I had big plans for last weekend; alas, the best laid plans …
The good: Friday afternoon my grama extended the invitation to my mum and I to eat dinner with her at “the home” and then stay for an outdoor concert. I looked out the window and there were showers in them there clouds, but I agreed all the same. It seems the minute we stepped outside the clouds dispersed, the breeze calmed, and the sun shone brightly. One guest said she prayed all week that the weather would hold out for the concert. Looking up at the blue sky – and the happy faces surrounding me – I knew beyond a doubt, God answered her prayers. It was good times had by all. There was popcorn, lemonade, and toe-tapping strings. But it was the interaction between one couple that touched me most. He had been placed in assisted living, she’s still residing in independent living. The nurse wheeled him out and then his wife lovingly took over. She treated him with dignity. When asked if he would like popcorn, she simply replied she didn’t know, but they should ask him. She treated him with care. With the sun to his back, she raised the collar of his pajamas so his neck would not burn. She treated him with love. A pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, a wink - each a small, easy, natural act of love. She treated him, I imagine, as she has always treated him. You could tell, from the way she looked at him that she didn’t see the pajamas, or the wheelchair; she didn’t see the bandanged hands, or age spots; she didn’t see the thinning white hair, or the missing teeth. She saw the boy she fell in love so long ago. It’s so rare that we can glimpse true love – I’m lucky enough to say I have. They are all the luckier to have experienced it.
The ugly: Friday night, not so good. I was smote with the stomach flu. THE STOMACH FLU! Since I have a good few years before I actually dive, head-long, into a detailed account of my ailments, I have but this to say: it wasn’t right. And I have the broken blood vessels around my eyeballs to prove it. Although, come to think of it, it may be more good than bad. Because this morning, when I woke up feeling more like myself and less like roadkill, my first thought was, “I’m ALIVE!!!” This is not usually my first thought, mind you. It usually entails a lot of whimpering, with a grumble thrown in for good measure. So I imagine anything that reminds you how marvelous it is to be alive - especially in the wee hours of the morning – can’t be all bad …
The days of analog television are gone. Sure, it may not have offered the detail of pores or nose hairs, but it provided countless hours of entertainment all the same. So in honor of analog’s service, a trip down memory lane … to a day when science was fun, and techni-color was the latest thing …
Disclaimer: this here’s a festive little ditty, which is always good for a Monday. No need to thank me – that’s just what friends are for. On the other hand, there’s a slight chance it may get stuck in your head FOREVER. So. Profuse apologies for that.
The gist: Carl Fredricksen (voiced by Ed Asner) has always dreamed of grand adventure – of discovering the lost lands of South America. But at 78 it seems all is lost. Then he fools everyone; one morning he unfurls thousands of balloons and he and his house soar up and away from the sadness and disappointment below. But he hasn’t left it all behind. He has a stowaway – 8-year-old Russell (voiced by Jordan Nagai). All Russell wants is to earn his “Assisting the Elderly” badge. Together, they encounter a pack of talking dogs, an evil adventurer, a rare bird named kevin – and discover the greatest adventure of all.
My take: How is it an annimated film can mirror life so realistically? I don’t know either, but Up proves it to be true. The animation is, of course, spectacular in detail – but more than that, it’s the life breathed into each character. Carl and Russell are perfect examples of those easily overlooked in today’s society – children and the elderly. It’s animation. And it’s Oscar-worthy. The screenplay (Bob Peterson and Pete Docter) provides a little something for everyone – action, adventure, romance. You’ll laugh one minute, cry the next. But it is the story that makes the film. And it could not have been released at a more appropriate time. With more and more people breaking their banks simply to survive, it’s good to be reminded what lifts us up and sets us on our own adventure.
An aside: If you are at all prone to tears, take heed. You will bawl. I’m telling you this now so you’ll be prepared – so you won’t have to cry through 3 rough napkins that came with your kids meal, use the front of your hand, the back of your hand, your sleeve, until the gusher takes over and you are forced to grab the arm of the person sitting next to you – panic stricken – and demand “Kleenex! I NEED KLEENEX!!!!” Not that I would know any of this from experience, naturally …
When we think of dime novels today, more than likely all mass-produced pulp fiction from the early 19th century to the first part of the 20th come to mind. The term, however, was specifically derived from the Dime Novel Library, published by Beadle and Adams of New York. They published their first volume June 9, 1860 - Malaeska, the Indian Wife of the White Hunter by Mrs. Ann Stevens. Every month, leading to every two weeks, a new volume was published. Initially, these books were smaller in size with pale orange covers, complete with cover art and illustrations. They were written by well-respected authors. And while the content was full of action, adventure, and romance, it was intended for the whole family – upholding the strong moral values of the age. Over time, however, they became more sensationalized – more gruesome, more vile, more risque. Many argued – and still argue today - that dime novels were key to the breakdown, not only of literature, but society as a whole. Thus dime novels continue to spark the age-old question: is media the cause or merely a reflection?
The last few days were spent in the company of friends. What could be better? Yeah, I can’t think of anything either. Here’s a glimpse at where the weekend took me …
Edwards 21. It was my aunt’s 60th birthday – like a month ago – and let’s just say it hasn’t been her favorite milestone. But by Jove, my mom and I were determined to take her out and have some fun! After endless torment, she finally relented. Lunch and a movie. That was the deal. So off we went … and what better film than “Up” to lift the spirits, right? As my aunt planted her face in her hands, in tears, we thought perhaps we had misjudged. Thankfully, by the end she was gushing that it must be the greatest feel good movie of the year! PHEW! Oh, and for the record, I may be the only person who cried at Die Hard, but such was not the case with this movie. As a matter of fact, I found out yesterday that a friend’s friend – a teenage boy no less – cried. So. There.
Idaho Fry Company. Oh yes, a group of friends and I visited the infamous Idaho Fry Company (Soon-to-be-Something-Else Company because the Idaho Potato Commission is a group of morons - Oooh, did I say that out loud?! Whoopsie – my bad!) After scarfing a burg and yam fries I have but this to say: LOVE! So good … soooooo good! I also tried the purple fries and the shoestring fries – which were like a party in a spud. And the artwork – was it a frog or an alien? – I haven’t a clue, but it was a lot of fun! And I said so – aloud – several times – though no one paid me any mind. Needless to say, if you haven’t paid a visit to the Idaho Fry Company, you must. And while you’re at it, peruse their website. It’s some good times …
Esther Simplot Performing Arts Academy. Our little Noah is all grown up. Sigh. And now I’m saying things that old people … really old people … use to say about me. [SOB!!!] But I digress. So yesterday was his graduation celebration. As he and his friends performed, I kept thinking of when he was this little boy who played this huge cello. See? There I go again! It was good music, followed by good food and good friends. The only downside was my shoes. My shoes killed my feet. When I got home, and plied them off my mutilated extremities, I had shooting pains running through my toes and up my ankle. Something tells me this is not a good sign. Pity, as they are cuter than ever – I may have to relegate them to decoration …
