Searching for Words and Pictures

Perhaps it was made for a general audience.  But I don't think so.  Perhaps it was intended with that narrower appeal of independent films, for those that needn't be hit over the head with blood and guts and explosives and zombies. One could say it was made for the thinkers.  But that would be wrong.  This movie was made for the "feelers";  those of us that hear words and are moved; those that see pictures and our hearts skip a beat; for those of us who hear music and our own heart-songs find a voice.

I believe it was made for me.

What is it?  It is Words and Pictures.  A subtle, understated film packing some star power with Clive Owens and Juliette Binoche, who are unapologetic about getting older.  Rather than trying to disguise their years, they celebrate that age brings with it depth of experience if not always depth of wisdom.  These are flawed characters. These are relatable people. They are ones that we root for despite their lapses in judgment.

The conflict arises in their pursuit to prove to the other, along with their students at a prep high school, which is more powerful, words or pictures. Taking direct affront to the idea that as a picture is often touted as worth a thousand words, the English teacher seeks to show that carefully chosen words can be just as stimulating as a masterpiece on canvas, if not more so.

So what do you think?  Can a picture speak to us the whole story? Is carefully crafted prose or poetry equally able to articulate what is left between the lines?

Or perhaps we can concede that both, Words and Pictures, can fill us with wonder, with anguish, with joy, with love.

This Is My Quest

Funny how life imitates art.

I have always wondered why the familiar quote wasn't the other way around. Doesn't the artist draw inspiration from life, then twist it, bend it, soften it, refine it and produce something elevated from the mundane, coarse, and common?  Oscar Wilde, however, claims that "Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life".

I am becoming a believer.

Recently I have watched as the influence of a song lyric has woven itself into my psyche; it has touched my heart, leaving me at random times with inexplicable tears.  How could the merest suggestion of lyric and melody ring with such truth?  It is just a song and yet it expresses a universal longing.  

Last Christmas I was given a unique gift.  It wasn't the extravagance of the gift that provoked my wonder; it was the complete and utter confidence in me, which it showed, that I have found to be the most profound.  My husband believed in my talent enough to buy me a glass fusion kiln. Through this gesture he has shown his love for me as well as his license to continue forward in adding this new skill to my wheelhouse.

In anticipation of firing up my new toy, I have prepared a beautiful studio.  I have purchased furnishings and supplies which would enable me to create to my heart's content. There is even plenty of workspace to have others join me in playing with glass.

With everything in place, just short of being able to plug in the kiln, I completed the initial stages of my first project.  I was inspired by an image that symbolizes the haunting melody which I have recently found so inspiring. 

Little did I realize that the final task of actually plugging the kiln in would become fraught with roadblocks.  At every turn there have been delays, setbacks, obstacles, and even what seems an insurmountable impossibility. With patience I will press forward, certain that anything worthwhile comes at a greater price. Truly the impossible just takes a little longer.

Therefore, it is a strange paradox that my unfired project is a windmill.

For those familiar with Don Quixote, the windmill is symbolic of a wanderer's impossible quest, something tauntingly just out of reach. In the musical Man of La Mancha, that quest of Don Quixote is described musically with the stirring passion of unfulfilled dreams, and the strength that comes through the search, the patience, the dedication to a quest.

I haven't given up.  Someday soon I will be able to access enough voltage to be able to plug the silly thing in.  I'm not sure exactly what hoops I will have to jump through to do it. Nor how many windmills I must challenge before I am finally triumphant.

To dream the impossible dream 
To fight the unbeatable foe 
To bear with unbearable sorrow 
To run where the brave dare not go 

To right the unrightable wrong 
To love pure and chaste from afar 
To try when your arms are too weary 
To reach the unreachable star 

This is my quest 
To follow that star 
No matter how hopeless 
No matter how far 
To fight for the right without question or pause 

To be willing to march into Hell for an Heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true 
To this glorious quest 
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm 
When I'm laid to my rest 

And the world will be better for this 
That one man scorned and covered with scars 
Still strove with his last ounce of courage 
To reach the unreachable star 

Too Much Jane Eyre

Chick flicks?  Why are they so popular? Why are we such dyed in the wool romantics that we continually gravitate toward fairy tales, novels, movies, anything that stirs our hearts and reminds us we were young once and were viable candidates for the starring role in our own once upon a time?

Our bodies may be old but our hearts are still beating. Is it possible to turn off the romantic spigot that still churns out the desire for palpitations caused by a sideward glance, a too-long gaze, a daydream, a song lyric, a love note?

Must our fairy tale only happen once, then fade away and turn to something predictable and careworn? Is this why marriages are set aside and families abandoned?  Is this why people walk away, searching for a renewal of the dream? This screams travesty and yet the pining seems strong and real enough that sense often is pushed aside in favor of chasing those long lost palpitations.

What is the answer then? Are movies a good idea to replace the longing? Or are they part of the problem?  Are novels an escape, or a too-potent reminder of feelings, delights, drama that are never to play in one's heart again?

Maybe books and movies paint an unrealistic picture of the dream of true love.  Did music really swell in the soundtrack of my own great romance? It seemed to. Did my prince charming really spring onto the scene with heart stopping, breathtaking heroics? That is how the memories play out in my head.

Then why could I ever hope to have them replaced with something new? How could anything new be better than the reality that was?

The problem is my heart still thinks it is young.....

The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

The world needs dreamers.  We have all the efficient, capable, make-things-work kind of people that we need.  We have all the nuts-and-bolts, carry-on, foundation-layers necessary to make the world continue to go around and around and around as it always has and always will.

Where we lack are the frosting-on-the-cake kind of people.  These are they that infuse the beauty and the life and the new ideas into the mundane, prosaic, pedestrian, day-to-day, get-er-done world.

My husband and I watched a movie about one of these dreamers a few nights ago.  This dreamer struggled to fit in.  He was frustrated that others didn't see things the way he did.  He couldn't understand why his efforts and contributions were astonishing to baffled, frightened, bewildered "regular" folk.  Those regular folk didn't seem to see life on the same grand scale that he did, full of vibrancy and beauty. Where they seemed content with the status quo, in carrying on within the bounds set by staid and safe society, he desired to serve and give and share the passion he had for life.

He was Vincent van Gogh.

During his life he managed to give us a body of work that broke free of the formulaic and the expected. The world that he saw, full of dynamic color and energy, has been preserved in some of the greatest works of art treasured by the world today.  At the time, his boldness was misunderstood.  His "Lust for Life," as the movie was called, made others uncomfortable.  They didn't know what to do with this anomaly that couldn't function on their "normal" level.

There are in our midst those capable of offering to the world something extraordinary.  There are those that see possibilities in the impossible; those that carry within them genius and brilliance; they think deeper, feel stronger, love truer. 

And yet.

Maybe they struggle to be understood.  Maybe they don't hear the cadence of the masses, the driving beat of normalcy.  Perhaps they have their own sense of timing.  Tried and true isn't good enough. Why must things be done the way they always have?

Perhaps these unique individuals run on a different time table, often starting well after the masses have already taken off. Perhaps they run best alone, allowing time for introspection and solitude and creativity.

Whose to say that outside of humanity's rat race, a special set aren't enjoying the scenery and serenity of a creative life, while the doers are struggling to keep pace with the real madness of a chaotic world?

The greatest travesty would be to try and chisel off their corners to make them fit in the round hole of normalcy. Let us rejoice in the dreamers in our lives, celebrating them for the sweetness they add to life.  There is a place for the doers.  Let's also make a place for the dreamers.

                                                                                Sunflowers

                                                       Starry Night

"I could have told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you."

To Faith and Fish: Swimming Upstream

Do you ever feel like you are going one way while EVERYONE else is going the opposite direction?  Do you ever feel like you are the odd man out, the square peg in a world of round holes?  Do you ever feel like everyone is flocking to see the latest blockbuster bust-'em-up movie, and you are discovering buried treasure in a quirky, obscure indie film that no one's even heard of?

If you are willing to step out of the expected box and take a chance on Ewan McGregor and Emily Blunt as they work together to bring salmon fishing to the Yemen, then I highly recommend this movie.  It is not filled with superheroes in skin tight suits. There is not one flexed muscle in the whole show, nothing blows up; but there are heroic efforts manifest in unexpected ways, there is affection shown with tenderness while remaining within the parameters of respect and courtesy.

There is genuine friendship showing the promise of budding love. There is coming to understand and embrace the faith that we all must have if we want to break out of the dullness and pedestrian lives that we become locked within. There is beauty, courage, hope and just the right balance of charm and humor.

Sometimes it takes courage to be the one to make the turn and begin swimming upstream.  While everyone else goes with the flow, takes the easy course, great rewards can be found in being the odd man out.

And the lines are much shorter.

Speechless, or Without Words

It has happened twice recently.  I have sat, almost paralyzed, as the credits rolled at the end of a movie, unable or undesirous to comment or even speak.  Two different movies; two different reasons to be speechless.

Last night, in an effort to prepare myself for the upcoming Academy Awards Night, I took my girls to see The Artist.  Not a mainstream kind of movie, it was showing at the local artsy film house, Salem Cinema.  Not a mainstream kind of movie, it was a silent picture; a real throwback to the glamorous days before "talkies" and clever dialogue.  Instead, the story moved along with facial expression, body language, and an occasional word strip.

It was a lovely movie.  All were reminded of the nearly lost art of communication without speech.  With all the verbosity, loquaciousness, and self-centered dialogue commonly found in pictures today, this was delightfully refreshing.  And startling.  And stirring.

And at its surprising conclusion, I didn't want to break the spell.  There was a seemingly magic spell cast upon the audience.  We sat in silence, mesmerized by the occasional music and when it was over, it seemed almost garish and disrespectful to speak and disrupt the hush that had pervaded the theatre.

A few weeks ago, I also sat in a darkened theatre as the end credits rolled.  Again, I found myself in a silent theatre, surrounded by overwhelmed onlookers who hesitated to disrupt the movie magic that had transported us into another world.  This time, though, it was for feelings of reverence, feelings of sorrow, feelings of empathy for a little soul, so tormented by his circumstance that we all silently wept as he finally found a glimmer of joy on a swing in Central Park.

The drive home was nearly silent too.  My husband and I weren't ready to talk about the unique experience of seeing Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

And I don't think I was ready to talk about it the following morning when my daughter asked me about it. The tears began and would not stop as I finally tried to verbalize the movie's tender storyline.  My sorrow, surprisingly, was not for the nation's heartache over the dreadful events of 9-11. It was for a broken little boy.

I think I'm ready now to see something a little more boisterous and rowdy, a real laugh out loud kind of thing.  What a thrilling ride to see nearly the entire list of Best Picture nominations this year, all of them selected for their powerful, effective filmmaking.  Whether I cheered at the end.  Or not.

Wait! Can I Try That Again?

How many of us get a "do over"?  How often do we imagine what we could have said, or what we could have done if we could relive an unsuccessful moment, trying to improve upon its outcome?  Perhaps that is why I am drawn to a certain silly movie.

Through all of Bill Murray's lovable outrageousness, there can be found at the heart of Groundhog Day a remarkable idea.  What if we could try and try again until we get the day right?  What if we could fine tune our actions and our words and our reactions?  What if we could tweak the little things we say, the nuances with which we say them, and the level of service we offer to our neighbors? 

Unlike Murray's character in the movie, Phil Connors, who deals with no consequences from the previous day's mistakes or triumphs, we must live with the fallout from our yesterdays.  Are we learning from them?  Are we taking the time to review what is working and what isn't?  A little self-analysis is invaluable if we allow ourselves to correct our course and try to improve.

My daughter, Miranda, finds herself in a unique situation of getting do-overs, again and again and again.  As a College Program Cast Member at Walt Disney World, her assignment for the next five months is to be a Skipper on the Jungle Cruise in the Magic Kingdom.  This is a unique opportunity to perform the same script, over and over, to new captive audiences every ten minutes.  She also has the freedom to make it her own by inserting her unique personality and her astute observations.

Imagine being able to gauge your performance by the audience's laughter.  Imagine being able to throw in new material to the tried and true jokes, to change it up a little, to banter with the hecklers.  I cannot imagine what I would do in such a situation, nor can I comprehend the courage it would take, nor the grace, nor the poise, nor the mental agility.

And yet.  It does come with the chance to have do-overs, always perfecting, always improvising, always experimenting.  Just like Groundhog Day.

And I suppose, as in the movie when Phil Connors finally gets it right, when Miranda does have the perfect day with the perfect audience, doing and saying everything just how she would like, perhaps then it will be time to move forward, to come home, and to try something new.

Good luck, Sweetheart!  We think you're amazing!!

It's No Trouble

There is an old movie that has become a classic for many.  It features action, romance, humor, tenderness, and just plain old good storytelling.  The lines are clever, memorable, and most importantly, quotable! Many people know whole sections by heart and are quick to recite them if prompted.

One of my favorite parts is the poignant running theme of love expressed by the simple words:  "As you wish".  This lovely phrase becomes synonymous with the often overused words, "I love you". 

This past week I have discovered another phrase that carries just as much affection, just as much devotion, and just as much love as either of these.  It is the humble, unpretentious "It's no trouble".

Frequently when these words are spoken, it is indeed "some" trouble, some inconvenience, some interference with normal circumstance.  But it is the desire to downplay that inconvenience that makes the subtle statement of love. 

May we turn you out of your bed for the night, and make you sleep on an air mattress? 

"It's no trouble."

May we inconvenience you to get up at 4:00 in the morning to drive us to the airport?

"It's no trouble."

May I rest my old bones while you chase a 2-year-old around the house in order to wear her out for bedtime?

"It's no trouble."

These are only a few examples of the way my family serves me.  And it doesn't stop at family.  I have valued friends that are quick to offer help and kindness and comfort when I am in need.  And it is extended with immeasurable love and those simple words that mask the bother or inopportune timing.

It's no trouble.  As you wish.

I love you.

Write Your Own Ending

I am noticing a trend.  Many of the movies I have seen lately seem to end very abruptly.  I mean, like they don't even bother to finish the story.  Really.  Like completely leaving the audience out on a limb with no firm direction on which way things will end. Perhaps this is considered the "artsy" thing to do. Is it the perception of Independent film producers that mainstream movies placate viewers with the "entire" story because of society's inability to think broadly.   We,(collective we) must need everything tied up in a neat, tidy, little package; we apparently lack the imagination to finish the story on our own.

Wait just a minute.  I paid for the ticket.  I entered the theater with the expectation of seeing a movie.  A whole movie; one with a beginning, a middle, and the ever important denouement.  That is just the fancy literary term for "the final resolution of the intricacies of a plot."

Well, lately, instead of walking away with that warm, satisfying feeling of happy resolve, or even sad resolve, I have been getting NO resolve.  And I'm not sure how I feel about it.  Does this mean that I have fallen into step with the masses that need everything done for them?  Have I given up the agency of thinking for myself by insisting that a movie have a conclusion?

Maybe this gives us a glimpse of our impatience with life.  Isn't it human nature to want to know how the story ends? especially our own story?  And yet we don't.  We can't.  How many of us have really gotten the guarantee of a happily ever after?  Gosh, I wish I could.  And yet, everyday when I get out of bed, I become the director of my own motion picture.  I get to make wardrobe decisions, set decisions, cinematography decisions, even casting decisions.  Ultimately, all the decisions remain with me.  The buck stops here.  I can make excuses, or try and place blame, or feel sorry for myself.

Nah.  That is the coward's way out.  I believe I do prefer to think for myself, to imagine how life could be and then take the steps to see it through.  Will it mean that there will be times of unsettled limbo? Wondering what comes next, or who will win?  Of course.  But it also means that I get to decide who will ride into the sunset with me.


Life's like a movie, write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We've done just what we set out to do.
Thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you. ;-)

Jane's Tale of Woe

I consider myself an expert.  I consider myself a super fan.  I feel ownership; I feel custodianship; I feel like they should have consulted me on their project!

I wonder, wonder, wonder.  For whom were the producers making the most recent adaptation of Jane Eyre?  Were they making it for those like me (and I know I am NOT alone)?  Or were they making it for those that are curious and want to know what all the fuss is about?

Were the glaring gaps left because the filmmakers knew I would be able to fill them all in with my previously acquired knowledge of the story?  What about all the first-timers?  Are they to be left with the impression that the only joy must come through one's own imagination?  Why, why, why did it have to be soooo gloomy, and soooooo austere, and sooooooo heartwrenching?  And this is coming from the queen of heartwrenching.  I love books and movies that successfully pull my heartstrings to hurt and to ache and to pine.  I crave this stuff.

But on the other hand, throw me a few crumbs of joy.  Please!  A love story cannot be exclusively built upon a few passionate conversations.  It comes from the day to day experiences, wherein we laugh, we work, we eat, we enjoy life.  The profession of affection comes too abruptly and without enough evidence to make it believable.

Still, it is a masterpiece of filmmaking.  Visually, it is stunning.  And the few tidbits of Spring color are welcome relief for weary eyes, amidst all the darkness and sparsity.

It stars the brilliant Mia Wasikowska as Jane, and Michael Fassbender as Rochester.  Their chemistry is real, but the script doesn't allow them enough lattitude to explore it or capitalize upon it.

The story of Jane Eyre is not all gloom and doom.  Period.  And yet one would believe it is if this were the only exposure to the story one has had.  May I suggest then, for a more positive experience, one might try:

1)  the book, itself, by Charlotte Bronte

2) the original 1944 version with Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine

3) or the 1996 version with William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg

4) or the 1997 version with Ciaran Hind and Samantha Morton

5)  or the 1983 version with Timothy Dalton and Zelah Clarke

6)  or the 2006 version with Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson

Each one adds a new dimension to this timeless tale.  Each Rochester is irresistable in his own unique way.  Each Jane is a symbol of courage and integrity, which is the real reason this book lingers in the top of my all-time favorites list.  She may be put upon, harshly dealt with, yet she never loses sight of right and wrong and self-respect.  She makes no excuses and I admire that.

Weak Things Can Become Strong

Given the heads-up by my daughter, Jackie, that it had been re-released as a PG-13 version, Brian and I immediately found time in our schedule to see "The King's Speech", this year's darling of the Oscars.

It held us spellbound the entire two hours, while being completely devoid of thrills, action, or explosions.  Instead, it reached into the reservoir of our own insecurities.  Who isn't able to identify in some way with this portrayal of a man faced with an unfortunate deficiency?

I was reminded of the great scripture from the prophet Moroni, found in the Book of Ether, Chapter 12.  He had expressed his concern to the Lord about his inadequacies, fearing the mockery of men.  The Lord reassured him that it is these very things that make us feel so lacking that can become our strengths if we learn to rely upon Heaven for help to overcome them.

"And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness.  I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them."(Book of Mormon, Ether 12:27)

It also made me think of the great Apostle Paul, who humbly admits to his own "thorn in the flesh", which "thing (he) besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from (him)."  In similar words which He spoke to Moroni, the Lord tells Paul:  "My grace is sufficient for thee:  for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

Recognizing that trials and weaknesses do, indeed, turn us to the Savior in humility, Paul then rejoices in his weakness:  "Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake:  for when I am weak, then am I strong." (2 Corinthians, 12:7-10) 

I love the zeal with which Paul approaches things, even to the point of rejoicing in his infirmities.  Bless his heart!  I'm not sure I am at that point, but I do recognize that the power of the Lord can aid us in overcoming weaknesses and making up the difference when we fall short.

I would encourage you to see this edited version of The King's Speech. It will certainly become a classic of uplifting and inspiring filmmaking.  I must warn of strong language, but unlike most movies that throw it in gratuitously, the strong words in this case actually do help move the story along.

And Colin Firth makes a lovely king.

I didn't faint! Yay for me!

I have a confession to make.  I'm a fainter.  I faint at the mere suggestion of blood and gore and crunching bones.  I have a history of fainting in movie theaters.  I have fainted in doctors' offices, basketball games; well, you get the idea.

Brian and I have been anticipating seeing the remake of the old John Wayne movie, True Grit.  This evening we got our chance and enjoyed it very much.  Nice throwback to the old Westerns, but naturally they had to update it with a generous helping of blood and gore so it would fit into the taste of present day moviegoers.

I have gotten very adept at covering my eyes, plugging my ears, and trying to block out the images that my imagination replaces for the ones I am not seeing.  The power of suggestion is a powerful thing.  Success!  I was able to stay for the whole movie.

By most standards this is quite a tame movie.  For me, I feel triumphant that Brian didn't have to scoop me off the floor.

And I did miss Glen Campbell and the old sountrack....

"Slowly, Sister, Slowly!"

One of the most vividly contrasting scenes in the Sound of Music is towards the end when the Von Trapp family is hiding in the church from the Nazis.  While the soldiers are speedily pursuing there is fast-paced chase music which sets everyone on edge due to the tenseness of the situation.  Then, as the nuns are summoned to the front gate, the music changes, and they purposefully, with great effort, endeavor to slow their pace, slow their speaking, slow their movement to indicate peace and tranquility and calm.

We could learn a lot from a nun.  Even in the midst of haste and hurry, the best way to  find peace may be to manufacture a little of it by slowing our pace and slowing our heartrates, and "pretending" we are calm.  During these times in our lives when the winds may blow and storms may rage, we find ourselves in the middle of it all, struggling for some type of reprieve or relief.  Generally we find that the answers do not come as we expend our energy furiously treading water; we only get more anxious and more tired and more desperate.  Perhaps the most radical move is to gently turn onto one's back and peacefully, slowly, begin to swim toward the shore and remove ourselves from the situation.  We purposefully slow our heartrate; change our plan; recognize what our body and soul are telling us.

I picked up a book today.  It has been within arm's reach of my desk for the past month, unnoticed and untouched.  Until today.  After calling my name to pick it up, its counsel rang with such truth to me.  It spoke of this conscientiously slowing down life's pace; of how as a society we are driven to accomplish, to please, to produce, to perfect, all at the mercy of our peace.

The book reminds us of the wisdom in doing fewer things, while taking the time to make the most of those we choose to do.  It encourages us to "walk a little slower and notice a little more, drive a little slower and be more aware of what is around you.  You will only lose a few seconds, and you will start to win the battle against haste and hurry."

I believe we should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, but not to the degree that "anxious" becomes "anxiety".  We needn't run faster than we have strength.

My goals for the new year are to walk slowly and think slowly, trying for more awareness and perspective--to see more, feel more, and to look for more quality and less quantity in my activities, my relationships, and my goals.

My favorite quote from Dr. Bridell's Logical and Rational and Poetic and Beautiful and Completely Guaranteed Eat-Half Diet for ALL your Appetites book, and what I intend to take to heart is this:

"Let that kiss for your loved one take a little longer.  Look into a person's eyes and hold the hand a second longer when you greet someone.  Sit down and take a look around you for a moment before you start a piece of work....Slow thinking is intuitive and creative.  Slowing down and giving ideas times to simmer at their own pace yields rich and subtle insights, leading to lateral thinking and serendipity."

Sounds like a chance I am willing to take.

What Can You Do With a Bishop

...when he stops being a bishop?  I took a little creative license and borrowed lyrics from a song.  Hopefully most of you caught the reference to the movie White Christmas with Bing Crosby.

Of course in the movie the dilemma actually dealt with a displaced General, but I think a bishop also fits.  As my husband was only just released from his calling, we haven't felt the real impact of the change yet.  But I anticipate that we will. 

Imagine having him home most evenings.  Imagine having him home most Sundays.  Imagine not getting phone calls round the clock from those needing help, counsel, or a ride to church. 

I'm trying to imagine such things.  I do know that it will be a welcome adjustment.  If anyone has a suggestion for new hobbies, I'm sure he would be open to hearing them.

Speaking of great old movies (and Miranda says Everything in life has a movie reference), not once in the entire 5 years that I was The Bishop's Wife did I receive a personal visit from Cary Grant.

I've Had a Craving

Ever since I stumbled upon a movie on Netflix last week, I have had a craving for tapioca pudding.  Really.  And it wasn't a craving that could be satisfied even by Kozy Shack. 

The movie is called New in Town, starring Renee Zellweger and a personal favorite, Harry Connick Jr.

I'm not sure how I missed this movie when it came out.  It is particularly a find because it is only rated PG.  There are several things, besides Harry, that drew me in.  Being set in winter in Minnesota, it reminded me in many ways of my Idaho winters while I was in high school.  Vanity was traded in for big warm coats, boots, mittens, hats.  Just battling the cold becomes the main objective.  Been there.

I was also able to enjoy the poking fun done at scrapbookers and busybody moms.  Hmmmm.  I can relate to those also. 

One of those busybody moms, Blanch, loved to make tapioca pudding.  For her, it was just the thing for whatever ails you.  It could bring comfort and warmth even on the worst, coldest day.

I found a website for New in Town, which is entertaining by itself.  It includes several fun things, including Blanch's recipe for Tapioca Pudding.

You know what?  I made a batch of homemade tapioca and it is delicious; much better than anything full of preservatives.  Just the thing for whatever ails you, "doncha know"?

Be Careful How You Wish

I have the best family.  They are so sensitive to my needs.  And last night, I needed someone else to make dinner, and I needed a free evening of mindless, light entertainment without election results, or other frustrating distractions.

So Brian and Miranda went through the drive-thru at KFC and brought home comfort food.  Perfect.  And Brian's Executive Secretary purposely did not schedule any appointments for Brian so he could stay home, put his leg up and get some rest.

And Miranda had stumbled upon The Incredible Mr. Limpet on Netflix, so we all sat down together as a family and watched a favorite movie from my childhood.

Now, this may seem hardly noteworthy.  But as the end credits of the movie were rolling, playing a song called "Be Careful How You Wish," I couldn't help but feel a little that it was singing just for me.

If you aren't familiar with this movie, first of all, I recommend it.  It is about an unfulfilled man looking for a way to contribute.  He feels like, well, like a fish out of water, questioning where he fits in and what he has to offer.  He is discouraged and wishes he were a fish because as he perceives, they must have happy, carefree lives.

Henry Limpet's life soon changes very drastically from what it was before.  It is filled with drama, confusion, discovery, new friendships, heroism, and self-satisfaction.  His wishes may have been fulfilled in ways he could never have foreseen, but he came to realize that they were in his best interest.

Have your "wishes", or your prayers ever been answered in unforeseeable ways?  Perhaps in ways that have taken you off guard?  Some of life's greatest tests are usually in answer to our seeking for change, or longing for new challenges.

Be careful what you wish for....

Yes, We already know who wins.

No, history is not rewritten.  The astounding Triple Crown victory of the 70's is honestly depicted and anyone that is at least my age watched the true story unfold in real life.  Then why make a movie that everyone already knows how it will end?

Because it is one of the great stories of our day.  It is just plain exciting to cheer that beautiful horse on, already knowing that somehow he will find a way to move up from last place to first, because we all remember when he did.  It is inspiring to see someone have a dream and run the whole race to see it through; to not give up when the odds aren't in her favor, or when logic and reason would tell her to quit.

Life is full of naysayers, trying to bring us down, telling us it "can't be done."  I appreciate an uplifting family movie, one that is full of action and excitement, and yet is also full of hope reminding us that dreams are attainable.

Take your family to see "Secretariat: The Impossible True Story," from Walt Disney Pictures.  You will walk away smiling.  I promise.

Lancelot and Guinevere: Reunited

At the recommendation of my daughter, Erica, I went to see a movie she promised me I would love.  I did.  It is one of the most charming movies I have ever seen.  It is refreshingly chaste, focussing on delightful characters and their sweet relationships with one another.  It successfully sells Italy as the most lovely, romantic place in the world.  It is Letters to Juliet.

Years ago I began the hobby of paying attention to movie credits.  I found that there were often stories within stories that could be discovered by a little extra consideration to detail.  Imagine my surprise and delight as I read in the opening credits that starring in the movie was not only Vanessa Redgrave, whom I already was aware of, but also Franco Nero.  I was thrilled!  How profound.  How ironic.  How exciting. 

Why, doesn't everyone know that Franco Nero played Lancelot du Lac to Redgrave's Guinevere in the 1968 movie version of the musical Camelot?  I knew it, and had tucked that little tidbit away as a souvenir of arguably the most stirring portrayal of star-crossed lovers ever on film.  I cannot condone their adultery, but I can swoon over their chemistry, their beautiful music, and their contagious agony and heartache.  What I didn't know was that there was even more to the real-life story that I had yet to discover.

The movie stars Redgrave as a woman whose letter expressing regret at leaving her Italian love to return to Britain is found behind a loose brick at Juliet's Verona house, a famous tourist spot and romantic pilgrimage. Redgrave's character seeks out her left-behind love, named Lorenzo, with the help of a young tourist who stumbles on the long-lost letter and decides to respond to it, 50 years after it was tucked behind the bricks.

Lorenzo is played by Franco Nero, and the movie's tale of young love abandoned and then rediscovered after decades echoes his real life love story with Vanessa. The pair met on the set of "Camelot" in 1967, had a son Carlo, and went their separate ways until finding each other again years later,  and marrying in 2006.  As years before, their chemistry is still undeniable, and suggests that time and space are inconsequential as they relate to the connection of two souls; that when heart speaks to heart, little else matters including 50 years worth of wrinkles and gray hair. 

In an interview with Nero about the movie and his rekindled relationship with Redgrave, he recounts some dialogue from Letters:  "She says a wonderful line, 'Sorry I'm late,' and I answer, 'When we speak about love, it's never too late.'"

Treat yourself to a sweet gift.  See this movie with someone that won't mind if you have trouble holding in the joy or the tears.  You're welcome.

Outing an Obsession

Those that know me well will smile.  Those that are only now discovering me may be a little surprised.  I have an obsession.  A Hornblower obsession.

And it isn't just because the recent Hornblower movies on A&E featured the fascinating Ioan Gruffudd.  I am equally drawn to the Captain Hornblower of old, played by Gregory Peck.

One evening, years ago, my husband called me into our bedroom where he was watching the A&E channel.  He said he had found something I might like, knowing I am a big fan of historical fiction.  It was a movie about a young man who had enlisted in the British Navy and was prone to seasickness.  He was a man of integrity, and though not perfect, he would not compromise his honor; he was courageous, and loyal, and quickly rose from being green with nausea to being a formidable crew member.  As quickly as he learned to scale the lines of the ship, he also escalated in his ranking.  When we first meet Horatio Hornblower, he is a midshipman.  By the eleventh and final book of the series, he becomes Admiral in His Majesty's Navy.

I know this because I was immediately hooked.  I now own all the movies ever made about Horatio Hornblower.  I own and have read all the books in C.S. Forester's series.  I have a book that showcases the making of the movies.

I have a fictitious biography, written by a fan of Forester's legendary character.  See?  I'm not the only one that shares the obsession.  Imagine a character so compelling that fans are even speculating and constructing a potential reality.

While I did not get swept up in the latest vampire craze, I have to admit to my weakness for this man in uniform; the one that uses his brilliant mind and courageous soul to outwit Bonaparte; the one that puts his honor and duty above his personal needs;  the one that stands watch and protects me from behind the door of my scrapbook room...

Sadder But Wiser

One of the most well-known, and probably the most re-produced musical of all time is The Music Man.  I love The Music Man.  Like most of you, I, too was in a production of The Music Man in high school.  Good times.  Happy memories.  I especially love all the sing-a-long songs, and know them all by heart.

There is one song by Harold Hill and his buddy Marcellus that always seemed a little pessimistic to me, compared to the other songs; it is Sadder But Wiser Girl.  Harold sings of his preference for the woman who has been around the block a time or two, has learned that life isn't always as one imagines, and has had to become a little hardened by life's lessons.

I have come to believe that one can't go through life without becoming a little sadder, but hopefully a little wiser too.  We are always learning.  We are always having new experiences that affect us for good or for ill.  Each day yields new lessons.  I find it so interesting to go back through old journals to see how far I have progressed; to see how naivete' has been replaced with insight, increased understanding, and sometimes even disappointment.  We may have had our eyes opened to the starkness of reality, but with that knowledge of good and evil, hopefully we are also gaining wisdom.

We may learn who our friends really are.  We may learn on whom we can rely.  We may learn what our thresholds are, for pain, for endurance, for criticism.  We may learn where we can turn for unconditional love.  We may learn of strengths we never knew we had.  We may learn of untapped resevoirs of courage, of stamina, of patience.

In our learning, hopefully we are also expanding our capacity to be sympathetic to others who are also learning life's often painful lessons.  Hopefully we are more quick to lend a hand to someone struggling, and that we can empathize with those who are sadder but wiser for any number of reasons.

When the Savior Jesus Christ came to this earth, one of the main purposes was to learn firsthand how difficult mortal life really is, so that He would then understand "how to succor his people according to their infirmities." (Alma 7:12)  And as we read in John 11:35, the Savior was also not above sadness and on occasion was known to weep. 

Sometimes in life, we are all a little sadder because of lessons learned, but this needn't mean that we have taken a step away from God.  The prophet Alma "began to be very sorrowful; nevertheless the Spirit of the Lord did not fail him."(Alma 4:15)  I am thankful for the comfort promised by the Savior in Matthew 11:28,29;  "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls."

What a tremendous promise.