12 Things about this Christmas

12. Carols and ads spouted, printed, wired, and lit up in the sky all beginning the day before Halloween leads to greater numbers of Bah-Humbug! I know the economy has been rough, but please refrain from making your American customers crazy. We're already feeling the guilt.


11. The actual date for celebrating IS negotiable. I promise. Just ask your family and have a vote. In our case, we decided to exchange gifts in January this year so we could fix the basement floor and allow everyone their own room. In the end, the $500 needed to fix and recarpet the floor downstairs was almost 3 times our entire gift/card budget and we opted for Christmas instead. I wish more people knew this. I think it would help them relax. January 6th is a good exchange date...something about the wise men.

10. Have a budget and stick to it. Last year, some anonymous special someone helped us with our giving expenses when our budget was $0 and we couldn't imagine going in debt to teach our children about the bounty of the season. Not only was this a gift last year, but it helped us reign in the idea of how big the present portion needed to be. (It's smaller than you think!)

9. Know why you're celebrating. Especially if yours isn't the standard commercialized Santa-reindeer version.  If you're in the "minority," but your "reason for the season" is important to you, you need to be prepared to do some 'splainin'.  Our five year old had, somehow, latched on to the idea of Santa.  Since we have never even shared Santa stories or songs and she hasn't begun kindergarten, this was sort of a surprise to me.  Talking about the legend together helped. 

8. There are fewer lights now.

7.  People are crazy about perfection during this season more than any other time of the year... even bikini-body-tanning-perfection in the summer months doesn't match this frenzy.  Maybe it's that naughty and nice thing from Santa.  You'd better watch out! 

6.  Three year old boys are not really ready to shop for other people.  They get very excited and want to open everything and play with it right now.

5.   A fake tree isn't such a bad thing after all.  It turns out to be a good investment for lean years and it still looks pretty in all the lights and ornaments.  I've heard that pine scented oils and candles work wonders for the nostalgia aspect of freshly cut pine sap.  (Not that allergy sufferers can use these.)  Plus, it eases the guilt that may come when watching you-tube videos of tortured trees stuffed into trucks.

4.   Shatter proof ornaments can actually shatter.  "Proof" that nothing is impossible.

3.  Caroling on Christmas Eve is the best thing ever!  Not kidding.  Other than finding that many of your neighbors celebrate somewhere other than their own homes, you may find some very happy, tearful neighbors waiting in the quiet of their own homes hugging you with tear-filled eyes.  You may find neighbors with car keys forgetten in the locks, doors still ajar from sneaking in gifts, parties to crash for delicious hot cider, or even out-of-state guests completely shocked that anyone would take the time or brave the cold with their voices.

2.  Christmas Day and Tummy Flu do NOT go together.  But, if the virus is insistant, it will hang out anyways.  Since all the stores are C-L-O-S-E-D by 8pm on Christmas Eve, this is no time to be found without Lysol, Bleach, crackers, 7up, ginger, broth, or bread. 

1.  We Fish Ewe a Mare Egretts Moose!  Is still a great way to give holiday cheer.

At First Site by none other than the GREAT Nicholas Sparks

Okay.  I knew four pages in that this was not going to be my favorite book.  So why finish?  Why torture myself with stuff I don't like?  Well... in this case, it was research.  I thought I'd see what exactly the formula for that million $$ best seller reads like.  I only need one, right?  Except, it was page 162 before I read a line that was a good line.  Not a quotable outside of the context line, but one that held a decent metaphor for the situation using only a ceiling fan and the empty air. 
     The great thing about reading this book is that I suddenly found myself urgently needing to write something I could read.  And that's a good thing.
     For anyone looking for more than this about the man or his books go visit his website.  It's as pretty to look at as he is if you like that candy coated sort of thing.  http://www.nicholassparks.com/

Snowball Fights and Parenting

Today, the snow fell wet and almost rain.  I wrapped a ball in my gloved hands and took it inside the house, sneaking up the stairs... THWACK!!... The first snowball flew directly on target, skimming past the nose of a teenaged visitor (one of my eldest daughter's best friends) and smack onto the red dining room wall behind her... THWACK!! The second snowball was off smacking my daughter on the forearm.  Oh, honey!  That was supposed to be a warning shot!  I squealed and ran to the other room as she chased me into the kitchen clutching remnant snow to fling at me.  The laughter was wonderful.  The spontaneity just what we needed.
     Her friend, too shocked to laugh yet said, "My mom would NEVER let us do that."  My daughter responded, "Well, my mom is NOT like other moms."
     I'm thinking that's a good thing.

Troubled Waters...bk2

Doesn't the song say something about "like a bridge over troubled water..." ?  In the back of this second installment, Dean Hughes makes note of the many comments he'd received about how "different" his Hearts of the Children "feels" compared to the Children of the Promise series.  (See that!  It wasn't just me.)  The author chooses to believe that it is a reflection of the historically documented "generation gap" between the two generations, but we all know the truth.  I think he knew it as well and successfully altered his focus for the second book in this series.  Instead of chapters of Trivial Pursuit in the categories of music, fashion, and history, the characters were allowed to have a story.  Granted, they are still filling out certain stereotypes, but their are some unexpected moments as well that keep the story interesting.

Dean Hughes

Now, I don't believe it's fair to judge an author by a single work any more than I believe you can judge a book by its cover.  That said... ugh. 

My sister gave me a beautiful gift for my birthday.  A whole series complete and ready to read.  Having been in college for so long, I was so excited to read something that was unassigned.  But, I have to say, that this piece of historical fiction is tough - and NOT because it's hard.  Dean knows his history.  He set his story in a place he's familiar with and gave his characters attributes he understood from having lived among them. 

They say you should write what you know.  Hughes knows history (did I say that already?!)  He knows O-town.  And he knows a little something about being LDS.  So do I.  All of the above.  I didn't know all of this though.  I didn't know about the extention of the hand of racism right here in the heart of the LDS culture. Hughes spends a lot of time with this issue because the book is set just at the time that the Civil Rights bill is passed and so many changes to voter rights, etc. are still in the works.

I grew up in California at one of the most unique moments in history in that we felt color blind.  The classes were so naturally diverse in skin color, culture, religion, and ethnic origins that none of us seemed to care about sticking with the people most similar to ourselves.  We made friends for the other reasons you make friends... because you have recess and lunch together or because you both like to play four square.  Then my family moved here.  Everyone was white.  And the families sitting on the pews at church had actually "cookie-cuttered" themselves.  It was like nothing I'd ever seen.  So, racism among "my" own religious group was weird to me.  It shouldn't have been.  We only had one "black" kid go to my high school and graduate with us.  One.  And he was so cool.  So I guess I figured everyone felt the same way I do about skin color...it doesn't make the person who they are at heart...but I was wrong.

The other thing that is strange to me is the way that Hughes has chosen his characters.  The four main teens that he is following most closely are sort of cookie-cutter stereotypes of LDS kids/perspectives.  You have the girl who doesn't care about her education and just wants to be a mom set against the girl who wants to become a lawyer and change the world and can't imagine being happy in a marriage.  You have the golden child boy who has everything financially and takes his testimony for granted set against the one in poverty with little freedom who has a hard time believe in the God of his parents because He never seems to answer his prayers.  It feels contrived.  All of these types of individuals exist, yes.  I may feel this way about the characters because he is pushing four stories forward, so he doesn't let them show us who they are. 

Hughes also neglects the setting.  I have a problem with that.  This may be because I am a Geographer.  But, place is important.  It's more important than the song on the radio or the brand of sweater that was in style in 1969.  Or, it is to me.

There are four books in the series.  Bring it on.

Lovely, Still (2008)

Do you believe that magic goes away after you stop believing in the Tooth Fairy?  Do you cringe at the idea that your parents still feel the thrill run through their body when they kiss?  Don't watch this movie.

Martin Landau and Ellen Burstyn have not forgotten what it looks like to fall in love with someone for the first time and they do an excellent job of portraying the awkward, the nervous, and the falling into joy.  The story is portrayed with a minimal cast of a lonely old bachelor (without one picture hanging on his walls) drudging through his day until he comes home to find a lovely neighbor, Mary, inside his house.  Robert is a bit freaked out (who wouldn't  be) until Mary explains that the door was open and with the car crashed into the garage door, she thought she'd better check to see if he was all right.  After that, Robert melts.  He and Mary begin dating and he spends time researching the "right thing to do" by asking all of his coworkers at the grocery store for advice. 

The beginning is just the beginning of this movie.  It's hard not to get swept up in the joy of new love as portrayed by these two experienced actors.  It's also difficult to ignore the odd music choices.  But, these are only mildly distracting and, in retrospect, foreshadow the end of the tale very well. 

This movie will grab you by the heart.

Switchin' it Up

I finally made a switch and loved the results!

This face has been kissed by Oil of Olay since it was 16-ish with a few "let's save a couple of bucks" changes over the years.  But, lately, I just break out all of the time.  Although not all over my face, the pimples have been deep, hard, and lasting.  I thought it was post-32 year old hormones.  I thought it was old make-up, not enough exfoliation, too much exfoliation...

Whatever it was, I decided to dump the old and go for the new.  (Even the acne "fighting" products from Olay didn't make a difference.)  Maybe it was the green on the bottle.  The dermatologist on the label.  Or even the "fruit" in the Fructis.  Whatever drew my eye, I purchased a facial cleanser and moisturizer with SPF 15 from Garnier a little over a week ago.  That was less than $10 well-spent.  My old pimples are clearing (even the red "scarring") and I only had one tiny little pimple pop out in time for my period that was here and gone in a day (the pimple NOT the period.) 

I've gotta remember that change can be good.

Ondine (2009)

In need of a reason to see Colin Farrell as a sexy, salty seaman?  Or maybe a modern day Irish fairytale complete with a little magic, a lot of whisky, and an uncertain ending?  Give yourself a couple of hours on the sea to witness Ondine.

So much of the magic in this movie is wrapped around the daughter of Syracuse (Farrell) named Annie (Alison Barry).  This tenacious little girl is determined to dream big and live well in spite of her failing kidneys and rounds of dialysis.  When her father tells her the story of the woman rescued from the sea by a fisherman's net, Annie begins to study the characteristics of the mythological Selkie - seven tears and a buried seal coat will allow her father's new love, Ondine, to remain on land for seven years... unless her Selkie husband comes for her.

How could two beautiful, broken, sensitive people NOT fall in love when receiving such encouragement from the little girl who loves them both?  Of course, their seperate and painful pasts could get in the way, but with so much sea and sky that's highly unlikely.

The Joneses (2009)

It's a dangerous business trying to keep up with the family next door, especially when that family is all looks and no substance.  When Steve, Kate, Jenn, and Mick Jones move in, it's hard not to notice or to not want what they have.  Their home is stocked with the latest and greatest from decor to cell phones, from cars to jewelry.  "Why did Steve buy you that necklace, Kate?  What's the occasion?"  "Well, it's Tuesday."

Tuesday is a way better reason to give a gift than Valentine's Day, I'm sure.

The thing about this movie is that, although Lauren Hutten (playing the big boss - KC) tries to convince us that sales associates packed into families have been running this scenario a long time, there is a glitch in the system.  Just when you begin to wonder if someone you know might be on the paylist, David Duchovny (playing father and husband, Steve) reacts in a human way to his job.  It isn't as if he can leave his work and go home - his work IS home.  His "wife" is beautiful, intelligent, and like a magnet drawing everyone around her and his "kids" have real life issues that come with growing up to face daily without actually dealing with them.  Though he's never been a dad in real life, he can't help himself in becoming attached and invested in the people he shares a roof and a common goal with.

For those of us living in reality, we often take that shared roof for granted.  We forget to smile or kiss or be there for each other because we are so busy collecting stuff to make us happy.  This movie is one that will put everything into perspective again.

Love and Debate (2006)

When choosing this movie, starring Sean Astin, Gina Phillips, and Adam Rodriguez, I was expecting a little lighthearted romance.  Little did I know that writer/director Jessica Kavana would be working some hard hitting issues into the mix.  Jordan (Gina Phillips) is a Latin American Jew who dreams of bigger things than settling down with "one of her kind."  She joins the Debate team as a senior and finds a gift that takes her all the way to Harvard.  Along the way, she is raped by a fellow debater and chooses to throw herself into life without saying a word out of shame and embarrassment (not to mention shock and denial).

I had no idea that I would be facing some startling parallels of my own with this character.  Although the film passed gently over Jordan's healing process (including throwing her dreams away in a bad sexual relationship, drug and alcohol use, and losing her scholarship).  It did attempt to address the issue (even including a glimpse at body memories), which is more than most modern media does.  It was intriguing to watch a character work her own way through the "victim" mentality and come out strong in the end - strong enough to face her rapist eye to eye.

What I liked most about this movie was its positive energy and strength.  Jordan, determined not to have everything stolen from her, pushed herself instead of hiding in the fear.  In the end, she learned how to trust her own instincts again and even free her heart.  As a survivor of abuse and rape, I know that trusting yourself - your own judgement - is one of the most difficult things to relearn.  It is possible and I am glad to see an important story like this portrayed on film.

Failure

Life is full of stuff that doesn't work out as planned or in direct proportion to our best efforts.  Not too long ago, I had a little disagreement with some friends on facebook over whether or not failure is a valid part of life.  My friends argued that as long as you keep trying, you haven't failed.  I disagreed.  I believe that "keep trying" part is because you HAVE failed and have decided to continue to make an effort.

Tonight I learned that sometimes the failure can be in the continuing to try.  Not recognizing one's own limitations to a degree that costs time, energy, and money can be a costly mistake.  How often do we choke when we "bite off more than we can chew"?  Every time.  And the water isn't always waiting to help us wash down the tasteless, awkward portions we've chosen to gulp into our throats.  Not saying "when" or "NO" for that matter when we really need to say it is a fail. 

Persistence is one thing.  Stubborn stupidity is another.

On the other hand, if we said no to every scary, character building, talent stretching opportunity that came our way, we'd rarely learn and maybe never know success.  I don't like to say no for this reason, but am becoming increasingly more careful about what I say "yes" to due to family obligations and health issues. 

Tonight, I failed.  In fact, the entire week previous to this post has been one failure after another.  I'm out of time.  I'm out of resources.  There is nothing left in me to make another attempt, and it wouldn't matter if there were.  The deadline is in front of me and I must walk away.  My head isn't high even though I gave it my all.  My best wasn't nearly good enough and, today, that leaves me ashamed of myself.  Ashamed for my self-assurance.  Ashamed for the resources that were wasted.  Ashamed that I didn't recognize my own limits and save others from the shared disappointment. 

All I can do after I sleep is to pick myself up, forgive myself, and move on with the morning.  It won't change that I have failed in this thing.  But, hopefully, it will mean that I learned something from it so I won't feel the need to repeat the epic fail.

Boundaries

Generally speaking, humanity likes its boundaries.  We want to know where the line is and though we may play at the edges for the adrenaline rush -- daring life to bring on the consequences, we like the safety net that our imaginary lines give to our psyches.  Boundaries allow us to play at Cock and Crow - boisterous in our opinions, decided in our positions - we throw words and feelings attached to the "us" and "them" of our vocabulary as if our relative lines of demarcation will keep us safe because they cannot be crossed.

But, what happens when they are?  When countries or people of different lattitudes suddenly see what they have in common and become "we."...  It's happened a time a two in my own life.  I always invite the experience.  It can really only happen when the gates are unlocked or left slightly adjar or swung wide open with a neon sign attached screaming "Friendship Wanted."  Trouble is, I'm an all or nothing kind of person.  I talk over the back gate with the laundry swinging in the sunshine to the neighbor who is working through a similar task while we fill the air of our existence with so many sweet words.  Though sincere, the gate isn't really open.  No boundaries have been breeched there.  Once someone is inside my little world, it can be an all consuming experience.  My heart and mind are full of them.  (And my life is currently abounding with people to love.)  I see this as nothing but a blessing.  Even in the moments when I need to pull away.

You see, I don't breath well, all crowded in that way.  But, I haven't figured out the way to let someone in and politely ask them to leave for a few moments so I can gather myself.  It always comes out in choking, sobbing, suffocated frustration.  I hurt people.  People that I love the very most...  I know why Switzerland keeps her stalwart borders - happy in all that she is on her own. 

Top Gun

Goodness, gracious, great balls of FIRE!!  Why didn't anyone tell me Goose was dead?!

Dancing Music and Madonna

Long before I knew what lyrics like, "get into the groove, boy you've got to prove you're love to me", I could feel the "fire" of the music pulsing through my body. Decades later of listening to Madonna and her contemporaries and living life well beyond the "end of the innocence", I know that some of the power of the music is the sensuality in it. Let's face it - I like sex in my music. I just don't like it Lady Ga Ga style. I want the metaphor and the mystery. Watch a belly dancer and you will know there is power in the veil.

My musical tastes range from Mozart to Madonna, from Dvorak to Def Lepard, from Sinatra to Shakira, but I find myself a little picky about my individual song preference. Just as I may not appreciate every word that falls from my favorite poet's pen, a song must get into my veins before it will become a favorite. That said, I haven't loved every song on a Madonna album since the Immaculate Collection. (And I was teenaged enough to love everything on it then.) Lately, I prefer the tribal, the rustic, or the refined - the drum and the violin - and that may be because all of the instant gratification behind the techno beat technology has lead modern musicians to believe baring it all is sexy.

It's not.

The Turning Point (1977)

It's been a while since I've dived longingly into a ballet heart first. Taking a ballet class has been on my bucket list for a long time. For Shirley McClain's character, Dee Dee Rodgers, the regrets of choosing family over a life on the stage has lingered. Her long-time friend and ballerina, Emma Jacklin (played by Ann Bancroft) has lived her dream, but is facing retirement with the realization that her life will soon fall into meaninglessness. Sandwiched between them both, is Dee Dee's daughter, an up-and-coming ballerina who wants to make the decision she will regret the least. Adelaide's budding career brings the past to the forefront and both women must clear the air before moving on.

This movie is just the right balance between stunning ballet performances by dancers the likes of Mikhail Baryshnikov, body-beating practises, and heart wrenching acting. The unexpected moment is when the women finally speak the truths they've kept from each other for twenty years. Of course, those kinds of secrets have the tendency to come out stinging. But, I never would have dreamed there would be a fight scene!

Life is full of choices. Hopefully, twenty years from now, there will be a friend who knows me as well and loves me still.

Bleak House by Charles Dickens (Pt. 1)

Dickens' works are always meatier than most and, as I was reading yesterday, I thought I should break Bleak House up ten chapters at a time to do some of his messages justice. There have been a slew of authors willing to write for a crowd - sticking to the sellable plot, the carefully trimmed story that is sure to bring in cash. But, there are others, who write what needs to be written so that it can finally be seen, acknowledged, and reformed. Dickens was one of the latter.

Dickens' very decided opinion about the most beneficial position for women at a time when women were maneuvering their way into the business of philanthropy and charity work is plainly presented between the tangled mess of the Chancery court. In this first 100 pages, he has chosen three female characters to make his point. Two are mothers. One is not. Esther Summerson (our narrator) is a single woman who has, in these chapters, been sandwiched between two mothers ...Mrs. Pardiggle - a mother of five miserable sons, and Mrs. Jellyby - who, much like the woman in the shoe, has so many children she doesn't know what to do!
Both women are busy making a "good" impression in the professional world that they cannot see what it is doing to their homes. The first keeps her children too closely in check - so closely that they are suffocating for it and are ready to rebel. The second doesn't keep her children at all. They are dirty, hungry, neglected and have no hopes of becoming educated or refined enough to carry on her chosen work or any work of their own.

As a woman and mother in modern times, it was strange to me to read of a man, Mr. Jarndyce, who genuinely honored and appreciated the role of a woman in the home. He dubs Esther the "Little Woman" and entrusts her with the keys and keeping of Bleak House telling her that she will be of such influence in her "sweep[ing of cobwebs] so neatly out of [their] sky... that one of these days, [he] should abandon the Growlery, and nail up the door." The Growlery was Mr. Jarndyce's place of worry, fretting, anger, and frustration. It is a rare person to keep all of these emotions tethered to one room, true. But, for me, the thing that stood out was having that role of housekeeper and caretaker so cherished. There are many things about our culture that insist that a wife and mother is neither important to the ones being served or fulfilling to the one giving the service.

While I am so thankful that my daughters are no longer required to fall into an adulthood of being "barefoot and in the kitchen" without an educated opinion or aspirations of their own. I also want them to know that, should motherhood be their choice, it is a valid and valuable one to make and to do with your whole heart. We live in a time when we are told that we can "have it all." But, I must interject that, while you can have it all - you can not have it all well and at the same time. What a difference it would make to the children of the world if the mothers and fathers were patient enough to live in the season at hand, cherishing their little ones while they were yet young.

The Library

I must admit that I am ashamed to show you the current state of my bookshelves. So, I have borrowed another man's flickered library to give you a visual. In spite of the dewey decimal system, the shelving of books is a very individual business. For example, we don't have a separate room for the library of books I've been collecting since childhood. And, I'm sad to say, I gave up on alphabetical ordering a long time ago.

For a while, I attempted to keep them ordered by function and then by size. My current system has been reduced to just keeping them on the shelves. In a family with so many children, our books are not just for looks or for study or even entertainment for the imagination on those rainy days when the electricity is out for hours. Our books are houses and roads. They are medicinal tools and improvers of posture.

In my home, books are used. A little too well, perhaps, for a librarian's taste. But, how can a mother possibly lament the reasons for returning to a bookshelf, where dust has no time to gather, for the umpteenth time this week to set them all in order before the next wave of curiosity comes to call?

Near Death

There is nothing like headlights flying at 75mph toward your own closed eyelids in the middle of the night to make you question the counsel of "Go toward the light," but I'm getting ahead of myself...

Last night - date night - my husband and I found ourselves trapped behind a slightly swirving SUV. When my husband (who was driving) saw an opening in the fast lane, he decided to take it and get around the possibly inebriated driver already at a dangerous distance to the front end of our car. Slow down, you might suggest? Well, that is easier said than done at those speeds when you are completely boxed in by cars going too fast for the driving distances that are being kept... but, there was an opening. Until there wasn't.

The car in the fast lane turned out to be in James' blind spot. I have a habit of checking myself every time a lane change is made, saw this vehicle at the last possible second, and called out, "There's a car!" James saw it then and pulled our car back into our lane, but the shock of the unexpected car and the 75mph was too much for our Tangerine Dream to keep its balance. We began to rock, then skid - James with both hands on the wheel doing all he could to keep us safe - then we were spinning.

When our car was in a perpendicular position to the rest of traffic and the freeway lanes, I knew it was the end. Of course, you're reading this today... so, I was obviously wrong. But, my head - with that brilliant brain that thinks with unimaginable speed - went through every possibility... totaling the car, causing a pile up of other people, being paralyzed, dying, or both dying and leaving our five little ones without parents. I cussed then.

And immediately, let go. When the idea that these would be my last few moments on earth - the final page in my story - hit me, I said, "Okay" and completely relaxed. What else could I do but let my brain spin through thought? To see the faces of all of my children bathed in the light of oncoming traffic as we spun completely around... Remembering that it was a good idea to relax because drunk people come out of accidents better off for all of their "relaxed"... wondering for a moment why nothing had hit us.

And then, we were safe. We had come to a complete halt in the safe zone, having crossed three lanes of traffic on one of the busiest nights I've ever seen, unscathed. We didn't even bump the concrete barrier. It was as if James had just performed the most dangerous parallel parking job ever attempted. A task that was almost perfect. We were still facing the oncoming traffic though.

I don't know what to say... the prayers of thanks have been full and nonstop. I am here, in my home - woken up by a little boy at 5:30am just because he needed to twirl my hair... Let's not waste it.

Miracles

My husband said something to me the other night that has had me pondering the definition of the word "miracle" and what it means in my life. He basically said that he felt it was a miracle that I married him in the first place, but even moreso that I'm still here.

"Miracle" is defined as "an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs"... the first thing that occurred to me in reading this definition is that it's a bit sad that the affairs of the flora and fauna of the Earth are without the divine (yes, read with sarcasm) and secondly, that it is absolutely a miracle that I met, married, and remain with this very human man.

Tonight, my life was graced with another moment of divine intervention... though some may note it as ordinary... and it came in the form of Ursa Major - the Great Bear. Today was not a good day. It isn't that anything extraordinarily awful took place, but, my responses to all of the little things were petty and prideful and I knew it. Tonight, I ran away from home long enough to wear myself out and begin to pray... "Father I don't know what to do about today, except begin again tomorrow." Looking up at that moment, I saw an unfamiliar constellation. It was the second time I'd seen it this week and I felt a sudden urgency to return home and find out what I was looking at. It has turned out that in that constellation, I found my answers.

Miracles happen. There is a divine, active Parent loving me through this life. This fact doesn't mean that everything will come easy or with immediate understanding, only that it will lead to something better.

The End of the World as We Know it

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, right? Well, maybe in our day, after being made to study centuries of World History ... the rise and fall of nearly every nation ever born being repeated played out before our eyes ... maybe we do. An interesting change in plot lines has been occuring since the archeological evidence of the belief in the end of the world. Instead of alien invasion and radioactive fallout leading to the demise of humanity, the Earth itself is a ticking time bomb. We have only to wake up one morning to the alarm going off.

Now, the CGI techs in Hollywood couldn't have as much fun if someone didn't live to tell the tale or witness the destruction of all that our modern civilization has built with their mechanized dreams - far from bare hands. These movies, such as The Day After Tomorrow (2004), can be difficult to sit through, however, especially when based on a faulty scientific foundation that goes way beyond the theory of global warming. Others, though, like 2012 (2009) may present the viewer with a believable scientific and archeological base coupled by a realism in character response that keeps the viewer watching through the silliest of speeding limosine through city falling apart under an earthquake wreckage you've ever seen. (Really. I laughed out loud!)

Whatever the movie or the wildness in the telling, thinking about everything ending in a moment, is never a bad idea. Living the life we have in the best way we know how doesn't always have to be prompted by a realistic near death experience. I wonder if the Mayan calendar ended on the Winter Solstice of 2012 because someone ran out room. Or if, there was imagination enough to predict the future just that far. Or maybe, Someone whispered some secrets so that we -- who would actually see the year 2012 -- would realized our end was near and live accordingly.

My favorite scene in 2012 was the monk at the top of the Tibetan Plateau looking into the face of the wave that would take him to his death and ringing the bell. Not all of us will have time or the opportunity to say goodbye before we go (however we go), but I hope that we live our best day, everyday, so that when it is time... we go in peace.

La Misma Luna (Under the Same Moon - 2007)

The movie should probably begin with a disclaimer, "Do not watch without a full box of tissues." When young mother, Rosario, decides to cross the border illegally to provide a better opportunity for her young son, Carlitos, she has no idea of the price she will pay for their separation. Four years, several jobs and lawyers later, Rosario isn't any closer to being reunited with her boy and he is now old enough to say, "demasiado"... enough ... Ridden with guilt, Rosario can't bring herself to marrying for a green card and doesn't know what else to do. When Carlitos abuela (grandmother) passes away, he takes matters into his own hands, paying to be smuggles across the U.S.A / Mexico border with cash his abuela had been saving.

Under the Same Moon is billed as a movie showing the "plight of American immagrants"... as an American, this may be the portion that irritates you a little. As a proponent for legal immigration, it did me. By telling the story through the eyes of a nine year old boy trying to get to his mother, the viewer's heart is instantly taken into the story because love knows no political boundaries. Botched smuggles, misplaced trust, the possibility of being sold into slavery, working for pennies, and in fear of the police at every turn not to mention the things the mother is facing - lawyer's fees, dishonest employers, and the cost of living in America while trying to support the family back home, are all played out on the screen effectively tugging at the heartstrings.

For me though, the question always remained in the back of my mind, "Why illegally?" Had the mother chosen to work in her own country or sought sponsorship she would not have unintentionally isolated her son for so long or put him in danger of trying to find her. The town they were from was not portrayed as a place where people were starving or naked. How can anything in Mexico be improved if the people who hunger most for something better do not stay and get LOUD? Someone will probably read this post and comment on how self-righteous and innocent one can be when born in "the land of the free and the home of the brave". Never having traveled outside of the USA, I could easily agree with that. But, living here, I know that we do not have the International corner on love or honor or culture or education. We just have Hollywood. Living here, I know that "all that glitters is NOT gold."

Brown M&M's

Have you ever purchase the full pound of M&M's just to run your fingers through the candy? The smooth sugar-coating rolling across your fingertips and falling into the bag like a percussion instrument smelling of cocoa... mmm... Yesterday, I shared some M&M's with my little ones. They're a great way to learn colors and counting (although a great grandmother would probably point out the mini's as an even better option for a teaching tool!) My three year old son spontaneously began an alteration to our game - matching. He would pick up an M&M piece, say the color and ask where the match was on the bag. He wouldn't eat it until he found the match. Can you guess which color he got stuck on? That's right! Brown.

There is no brown M&M character to be found in the commercials or on the bag. I remember hearing a bit of a controversy about it... something along the lines of the candy company being racist or something. Of course, there is only one female M&M and she's so "hawt" teens at my high school either ate her on purpose or avoided her like the plague for fear of any additional spur to the already raging hormones. So, what about the brown?

I think it should be pointed out that a brown M&M character would get lost in the chocolate. He (or she) would have to be masked and wear a cape (i.e., Zorro) to stand out from the chocolatey background of the bag. When looking for a picture to post with this blog, I came across an image of the green M&M undressed and it occured to me that all of the M&M's are brown underneath that colorful candy shell. Must be why the Doc and the Wedding Planner tossed the others for artificial health reasons. One way or the other, I think the brown ones keep tune to my cravings for sugar-coated-cocoa percussions just as well as the others in the bag. I can't wait for a purple one to join the crew. Taste that rainbow.

Cake

Chocolate Mud Cake
Carrot Walnut Cake

Yesterday was a cake day. No, it was anybody's birthday, anniversary, wedding, funeral, holiday or any other excuse-to-eat-cake day. It was just a day for talking about cake and eating it. My brother is thinking on getting married, so, of course cake came up. You see, neither of them have a sweet tooth. Sampling cake in a hundred different flavors is the last thing on earth you'd find either of them doing. So, the thought of being required to by some sort of matrimonial expectation makes them both cringe.

I did them both a favor and yanked them off the hook by saying, "Don't serve cake then. Serve fruit and dress it up with a chocolate fountain." I find it interesting that some of us work so hard to fit into the expectations of others and some of us work so hard not to. Weddings can be a tough business. There are whole series of television shows based on choosing the dress for crying out loud! When you look at the heart of the American wedding (in all of its variety), you find people who have been dreaming up the "perfect day" for a long time suddenly pulled to and fro by every declared "must" and "should" spoken by parents, relatives, and caterers. Remember, your wedding and reception are to allow the people in your life to witness an event to remember. It's just to let them know that you want to be married to this one person and nobody had to drug you to get you there!

Cake choices, or a lack thereof, can be very symbolic (or not at all). My husband and I chose a cake in three flavors. Vanilla for those guests with sensitive taste buds, Double Chocolate Chip for my husband, and Carrot Walnut for me. In many ways, our cake represented ourselves and our future. Neither of us is identical to the other. We just don't look at many things the same way. We have our own individual flavors and neither of us has wasted any time attempting to make the other fit ourselves. I'm a lark - he's an owl. I devour books - he devours video games. But we both love to laugh. I guess that's our common cream cheese frosting. We're also both aware of others and do what we can to help where we can. We are always aware of our children and talk about their needs and our responses as parents regularly so we can allow them to each grow into their own flavor of human being.

Last night, my husband brought home two slices of cake from the bakery -- Chocolate Fudge for himself and Carrot Walnut for me. I like that about us.

The State of the Linen Closet

Once upon a time, I watched an Oprah show where she gave young, hot designer, Nate Berkus a brand new set of towels for his linen closet saying, "The state of a person's linen closet reveals a lot about that person's life." I distinctly remember folding towels the next morning - mismatched in color, style, and sizes and threadbare in different degrees - knowing that Oprah was right.

Now, it being Independence Day and all, I could be posting something about the Founding Fathers or the fireworks popping outside my bedroom window, but tonight I went into the laundry room to check the dryer (my oldest child will be marching in her first parade in the morning) and found the entire shelf full of linens scattered on the floor. I'm not exactly sure of the who? why? and how? of this catastrophe. I just know that Oprah's statement resounded in my brain. My linens are, right now, scattered, unfolded, mismatched, and worn out ... what does that say about me?

a) I am the mother of many.

b) I am frugal and will use something until it is worn out completely. (Yes, that means my towels have a future in the rag business.)

c) I accept gifts as they come to me. (The bath towels I received as a family wedding gift are embroidered with everyone's name, mostly too small to wrap around our bodies, and wildly different colors.)

d) I am flexible. (I don't have to have everything folded exactly the same and starched to perfection.)

e) I value relationships more than things.

Perhaps Oprah would disagree with this assessment. I'm sure Nate Berkus' fluffy, white cotton towels are still fluffy and white this many years later. They both may say there is a lack of self-respect in keeping such a haphazard closet and a personal devaluation in not replacing something that is so sorely in need of it. I disagree, and I wonder...

What is the State of Your Linen Closet?

The Unconquered Soul (Invictus, 2009)

In 1875, William Earnest Henley wrote the poem that would, in part, inspire Nelson Mandela to be the master of his own fate - learning that forgiveness can be the mightiest weapon against hatred and tyranny from a prison cell.

The movie, directed by Clint Eastwood and starring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon, that takes the name of this poem as its title showed one year of the influence that one, unconquered soul can have on a nation and the world. Mandela lost his immediate family, but looked to the 43 million South Africans as his brothers and sisters who were in desperate need of both forgiveness and a moment of greatness to heal the terrible wounds of fear. Mandela recognized the pull of a national sport, a national anthem, a national flag to bring the black and white of his nation into one voice, one hope, one prayer, and one tremendous triumph.

The grime and grit of the year's Rugby matches are intertwined so well into the fate of the people as the tide turns for the better after Mandela's election. Mandela invited the team captian, Francois Pienaar to tea one afternoon to discuss leadership. "To lead by example and to inspire those around us to be better than they believe they can be." Oh, that the world would be a little better every day. My husband watched this movie with me and declared his intention to move to South Africa if Mandela were still President because he was honest enough to forfeit 1/3 of his Presidential salary to charity because he was paid, "too much." We did a little bit of research and found that Mandela has not been president of South Africa for over a decade.

Mandela may have retired from public life. Freeman and Eastwood may be getting a little "old" for the Hollywood scene. Henley may have died over a century and a half ago. But, each of these men has "put their hand in" to life with more than themselves in mind. So, today, in honor of all the unconquered who have given so much to lift the hands of another, ignoring the burdens that could have been an excuse had they belonged to someone else, I pray that we will all remember their example and become better than we thought we could be.

Henley's Poem... Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Freedom of Speech and the Patriotic Biting of Tongue

Yesterday, I spent some time pushing daisies. Admittedly, my original intention was a photo op. I heard from a friend about a woman who did this once in an era before my birth. I believe she did it in protest of the Vietnam War. I couldn't find the picture online. I hadn't planned to reiterate her protest. I honestly believed it was a little tacky to park tanks in a cemetary and decided they needed their own flowers. I just didn't realize that the flowers should have been 'mums.

The chrysanthemum, the flower of my own birth month, is the traditional flower to stand sentinel over the graves of our fallen. It is a fitting flower. The voices of the dead are hushed in their graves - "mums the word" and all that jazz. But, as the commentary and backlash of yesterdays photo op turned political, I grieved over the loss of speech that came when the Twin Towers fell (perhaps sooner).

The men and women protesting the Vietnam war or the draft (or both) went so far in voicing their own opinions that they disrespected and made miserable the lives of those who were called upon by our nation to fight a war they may or may not have understood themselves. Their treatment was disgraceful and should never have happened. But, since it did, American citizens who disagree with the current war - no matter how respectfully - have been labeled "unpatriotic" for voicing their dissent.

The week of Cinco de Mayo, a photo floated around the Internet of some high school students flying the American flag upside down underneath the Mexican one. Sometimes it seems we allow everyone their freedom to speek but our own and each others. I wonder what it is we are afraid of and where all these decisions, made in fear, our leading this Nation.

Simple Sculpture

Susan Lordi is the sculptor of the Willow Tree line. These simple, faceless sculptures of precious moments have always drawn me to them. There is something about the way she's captured the tilt of the head, the curve of a hand - the way that the mothers, fathers, and lovers bend toward one another and stay...

Today, a sweet neighbor and friend of mine shared several of her WillowTree sculptures with me. She found that she didn't have room for all of the ones she'd been given since she was married a few years back and offered them to me. I was thrilled to accept them and completely unprepared for the emotions they would evoke. "Cherish - awaiting a miracle", "Together" and "Promise" speak to moments I am uncertain of finding in my life again. Of course, the only thing I ever plan to be pregnant with is a story. So, this is the least bittersweet... the intimate connection of the other faceless couples can be noted from across the room. Unlike my own.

Sliding Doors (1998)

Gwyneth Paltrow is delightful as Helen, a woman living out the two versions of "what if" reminding us that just as small moments can have a powerful influence on the general order of things, the people and experiences that are important to our growth will find their way into our existence. There is no need to regret a missed train or a difficult decision. Life weaves its way forward.

Besides, "nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition."

Turquoise

This year, my husband discovered my love for turquoise. It was our anniversary and I paused in front of a glass display cabinet stunned by the varying shades, textures, and sizes of the stones. I honestly hadn't seen stones as large as some of the ones on display. Even the Squash Blossom jewelry is made of smaller chunks of stones. I told him I would feel more like a queen wearing one of those necklaces than I ever would wearing ropes of diamonds.

I once had the pleasure of being assigned The Anthropology of Turquoise by Ellen Maloy a strange book where I learned the chemistry of turquoise: CuAl6(PO4)4(OH)8*4H2O, blended with its history and mysticicsm. In the book it is noted that in 1652,Thomas Nichols said, "Many strange things beyond faith are reported concerning the vertues of this stone, which nothing but excesse of faith can believe." But, my favorite bit of history is that in Egyptian prayer the words for water and turquoise are interchangeable. For me, a woman who still pretends to be a mermaid every chance she gets, this trivia is like locking puzzle pieces together.

On Sunday, I rested this solid, steady, circle of turquoise on my chest. The weight of it was like a soothing palm, warm and soft... and I did feel royal. Thank you, dear one.

~Princess Words like Water

Mother's Day

History of Mother's Day

The above link to the history of Mother's Day is an interesting read about a woman who wanted to honor her own mother and allow other, individual families to do the same. She spent her life and her fortune fighting against the political, social, and commercial "monster" she'd created.

I wish she'd won.

Mother's Day is one of my least favorite holidays. I like my "I love you's" year-round and do not appreciate the pressure my family feels to spend money we don't have on this day. I don't like the pressure of all the attention and "honor" of the day. Motherhood has been such a gift to me. However, being a mother has not, instantaneously, made me into some noble and perfected being. The office is noble, indeed - but, I am not perfect in my mothering.

Spending a full day, publicly honoring me (and mothers like me) is a slap in the face to women who want desperately to be mothers and have never married or have been unable to have children or whose babies have passed away and are reminded, again and again, that their arms are empty.

I'm with Anna. Enough already.

To Beard or NOT to Beard

Once upon a time, I kissed a boy and I liked it. Then, I married a man who couldn't grow a beard. There were some excuses about the 1/8th Choctaw blood in his genes disallowing the process to actually take place. Only a few splotchy patches here and there could ever creep in enough to get a decent goatee. Testosterone replacement therapy anyone?

I'm kidding. (And this is NOT the reason I divorced him ... really!) A whole lot of men walk this planet without facial hair. It's a sign of cleanliness and discipline. If you've seen some of the scraggly beards running around on men who also do not brush their teeth, you probably agree. However, my current cutie grows a great beard. Give him two weeks, and it's full and soft. We aren't sure (for lack of opportunity to test the theory), but we're thinking that in 6 months without trimming he could be sporting a regular Rip Van Winkle style. (Not that we plan on testing this!)

It makes me CRAZY that his workplace has some "missionary" dress requirements that state no facial hair. An uprising in the meat department led to the general admission that a well-trimmed moustache is okay. When is a MOUSTACHE ever okay?! (Unless you're Brad Roghaar or my Grandpa Hank who keeps his in a waxed handlebar.) You'd think he could claim his Scottish heritage on this one and show up in a khaki kilt and beard.

So... what are we hoping for in a career? You got it. Someplace where the men who have enough testosterone to be men, and grow soft, sexy beards for their wives back home are not discriminated against by the men who can't.

The Young Victoria (2009)

This movie has me hoping to read the memoirs of Queen Victoria. Did she really write letters this way? Was she as strong willed as portrayed? Having watched Mrs. Brown, it is interesting to note the rise so long before the decline...

However, the best part of this movie is not its youth, it is the love story between Albert and Victoria. From their first meeting, they were taken with each other. But not in the Romeo and Juliet sort of way that many first loves happen. The weight of their births may have contributed to these two people being mature beyond their years - both wise and aware of themselves and each other. I couldn't help thinking that this was the sort of love story I wanted to tell my daughters... not the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale of a woman needing a man to bring her to life, but of a man and a woman being one by encouraging each other to be whole.

Darby O'Gill and the Little People (1959)

Although seeing a young, dark haired Sean Connery singing "My Pretty Irish Girl" while breaking a glow cutting down weeds with a scythe is good for any girl with a little Irish in her blood, his role as the handsome newcomer on the scene is hardly the reason to watch this film. It is the facial expressions of Irishman, Albert Sharpe that make this movie worth watching again and again. (Well, that and the sped-up dancing maneuvers of the leprechauns as the leap into the wine glass.)

Sharpe, who plays Darby O'Gill, is so expressive, that Disney was able to carry out an entire fight scene without showing more than a few seconds of the fight. This may have gone a long way with the ratings board and the "family friendly" G-rating at the time... or not. Perhaps, Director Robert Stevenson recognized an acting genius - a man who could tell the entire story in a twitch of his nose or a downturned brow - and wanted to document it for generations to come.

Tonight, I reintroduced my family to Darby. The youngest two of the clan had never seen it and thought King Bryan was a "silly" and the banshee absolutely petrifying. (Neither of them moved while the banshee cried.)

Oh, I wish all the movies could be a bit like Darby
they'd be a bit cheesy, but they'd entertain my army...

Okay. It was a half-drunken sounding rhyme. I know. But, I was really defeated before I began. After all, who could beat King Bryan's "McKluskey and Whuskey"?

Trust

The dictionary defines the word "trust" as "reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing. Confidence."

Recently, I had the opportunity to analyze my own reasons for trusting (or not trusting) the people that touch my life. Although, I won't give the details. I found that the more someone insists that they are trustworthy, the less likely I am to trust them.

Sometimes, I find it strange that I see the world in words. Writing is a love affair for me. Yet, I do not take words at face value. There is always a portion of myself (conscious or otherwise) holding its breath in expectation because action speaks more loudly than the whispered "I love you" or the "forever" shouted from a mountaintop.

Several years ago, my mother lived with me. She was unemployed at the time and had become a finatic follower of Dr. Phil. Oftentimes, I would watch with her. I think I heard his philosophy on trust so often, that I adopted as my own. It wasn't necessarily the repetition, but the power behind it. He used to ask his guests, "What is the worst thing that could happen?" and "Could you handle it?"

Last Saturday, I met someone I couldn't trust. Not for the lack of knowing him or having anyone to recommend him, but because I knew what the worst could be and I wasn't ready to face it.

Kinky Boots (2005)

More than just a story about hot shoes for "men, women, and those who haven't decided yet," this movie is about embracing the true self - whoever that is. Billed as a "How far would you go to save the family business?" sort of film, you know that Charlie Price will at some point find himself desperate and will turn to what is thought of as a deviant lifestyle niche to save his company. What is unexpected, or rather "who", is Lola aka. Simon.

Lola is the transvestite expression of Simon. S/he is a perfomer in a nightclub and needs sexy footwear that will support the full weight of a man. S/he is also a choreographer and designer. The design elements of talents will bring her to Northampton where he dresses as Simon to avoid making the suburban locals uncomfortable. At first, this is very difficult because he feels so little like himself in a pair of jeans and flats, without any lipstick. Charlie is encouraging and they learn to respect each other as they work together.

In the end, it isn't Lola that needs to accept herself, it is Charlie. Both men have grown up under the weight of their father's expectations and find themselves facing fears and dreams while deciding what living with integrity means for them.

This movie is truly well done. Using what the world may generally see as an extreme lifestyle choice in juxtaposition to a "normal" life facing the same issues of being true to oneself, made their success even more of a triumph in the end.

Tria Fata

Yesterday, I was invited to speak at the Weber State University's Arts and Humanities Scholarship Banquet in recognition of those students who had received scholarship and the generous donors who had made these possible. Although I speak in public regularly as Editor-in-Chief of our university's undergraduate literary journal, Metaphor, I felt nervous for two reasons. The first is that I hadn't timed my speech and was afraid of going long. The second is that I had been instructed to "keep it light," but thinking about the unexpected and much needed generousity of investments I've received to complete my education fills me with gratitude and I usually get a little teary. Thankfully, I didn't. I even got a few laughs from the crowd.

After the students had spoken, we were blessed by another unexpected gift. The WSU ensemble of music majors called Tria Fata filled the room with delightful music. This group has the beautiful chemistry. They have choreographed their music and facial expressions in a way that the notes become a conversation between instruments and artists. It was delightful! And intense, visionary, moving, and inspiring. The musicians poured so much of themselves into the movement that they were a little out of breath and perspiring by the end. Tremendous!

Sadly, we learned at the end of the Banquet that this trio is breaking up to move on to other programs and musical adventures. This was disappointing in many ways. I was hoping for a CD. I'd like to take a moment to wish them all well. Samuel Runolfson (cellist), Kathryn Palkki (violinist) and Nicholas Maghaun (pianist) have exciting careers ahead of them, I'm sure. Good luck to you all. Spread the purple everywhere!

Under the Greenwood Tree (2005)

A period drama based on the book by Thomas Hardy, turns sensibility on its head as we watch Fancy Day return from a life of upper-class education to her hometown. Her mother had married "down" and lost all claim to her family's fortune. So, her father has aspired to give her the education and gentility required to marry into the wealthier class. But, he doesn't foresee the affect the storekeeper's son, Dick Dewey, will have on her nor the affect her coming will have on the entire town.

Peer pressure is something that will always be a factor in our choices, but the choices women had for them in earlier time periods were greatly limited. Fancy is educated and holds a position as the village teacher. This independence combined with her unusual circumstances of station - riding the fence, so to speak - affords her the opportunity to decline several offers of marriage in favor of LOVE.

The irony here is that, so many of these period works that are so popular today glorify the ideal of marrying for love instead of money or station and, now how many people divorce because the "love" doesn't live up to expectations? It waxes and wanes, but doesn't seem able to grow again during times when stress and distance stretch before us.

There is a moment in the movie, when Mr. Dewey asks his wife if she had been happy with him because he was never an ambitious man and hadn't expanded their business or improved their fortunes as his son was working to do. The scene looked very much like the one from Fiddler on the Roof, but the outcome was different. Mrs. Dewey threw a chubby, middle-aged arm around her husband and planted a passionate kiss on his mouth saying, "You are all the man I ever wanted and all the love to go with it." One can tell from the furnishings around them, that life has not been easy - though not desperately difficult either - but, Mrs. Dewey hadn't expected ease, nor timelessness, nor perfection and she is happy still.

Perhaps, this is where we find our greatest lesson. Life is work and pain and joy and bliss and tears and struggles. If we are thankful, living in each moment - one at a time - our disappointments will be few and we will be able to bear the weight of it all together.

The October Palace (1994)

In here collection, The October Palace, Jane Hirshfield weaves active, beautiful imagery like breath - expanding outward in the chest, expelled into the wide world, and the pulled back in again. The poem titled "Leaving the October Palace" speaks of returning. That the leaving part of a journey is never really talked about, the return is the only focus:

In Ancient Japan, to travel
meant always away --
toward the capital, one spoke only of return.
And these falling needles and leaves speak of return,
their long labors of green tired finally into gold,
the desire that remembered them into place
prepared at last to let go.
Though not for want of faithfulness --
all that once followed the sun still follows it now,
as it turns away.
The courtiers assemble their carriages, fold up their robes.
By daybreak, the soundless mountains bow under snow.

This expansion of ripples outward toward the edges followed by a returning to the center was the first thing I noted in her poems. Instead of condensing one image to its minutest part, Hirshfield breaks the analogy wide open. While doing so, she chooses repetitive diction, altering the words like a camera lens capturing every angle or like Henry James' "many windows" perspectives in his stories. This was, at first, difficult for me to swall because I don't like to repeat many words within a poem and rarely use a refrain. Hirshfield's diction, though, was not a refrain. In reading the poems out loud, I found that it not only served as a method to imbue the poem with rhythm, but the alliteration and repitition first evoked the image and then pressed it into my sight as if forcing me to see it before moving on.

I looked forward to many rambles through words with Jane.

Funny People (2009)

Movies as candid and honest as "Spanglish" have attracted my husband and I to movies starring Adam Sandler. The trailers of "Funny People" made it a tempting proposition as a way to spend a couple of hours together. Two weeks ago, we sat down for a couple of laughs and a blunt perspective on relationships. Little did we know...

This movie was written by men, for men, in "man speak". Nearly every word spoken is explicit, derragatory, and is in reference to bodily functions and/or anatomy. About fifteen minutes in, my brother entered the room and laughed saying, "This movie is so funny!" I knitted my eyebrows together and asked, "Do guys really talk to each other like this?!" For me, the launguage was so foreign that it was unbelievable until Quinn made a comment that my husband answered in the same language that was on screen. "See, even he knows it!" exclaimed my brother.

The rest of the movie, for me, was like watching an episode of National Geographic.

The storyline wasn't that intriguing or compelling. As a movie - this one is terribly disappointing. But it prompted some thoughts on the expectations (or lack thereof) we have for men, in general. For decades (at least), our culture has been saying that men only have one thing on their mind. Initially, it may have been intended as a warning for our daughters. How could it be anticipated that this untruth would become an excuse to have a public, peer-driven face that is motivated completely by sexual acts? Even my husband, an intelligent, sensitive, and skilled Physics Major knows how and when to wear this mask.

Generations of women have focused on the opening and advancement of opportunities for women, but many of these steps have come in nasty, derrogatory stereotypes generalizing men into a pigeon hole that I do not want for my own sons or as companions and partners for my daughters. If we want to be equal partners, we will have to have greater expectations and know when to stand still - making room for men to step up.

The House of Mirth (2000)

Yesterday, I experience the unsettling and beautiful movie based on a book by Edith Warton. The cinematic version was nominated for and received several awards, but the original publication was met with mixed reviews. America's wealthy felt that it 'impuned the social elite.' Indeed.

Lily Bart is the heroine of the story. She is lovely (played by Gillian Anderson), but naive. Her beauty gains her enemies more quickly than friends. The movie begins with her in the embarrassing situation of needing to marry a wealthy suitor to cover some gambling debts. We never see her play. She says that, "Bridge requires a great deal more brains than I have." And that she is "Penitent." This seems to be an honest assessment of her character. Life in high society is a high stakes game and her innocence and trusting nature fail her at every turn as she becomes prey for those who would use her. However, she also has strong ideas about love and a fortitude in chastity, integrity, and honor that leave one feeling dazzled.

This movie was terribly hard to watch. There was nothing "offensive." (It carries a PG rating.) There was no need for skin or blood or harsh words... the story is very strong on its own. It was heartbreaking to watch someone trying so desperately to live honorably, being crushed - literaly - by the gossip being pumped out by those she would not give in to. No one believed there were innocent circumstances in any case.

Reflecting on why this was so difficult for me (I'm still choking up thinking about it), religion and culture press on us that if you do the right thing, you will be rewarded for it. Hollywood thrives on the underdog story. Work hard, play nicely with others... but, how many find themselves completely shunned for nothing but someone else's vanity?

As a period piece, the costumes are stunning, the study in manner, speach, and lifestyle of this time period are impeccable (doubtless because Warton captured these things flawlessly in her writing). The love story is enchanting, and Lily Bart is a character to both admire and long for.

Six Inches of Space

Last night, at MoJo's, I was surrounded by people I love who regulary nurture the muse. We were listening to a poet and I was snagged by a line in her poem - the title of this blog. I spoke my thought outloud and said, "We should all write something with this title." The reply I received was completely unexpected. Leah, The Sculptor, raised her hand as if measuring the space and raised her eyebrow at Roghaar, The Poet. His thick moustache danced knowingly above his lips, and he nodded back.

I, in a rare bout of innocence, had no idea what the average measure they referred to was until I turned to Google to begin a "found poem". Well, now I know. And here is the result of what I found:

Six Inches of Space

How can we fill it
when locks of love require four inches more?
When this Imperial length
is the difference between a river and a flood?

A good chef's knives don't have to be long.
Even Ben Franklin turned green
in your wallet, looking
down at the stainless steel
stilettos from Sevilla - a smooth rimmed bowl
made of Cherrywood.

The Pentagon's pushing pop icons
to enter
the decision space
of potential soldiers,
and Mr. October taught Hoot Gibson
to make chin music with it.

Global creativity doesn't have to be based
in Mumbai. Dangerously
low-levels of Pringles in Cincinnati
and overnight snowfall in Canton, Illinois
can press -
when six inches
and a coronary are all that separate us.

Somewhere in Bali

Virginia Wolfe said that all women needed to become writers was a room of one's one. I'm fairly certain that to write in this room, I will need a considerably full pocket book as well. But, if you're going to dream... dream it big.

Can't you hear the surf and the salt getting into the pages?!

Thirteen Days (2000)

Bruce Greenwood portrays President Jack Kennedy amid the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962. This movie portrayed the players in this glorified game of Nuclear Chicken with intelligence and intensity. So often today, we the people elect independantly-minded leaders hoping for some integrity and honesty to come through the office only to find that elected officials are pawns to be played on by various lobbyists, constituents, and the media.

One of the most often stated lines in this film was, "what's it gonna look like?!" To the Russians, the American people, or to the world, this Presidency was keenly aware of the possibility of mis-interpretation in whatever move they made. They were also aware of the fact that other men in power would manipulate their position to forward their own agendas. This movie was like watching a multi-dimensional game of chess because the USSR was not the only antagonist. The Generals of various military divisions had their own desire for "payback" against Cuba and intentionally ran military exercises and tests - even bumping up the security level without the President's prior consent.

Thirteen Days gave me an appreciation for honest elected officials that I never had before. It also created a very clear picture for me of what happened next. How much power can a President have? How many chess pieces are left on the board.

Sherlock Holmes (2009)

Dr. Mikel Vause of Weber State University fame is such a fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's characters and story, that he teaches an Emminent Authors class annually on the subject. I was delighted to take part in this online class a couple of years ago when pregnancy made campus attendance an impossibility. This collection of stories is so different from what I usually pick up on my own, that reading and analyzing them helped open up another facet of a beautiful literary diamond. We spent a semester likening Doyle's themes to that of modern cinematography. There was never a dull moment.

With this introduction, I was extatic to find that one of my favorite actors (Robert Downey, Jr.)had been chosen to play Holmes alongside another compelling choice (Jude Law). This action packed thriller included snippets of Doyle's stories woven together - the ginger haired dwarf, the pocket watch that had been often pawned, Watson's engagement, Holmes' experimental drug use - along with details that were unfamiliar, and yet, perfectly fitting. I promise I applauded the moment Watson punched Holmes square in the jaw or when they bickered like the brothers they had become.

A purist may be disappointed in the film. For example, Downey did not actually play the violin once. He held it and plucked it occasionally. My assumption is that with all of his other movie making obligations he didn't have time to learn. This is the one detail that I hope is corrected before another film is made. I learned a long time ago that books and film are distinctly different - each with their own limitations. Watch with that in mind, and, even the keenest of Doyle's fans will not be disappointed.

Pepto-Bismol vs. Jello Water

When I was growing up, my mom stopped buying this stuff to soothe our stomachs and she had apparently never heard of Jello water as a cure for diarrhea. We relied on Kaopectate and 7up to get us through these nasty little viruses. As I became a mother, I learned of the "BRAT" diet (broth, bananas, rice, applesauce, & toast) which is intended to keep small children from dehydration without giving them medicines that may do more harm than good to their innocent intestinal systems. Then, I got married.

I still remember the first time my husband asked me for hot jello water... I thought he was nuts! Jello water? Seriously?! Then I had a stomach flu that I couldn't get rid of and, out of desperation, tried it. There are some specifics to the recipe that one must know. A) The water must be hot enough to dissolve the gelatin. B) Add Jello to taste. C) Drink it before it goes cold or it will consolidate in your straw. Sipping Jell-o water around the clock will settle your stomach and stop the runs when nothing else will. As an added bonus, the flavorful warmth can be very comforting.

And we all know we need something to comfort us on the day when indoor plumbing becomes are closest friend and favorite blessing.