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...Plague of Moths Despite July's heat and humidity, large areas from Maine to New Jersey look as if spring were just beginning. Big shade trees that should be fully verdant wear a thin green lace of tiny leaflets. It is, in fact, a second summer growth of foliage. The trees had earlier been stripped of all their leaves in one of the worst attacks by voracious pests ever recorded in the U.S. Northeast. If the attacks continue for another year or two, many trees will lose their strength to blossom again and will...
George Burns gave her a spot in his show. United Artists found a part in Frank Capra's A Pocketful of Miracles, and in State Fair her dark brown hair showed up as a cornea-shattering shade of red. A star, she drove up to her old high school in a yellow Cadillac convertible and strolled through the halls in a mink coat. But four years later, the bottom fell out. Her managers, in her version of it, were merely exploiting her sex appeal-and ineptly. With puppylike trust, Ann-Margret did as she was told. At 25, after...
...Loire) takes the pilgrim to the Pré Catalan. The five-acre garden was created by Proust's uncle, a cloth merchant in Illiers, as a replica of the area in Paris' Bois du Bologne that bears the same name. The little lagoons, intricate patterns of shade trees, and the tiny lane lined with hawthorns (whose pink blossoms reminded Proust of his favorite dish, strawberries crushed in cream cheese) became Swann's park, and it is there that the novel's thinly fictionalized narrator (whom Proust named Marcel) meets his first love, Swann's daughter...
...FLEETING, final confrontation. It is the end of a heavy autumn day, probably Thursday. Sybil is walking back from the Coop, carrying all the books for two new courses, a lamp-shade and a box of ginger snaps. Coming towards her, she recognizes Stanley, an old boyfriend whom she has not seen since the summer. She looks up at him, and he stares at her, stares right through her as if they have never met. They have known each other for years, have exchanged birthday presents, have probably slept together. He looks right through her and doesn't speak...
Caprifole is a lovely word. If anything it is a shade too lovely, something to be tasted, rolled over the tongue, chewed lightly, savored and then, perhaps, not swallowed but spit discreetly into a tub of clean shavings. But what does it mean? The first dictionary to come to hand, an old Webster's, does not list caprifole at all. The unabridged Random House mentions only "caprifoliaceous: belonging to the Caprifoliaceae, a family of plants including the honeysuckle, elder, viburnum, snowberry...