Deauxdie Dodie Dody

Cary Gorgeous GrantDid you know Cary Grant never actually said "Judy, Judy, Judy" in a movie?

At least that's my understanding.

It's, like, one of those urban legends.

(Actually when quoted it comes out much more Cary-Grantish: "Juday Juday Juday!")

But here are a few possible explanations for why Cary Grant, the Johnny Depp of his day, is credited with the expression.

And doesn't he have the most unusual signature? Sort of reminds me of my own.

No kidding. I've posted a picture of my signature below. If you can forge it, you're welcome to keep whatever it gets you.

I don't know what made me think of all that except the different ways my Uncle Dodie has rendered his name over the years.

Oh! I forgot to tell you why I was thinking about my beloved Uncle Dodie in the first place.

It was due to this email I received on Wednesday evening:

 >++++<

 I get my coffee in the mornings and come upstairs and get on the computer. Check email, see how many hits my vids got on youtube, make a quick scan of FB, and read "I'm having a thought here." I love your blog Jenny, can't wait to read the book.

>++++<

I've been blessed in my life with only three uncles, so it's a good thing they're of the over-the-top wonderfully loving variety.

L to R Dodie, Linda, Sherrill, Ann circa 2007

My father was an only child. No uncles there. My mother has two brothers -- Sherrill and Dorsey Jr. (Dodie) -- plus a sister, Linda, whose husband was my unique, funny, crazy-talented Uncle Don.

Uncle Don passed away in 2001. I still miss him.

I could never choose one of my uncles over the other, but Uncle Dodie is extra special.

For one thing, he's only ten years older than me. So when I was little, we were buddies. He used to tickle me until I nearly passed out.

Dodie's the one for whom my mother -- Pirate! -- stole the Southern Cross of Honor from a Confederate grave.

L to R Linda, Sherrill, Ann circa 1943

Which sacred item is now in my possession.

All three of my uncles are and were immensely creative and artistic people.

Uncle Don was a musician, comedian, and photographer. He excelled at all three.

Uncle Sherrill in his youth could dance on roller skates like Fred Astaire on a gleaming studio set. Again: no kidding. You have never seen anything more stylish and graceful.

And although I'm not sure he can quote it flawlessly anymore, as a mature adult he memorized William Cullen Bryant's Thanatopsis.

I have heard him recite it verbatim several times, impromptu and on demand:

• O him who in the love of Nature holds

  Communion with her visible forms, she speaks

  A various language; for his gayer hours

  She has a voice of gladness, and a smile

  And eloquence of beauty, and she glides

  Into his darker musings, with a mild

  And healing sympathy, that steals away

  Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts

  Of the last bitter hour come like a blight

  Over thy spirit, and sad images

  Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,

  And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,

  Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--

  Go forth, under the open sky, and list

  To Nature's teachings, while from all around--

  Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--

  Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee

  The all-beholding sun shall see no more

  In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,

  Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,

  Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

  Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim

  Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,

  And, lost each human trace, surrendering up

  Thine individual being, shalt thou go

  To mix for ever with the elements,

  To be a brother to the insensible rock,

  And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain

  Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak

  Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

   

  Yet not to thine eternal resting-place

  Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish

  Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down

  With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,

  The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,

  Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,

  All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills

  Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales

  Stretching in pensive quietness between;

  The venerable woods; rivers that move

  In majesty, and the complaining brooks

  That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,

  Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--

  Are but the solemn decorations all

  Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,

  The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,

  Are shining on the sad abodes of death,

  Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread

  The globe are but a handful to the tribes

  That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings

  Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,

  Or lose thyself in the continuous woods

  Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound

  Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:

  And millions in those solitudes, since first

  The flight of years began, have laid them down

  In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.

  So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw

  In silence from the living, and no friend

  Take note of thy departure? All that breathe

  Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh

  When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care

  Plod on, and each one as before will chase

  His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave

  Their mirth and their employments, and shall come

  And make their bed with thee. As the long train

  Of ages glides away, the sons of men,

  The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes

  In the full strength of years, matron and maid,

  The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--

  Shall one by one be gathered to thy side

  By those who in their turn shall follow them.

   

  So live, that when thy summons comes to join

  The innumerable caravan which moves

  To that mysterious realm where each shall take

  His chamber in the silent halls of death,

  Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

  Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed

  By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

  Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

  About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

 >++++<

No, I didn't expect you to read all that. Although it wouldn't hurt you.

That leaves Uncle Dodie, who is a gifted musician, painter, and sculptor.

He also has bags of charm and charisma.

And by the way, all three of my uncles were/are exceptional cooks. I mean yeah y'all. I'm talking about the kind of Southern and Cajun cuisine that makes your tongue slap your brains out. Grab a biscuit and pass the butterbeans.

So when I read in his email about monitoring hits on his YouTube vids, I thought: What YouTube vids?

I went to check it out and found this one:

Which made me mist up a trifle because first of all, Aunt Leslee could have gotten the camera on his face a little better instead of on the red wagon so much, and also because of the way he talks about baby Trey.

But mostly it was because of how much as he ages, Uncle Dodie looks and sounds so uncannily like his father: my Papaw.

Before I put this thing to bed let me show you one other, older, video of Uncle Dodie playing the harmonica.

That's Papaw too. He's been gone seventeen years and I can still hear the sometimes tender, sometimes urgent whine of his harmonica.

He's playing as the long train of ages glides away.

Comments

[Sue the Hobbit]

A few things.
You need to use a fountain pen for your signature, then it would be just like Cary's.
Is that accent for real? It's great! I took a video of my aunties having a chinwag when I was in Birmingham and it is hilarious. Some accents are just so bizarre they are wonderful.
I loved all my uncles too, even though I never got to see much of them after we moved to NZ. There's only one left now, but we got to have a cuddle last week.
My boys revel in their roles as uncles. I get a kick out of watching them with their nieces and nephews and seeing the hero worship.

[Sue the Hobbit]

Oh yeah, I forgot. Ashamed to say I skimmed Thanatopsis. Don't do that again, okay?
Hanging head.

[Jennifer]

@Hobbit ... Yeah girl, that accent is the genuine article. Like warm molasses poured over sandpaper. Ain't he something? Just a good ol' Louisiana boy. My kids enjoy the aunt-uncle role too. I think it's a charming familial connection. Oh and she who was pushing Shakespeare so recently would not read every word of Thanatopsis? HA, j/k. I knew nobody would read it but I wanted to show how much he memorized. Can you imagine?

[Donna R.]

Thanks, Jenny. I always enjoy reading about family--especially from your perspective. You may have only a few uncles, but they are mighty good ones! So glad and grateful that I share 2 of them with you! We are blessed. Love you!

[Jennifer]

@Donna ... hey luv, good to see you. I'm glad and grateful that your dear dad was one of my three precious uncles. He was a trip and a half.

[Mari]

I loved this! Family is a real blessing and I can see that you are blessed for sure! Loved the accent, and his love for little Trey. He's good on that harmonica too!

[Donna (Texas)]

"Strolling him in the yard"....Hahaaaa....LOVE these!
Wish I had videos of My clan....
hughugs

[Sue the Hobbit]

Okay, I succumbed and read the whole thing. Interesting that he wrote it when he was only 16 and that critics pretty much pan it as hogwash. Personally, I think it is a pretty amazing poem and more amazing still that your uncle memorized it.

[Jennifer]

@Mari ... Ditto! You should hear him play the guitar.

@Donna ... Girl wouldn't that be something.

@Hobbit ... Th'sis is a masterpiece. Poetry critics know less than nothing, and besides only one humorist called it hogwash. Interesting that you came back and "succumbed" ... *evil grin*

[Donna M.]

What a grand signature! And I can't read it, LOL! Honest! Love the harmonica wailing by your uncle too!

[Debbie]

Oh my, that's a great post. You are lucky to have so much and to know so much about family. I have so little information, all has been lost through the years, family members were spread out across the nation, lost touch.

"Cary Grant, the Johnny Depp of his day," Only you would make that connection, ha.