adopt it, or not. For God and His equinox time is simple, majestic; humans muddle the matter, to general grumbling and consternation.

But not poets…

All poets worth their salt weigh in with a will on one of their signature topics: the advent of light, of Sun, of spring. So excited are they by this topic, that they are severely prone to skip over the residue of winter that comes in the first spring days of March, concentrating on the riotous, unrestrained days of April and May. This is wrong, and Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) rightly noted in “Fisherman’s Luck” (1899).

“The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is as great as a month.”

Having said this, I confess I, too, want immediate egress from the grim, cold, muddy days of March spring. I am impatient, like Walt Whiteman:

“Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.”

(1819-1892) From “Leaves of Grass” (1855; 1891-92.)

Patient through long, drear winters we can be but as we see relief near at hand, we can be patient no longer, for we know, we all know, what is coming and we cannot longer wait. Still liable to be tripped up by winter… we are adamant that the spring is coming.

“The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You’re one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you’re two months back in the middle of March.”

Robert Frost (1874-1963) “Two Tramps in Mud Time” (1936).

But I cannot better end than by urging you to find in any search engine your favorite recording of Aaron Copeland’s (premiered 1944)…. It will seize you, uplift you, refresh you… and perfectly position you, in reverence, as you walk into this springtime of your life, whatever your age or circumstances. We are all young again in springtime… such is the magic of the vernal equinox.

* * * * *
About The Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four college degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities, quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 20 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …writerssecrets.com

 

His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” have garnered seven prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” A good read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now and get a copy of his memoir at http://www.drjeffreylant.com

 

His new model at Writers Secrets.com helps people to get their messages and stories out to the world! Find out more at: http://writerssecrets.com

Get a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE