Twenty-nine years ago today my baby brother was born. And I was mortified. At five years of age, I had pretty much everything figured out. I knew what I wanted. And what I wanted was a baby sister. I had specifically requested such. But what did I get? A BROTHER! For the love of God and all that is holy, how could that be?
Yeah, I couldn’t imagine either; but it seemed MOST unfortunate. Especially when he lopped Barbie’s head off, scribbled black permanent marker all over Chatty Cathy’s face, and claimed MY little green army men as his own.
Then there were our different ideas of fun. For instance, I thought playing school was a splendid idea. I, of course, would the teacher while wee boys of the family (I was WOEFULLY outnumbered mind you) would be my pupils. What’s not to love about that? They, however, had other ideas. While I was painstakingly assigning MOUNDS of homework, they were lassoing my legs and performing run-by-shootings (little did I know, some day that would be school).
On and on it goes …
But a funny thing happens the older you get. Suddenly you realize maybe you didn’t have it all figured after all.
I can’t tell you when exactly it happened. All I know is one day I looked at my brother and realized his smile could light up a room. I saw his talent for computers and drafting, storytelling and photography and realized he could succeed at anything he put his hand to. I sensed his humor and realized together we could, quite possibly, be the most hilarious people around! I realized that of all the people in the world, I’d rather be with my “little” brother than just about anyone.
Don’t get me wrong. I still whine. Quite often actually. Only today my whining consists not of having a brother – but that he lives clear across the ocean. I bemoan – not because I have to spend time with him – but because I must rely upon IM, or email, or the tele to do so.
Life has a funny way of turning things around. Twenty-nine years ago, what I thought to be – quite possibly – God’s first mistake, proved to be God’s most precious gift of all. For not only did I receive a sibling, but a friend as well.
AND, for the record, I did receive my sister. Just not as I had imagined. My brother married a wonderful European girl who understands my need for candles and coffee and tea. She’s BEAUTIFUL, smart, funny, kind-hearted, and stronger than she knows. And we love her. Sigh.
You might say I ended up with a two-for-one deal. And that makes me the least bit unfortunate; that makes me the luckiest girl in the world.
*First off, let me just say I LOVE Dear Frankie. It is a beautifully portrayed story of love, hope, and second chances. It’s one of my all-time-favorite films!*
Genre: Drama
The gist: Nine-year-old Frankie (Jack McElhone) moves from place to place, along with his mum (Emily Mortimer) and grandmum (Mary Riggans). Seems the only constant in his life are the letters he receives from his estranged, sailor father. The letters speak of far-off lands and great adventures at sea. But the letters are not really from his father; it is his mother who pens them. She writes the letters to save her son from a horrible truth; she writes the letters to receive his replies and “hear his voice.” When the ship his mother made up is set to dock in seaside town where they are living, his mother must make a choice: tell Frankie the truth, or hire a strange to pose as his father (Gerard Butler) for a day. Her decision will change all their lives forever.
My take: Have I mentioned that I love this movie? Sigh. Seriously. Everything from the screenplay (Andrea Gibb) to directing (Shone Auerbach) is wonderful. The writing is heartfelt and uplifting. Even the scenery/settings reflect the overall feel of the movie. It was obviously made with great care and deliberation, and it shows. All the actors/actresses do a superb job. Of course, I love Emily Mortimer and Gerard Butler – but Jack McElhone deserves special mention due to his wonderful portrayal of young Frankie. I would – and do – HIGHLY recommend this movie. To pretty much everyone.
An aside: I’ve heard a nasty rumor “they” are planning to make an Americanized version of this movie. Personally, I hope the rumor is some sort of cruel joke and therefore simply is not true. For one, Americanized movies are rarely as successful as their foreign counterparts. Secondly, why?! It’s in English for crying out loud. Granted, English with Scottish accents. But still. And since I’m sure EVERYONE reads my blog – I’m just gonna say it … if you’re thinking about doing it, don’t. Back away from the remake … there can be but one Dear Frankie.
I don’t want to be a book snob. Not ever. I think books of all sorts and varieties have the potential of being keepers. And throw-back though I may be, I believe it’s important to read current books as well as the classics, for hopefully, we still posses the soul and ability to write something beautiful and lasting.
That said, I finished my 11th and final Hornblower novel and was ever so excited to begin The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett. After all, I’ve seen so much about the sequel; and Pillars has achieved #1 International Bestseller status. So it had to be GREAT, right? Egads! I’m dyin’ here people!! It’s taken me a good month to get to pg. 262. The sad thing is I really was excited after reading the Prologue. It seemed well written, the suspense kept high. But now, I’m not quite sure what the dilemma is, but it ain’t right. Perhaps the excessive use of odd verbiage. I mean really, did they say “dick” in the twelfth century? This I don’t know, but it bugs me. [If it was common speak, and you know this for a fact, do let me know so I can put it to rest 
] Needless to say, I’m putting the book aside. I’m sure I’ll finish at a later date – after a bit of a reprieve.
In it’s place I’m reading The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Sigh. The prose is so beautiful – even while the subject matter is heart wrenching. The words are paired in such a manner, they dance. And it makes me giddy. So I may very well have a wee streak of snobbery after all …
Speaking of The Kite Runner, here’s an interesting take on the 10 commandments from the main character’s Baba: “… there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft.”
Talk amongst yourselves …
Imagine a boy, born to the rural lands of Pennsylvania. With little formal education, he did what any teenager in his situation would do – he took up an apprenticeship. But the print business was not his forte and he was quickly fired. So he took up another apprenticeship – this time under the watchful eye of a candy maker. Four years he studied his craft. Even then he must have shown promise, for his mother’s family financed a venture all his own – a Pennsylvania candy company. For six long years he worked at the business, but to no avail. Forced to close, he moved out west to Denver. There he took a position with a confectioner specializing in fresh milk caramels. Before long he had moved to New York City, where he opened another candy store. It failed too. So off to Chicago he set, where he opened yet another candy company, only to find it a failure as well.
You know what they say, third time’s a charm. But what happens when it’s not so much? What happens when everything you put your hand to fails; when friends and family begin to question your ability? I mean, let’s be serious. After awhile it gets a bit embarrassing. Not to mention discouraging. Do you give up?
Not Milton Hershey. Milton S. Hershey forged ahead. He may have been nearing thirty, and nearly bankrupt, but that didn’t stop him. With four losses under his belt, he tried once more for a win. Returning to Lancaster, he opened the Lancaster Caramel Company. This time he struck gold. His fifth business was so successful, in 1900 he was able to sell it for a whopping one-million dollars. All so he could focus on his true passion – chocolate. Three years later he returned to the place of his birth to open a new chocolate factory. And the rest, as they say, is history …
So next time we go to drown our defeat in a large vat of Hershey’s chocolate, let us think of the man behind the bar. A man who refused to let his dream die, despite one setback after another. A man who learned from trial and error so that every man might be able to enjoy the smooth, creamy goodness of milk chocolate. A man who used his wealth to build a thriving town, all because he believed his employees deserved better. A man who thought up the “Great building compaign” to add beauty – and countless jobs – during The Great Depression. A man who, though no children of his own, left an ever-growing legacy through schools and educational grants. A man who proves to us still today, that hard work and perseverance have a funny way of turning life’s bitter disappointments to sweet success.
