the dream life

Our weekend winds down

House cleaning. Writing. Weeding. Organizing.

My three-day weekend contained none of these things.

Today, instead of addressing the dishes and dust, we checked out bike trails around town,  ate food, and drank pink sparkling lemonade. 

We had plans to go to a cookout this afternoon, but it was canceled leaving us with the question of what to do. 

It is not an easy thing for Tracy, who loves to go the movies, to convince me to go. For one thing, he likes to see action films and I really don't. For another thing, I don't like the idea of being contained in a theater, especially if the sun is out. This afternoon, however, the sky threatened rain and I was persuaded by Tracy's intense desire to just please, please, please go to the movies.

After scanning trailers, I wanted to see The Visitor or Young and Heart. Tracy wanted to see Indiana Jones or Iron Man (which he's already seen). We compromised and decided to see Baby Mama, because we both love Tina Fey. I took a shower and when I came back downstairs, he said, "I've got it. I know the movie you want to see."

So he took me to Then She Found Me.

Even though Tracy often teases that I drag him to Hugh Grant movies, Hugh Grant, though I do like him a lot, is not one of my major crushes. Colin Firth is, and Colin Firth was in our movie tonight along with Helen Hunt and Bette Midler. It was a good movie. A really good movie. We loved it, in fact.

It was still light when we came out. We had dinner (mmmhmmm, more food), came home, and somehow it's after ten o'clock and I have a warm sleeping pug in my lap.

Not a bad way to wind up the weekend, really.

Gettin' back to where I once belonged

Since the first time I met Tracy's friend Jeff, I've wanted to go hear his band (I feel compelled to mention that as much as I deeply, deeply love the John Hughes contributions to film, when I watch Sixteen Candles as an adult, I am stunned by the character of Long Duk Dong, which has to be one of the most offensive presentations of Asian stereotype ever. This is just an aside, and I'm certainly not blaming the band for that...so, anyway.) I've wanted to hear them for a long time. First of all, I just really like Jeff a lot and second of all, they are an 80's cover band. They are, in fact, Lexington's premiere 80's band.
They play frequently at an Irish bar that's near our house and I routinely check their website to see when they're playing and I suggest that we go, but then we do whatever else we have to do and by the time 9 p.m. rolls around, we are either too exhausted or already wearing pajamas or actually in bed. Tracy doesn't drink at all and I drink alcohol about three times a year, so we just don't find ourselves in bars very often (even though I like bars for the darkness, the neon signs, the appetizers and the people watching.)
But last night, we went on a date.
Chad and Chloe graciously offered to take us out to thank us for a recent babysitting gig and even though we feel no thanks are necessary for that, and even though we really wanted to pay our own way, we were thrilled to go out as adults and have a time together. We knew we would go to Nagasaki. (Yes, I know that fish are not vegetables. The fact that I have allowed a little bit of fish back into my diet is the subject of another post) then we would do something fun like Karaoke or bowling or some such thing. So, of course, I checked the Long Duk Dong schedule, and they were playing.
Last night we headed out to Nagasaki and had a great meal.

(Although, I didn't pay attention to what I was doing and ordered up a bunch of expensive rolls. Sorry, Chad and Chloe), then, we actually did a little grocery shopping. I'm not lying. We needed some essentials so we stopped by Fresh Market and got them. Then, we went to O'Neill's. The timing was actually perfect. We got there just before the band was set to go on. The place was pretty well packed, but we found a table. The bartender immediately brought us a sample shot of Ale8 and Knobb Creek slushie. Since, like Tracy, my brother doesn't drink, and my sister in law doesn't do bourbon, I was the only taker. I didn't even drink all of it (and it was a shot), but that wasn't because it didn't taste delicious. This is all just to say that we aren't your typical partiers.
But, we sure did have fun.

The show began with 80's videos - some that I'd forgotten about but love like the Eurythmics Here Comes the Rain Again-and that immediately lulled me into an 80's reverie that made me feel really weird in a really good way. Then the band came on with a light show and they were so good. The thing that makes them so good is that they are a great band. They aren't getting by on a gimmick. They are seriously good musicians and can genuinely deliver the songs they play and the songs they play are - you know - the songs that people of a certain age remember in a certain way.
As Chloe put it, "I feel like I'm in my bathroom, there's a few inches of snow on the ground, and I'm hot rolling my bangs."
Exactly.
The crowd was a mix of people who were in their twenties during the 80's, people who were in their teens during the 80's, and people who were little bitty babies during the 80's, and we all grooved on the 80's vibe, remembering our memories and singing along. As I watched the dancing that was going on next to the stage, I saw for the first time in a long time, dancing that I know how to do. You know, high school dance dancing. I can't express how happy that made me. It was good, good stuff.
We left by 11 so that Chad and Chloe could relieve their sitter, so Tracy and I were actually home and in bed at a reasonable hour.
Next time, I'm going early, and getting a table up front.

We don't get it

Warning: This post is going to make me sound cranky and out of touch. Maybe I can offset that a bit by telling you that I don’t like censorship. If you ask me, TV after 8 p.m. is fair game. If I’m downloading a song and there’s a clean and explicit version, I download the explicit version just on principle.
Personally, I’m hyper sensitive to violence and anguish so I don’t watch tv shows or movies that are excessively violent or pessimistic, that include scenes of torture or rape, or anything where something bad is going to happen to a child or an animal, but I feel it’s my responsibility as a viewer to turn off the things I don’t want to see. I don’t think it’s anyone else’s responsibility to make television, or the movie screen, a happy place for me.
I think movie ratings can be a huge detriment to film makers and I’d like to see a move toward a less restrictive more informative system. I can pretty much tell from previews and marketing whether or not a movie has too much of what I don’t want to be exposed to and I sort of resent the idea that some governing body somewhere is deciding what’s appropriate for a 13 year old and what isn’t. If I had children, for instance, I’d be way more concerned about their exposure to the many varieties of cloaked and overt sexism and racism that run rampant through the media than I would be nudity or language.
So now that you know where I stand on things, here comes the cranky part.
My eldest niece, who is four, is familiar with the book Horton Hears a Who! and likes it. My grandmother, who discovered Dr. Seuss through the nieces, is familiar with the book and loves it. A couple of weekends ago, we decided a family outing to the movie theater to see the Horton movie would be big fun. Ava was excited to go with us and we were excited to take her and we had the nicest time in the car just chatting and being together and basking in the sweet wonderfulness that is “four.” Four is a beautiful age, and Ava is a fantastic one. Her wisdom and compassion never fail to astonish me. She’s always ready with a compliment. (If you’ve never sat down next to your four year old niece and had her say, “Wow, you smell nice,” then you really haven’t lived.)
So, we planned our food purchases (popcorn, Twizzlers, gummi bears) and bought our tickets. Ava asked if she could sit in my lap, and I gladly obliged. The previews had already started by the time we sat down and the first one was for the new Pixar movie. It included one rather major gun blast and a lot of what I think of as generalized fear. I felt uncomfortable knowing that Ava was seeing it because I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, the way it was making me feel uncomfortable. The next was for Speed Racer. It was loud and sort of aggressive and there was some sexual innuendo, but nothing too offensive. The next one was for an animated movie, Kung Fu Panda. The entire trailer involved kicking and punching, and not just in a martial arts context, but worse than that, the characters were really awful to each other. They were just mean and the jokes all seemed to be centered around the main character getting hurt. The next preview, for Ice Age 3, was more of the same and ended with a frightening, roaring dinosaur.
Finally, the movie started and I was relieved that the previews were over. I know the story of Horton, but I also know the tone of Seuss. Surely, I thought, the movie would be appropriate for a four year old.
But I was soon disappointed.
Los Angeles Times Staff Writer Carina Chocano said it very well:

...it tries too hard to act cool around the other animated movies, which, for some reason, still swear by the sardonic, pop culture-laden, celebrity-voiced, sitcom-cadenced corporate-speak that keeps trying to pass as humor. When in this mode, "Horton Hears a Who!" compulsively undermines its own message of dedication, respect and perseverance. "An elephant's faithful one-hundred percent," Horton says at one point. Then he lowers his eyelids wearily, puts on a funny voice and drawls, "That's my co-o-de. My mot-to. . . . " So much for sincerity.

There were moments of Horton that were funny and moments that were magical-looking, but overall the tone was harsh and sort of mean. I would have noticed it, but perhaps not cared as much if Ava had not been sitting on my lap, but since she was, each pointed jab, each slap of pain, each episode of nasty name calling stuck my straight in the heart.

When the black-bottomed eagle Vlad entered the picture, it was all too much for Ava. Too dark. Too angry. She suggested that we leave, so we did.
That input, seeing all of that content that's marketing for children, made me think.
The trailers we saw, you could certainly argue, are meant for older children, but Horton Hears a Who!, it seems to me, ought to be just right for a four year old. Maybe Ava and I are in a minority. In fact, I suspect that we are, but we don't think it’s funny to be cruel. We don't think it’s funny when sympathetic characters are mocked and harmed. We don't think that extreme peril is the only story there is, or that characters need to be either immensely “good” or immensely “bad.”
In the car, Ava said, “Maybe when I’m more growed up, I can see movies like that.”
It was exquisitely heartbreaking. I hope not, I thought. I hope you always have the sensibility that you have now. I hope your heart is always just as out of step with that sort of thing as it is in this moment.
“I’m as growed up as you can get,” my grandmother said, “and I didn’t like it either.” Then, she added, “You should always say what you think, Ava. You don’t have to like something just because other people like it.”
And that, really, is the truth about our day. It was a good outing even though we didn’t like the movie. We enjoyed being together and we went to Krispy Kreme and watched donuts being made

and ate donuts and everything was fine. So maybe you could say that Horton Hears a Who! just wasn’t the movie for us, but the experience made me think.
I've never been one to blame "the media" for things, but I had to wonder as I watched the animals in Kung Fu Panda casually punching one another in the stomach, tossing out phrases like, "you suck," how much all this mildly violent, sarcastic storytelling is sinking into young minds and bodies and relationships, informing those playground moments that seemingly come out of nowhere. Maybe we are, in subtle and not so subtle ways, guiding our children down a path of big-man-on-top, winner-takes-all, nastiness in the name of entertainment and that makes me sad.
Ava and I are waiting for a Charlie and Lola movie.

A weekend with the force

It's been a strange sort of weekend around here - one where things happen and time passes but it seems like there's no time, or that everything is happening quickly.
On Saturday, I did my first Reiki healing session for another person and I was honored that the other person was my own beloved. It was a pleasant, relaxing experience for both of us and I'm looking forward to continuing a practice of healing with him. (Maybe you can convince him to guest blog and tell you about it.) Other than that, it seems the whole day was consumed with cake baking and birthday partying. That can't be true, but if I did something else, I can't remember what it was.
Tracy and I spent this morning with the girls, then we came home and dealt with flood-damaged belongings for a couple of hours. This involved sorting through wet, ruined, mildewed things, piling them into garbage bags and carrying the bags up the rickety basement steps (I didn't do that part). When we'd had enough of that, Tracy helped me do my taxes (I only had a couple of small breakdowns), I completed some other required tasks, and here we are. Day over.
Of course all there is to it is never really all there is to it.
This weekend has also been punctuated by the original Star Wars trilogy - A New Hope on Friday night, The Empire Strikes Back last night, Return of the Jedi tonight. (My method of watching Star Wars is to ask Tracy a lot of questions - "Who is the Emperor? That face that sometimes talks to Darth Vader?", "Why does Darth Vader wear the mask?", "How did Luke and Leia get separated in the first place?", "Did that look like Fraggle Rock to you?", "Were the Star Wars movies based on books or are the books based on the movies?", "How much of the Star Wars movies do you think George Lucas had in his head before he made the first one?", "Do all Jedis disappear like that when they die, or just masters?","Did that green woman get eaten?", "What did Yoda just say?" That sort of thing.)
Even though I don't particularly like movies about wars and space and all that good vs. evil jazz, I've found that I like watching these because they're tied to my childhood in a particular way and I like revisiting that territory, especially with Tracy (perhaps exclusively with Tracy) and that realization leads me to the other thing about this weekend.
Because he knows I'm working on my big genealogy project (I want to know everything about everyone I'm related to in all directions of time), my dad let me borrow his mother's family bible for a few days so that can scan things and copy lists of names and dates. My grandmother has kept the family record in this bible - births, deaths, marriages. It's filled with newspaper clippings, photographs, florist's cards - history.

It's an incredible thing to turn the pages and know there's so much information there and mostly information that I can't see, but can only feel. I'm grateful to have a few days with it and honor my connection to the flow of time.

39

Tracy and I stayed up late on Thursday night. We did watch Say Anything and that sparked conversations that went on until the wee hours while Woody smacked his mouth and rustled and sighed and wished that we would just be quiet before he finally gave up and fell asleep.
So I was tired yesterday and walked around with a dirty-hair pony tail, even though it was my birthday, and really thought quite a lot about just coming home and going to bed, but that’s not what I did.
I changed clothes instead and we went out to dinner at Natasha’s.

It was a lovely meal and a good place to be. We had a view of Main Street as the sun went down and sat beneath my favorite stained glass.

All day I was showered with gifts and surprises and cards and gestures and even a singing telegram. (Your personal thank you's are coming and heartfelt, but now please accept this group thank you and know how deeply it touches me -- all of the kind wishes.)
Back at home, Tracy gave me his presents - a very cool wooden village on garden stakes for the yard and a salt lamp.

A salt lamp, I'm so happy to finally have one. As I type, it sits glowing beside me, releasing negative ions into the air, contributing to my well being.
I tried to watch Sixteen Candles with him last night, but I feel asleep at the dance -- right about the time the freshman boys were lined up to see the female underwear.
This morning, I'm still tired, but Woody has an appointment with some nail clippers and a bottle of shampoo, I have cupcakes to buy, and tonight the celebrations will continue at my parents' house.
I'm grateful for my life and all of you who are in it.

Chocolate overload

I love Valentine’s Day, not the commercial one with the expensive diamonds and sweeping romance and expectations that no mortal could live up to– the other one that we just invent as we go along.
It's not that I don't love the pink stuff and the hearts because of course, of course, I do,

but I believe in keeping V-Day low key and letting it unfold naturally. I don’t expect it to be perfect or big, I just expect it to be wonderful (which is what I expect of every day) and it always is.
Sometimes we tell ourselves that love has limits, but that's not true. Love is vast. There is so much more than enough love to go around in this world – there is as much of it as we could ever need and more – and it belongs to everyone – not just couples – everyone.
To me, that's what this day is about - focusing on love in all of its forms, remembering that everything else is illusion, dropping everything else for a couple of minutes and letting the heart chakra do its thing.
Rachel brought heart collages to KaPow! today and we got to see Sarah’s sweet boy Tom all decked out in a little red outfit.
This week was particularly busy for me and my household so the kitchen is kind of a wreck and things just aren’t as sparkling as I’d like them to be and dinner tonight was pasta with sauce from a jar, but I did make homemade peanut butter cups.

(They're super easy - just smoosh together some natural peanut butter, confectioner's sugar, a little bit of butter, a dash of salt. In another bowl melt some chocolate chips and candy bar pieces with a little bit more peanut butter.

From the label: Divine chocolate is made only with the finest quality Fairtrade cocoa beans from Kuapa KoKoo, a cooperative of smallholder farmers in Ghana. The cocoa is grown in the shade of the tropical rainforest, and slowly fermented and dried in the sun by the farmers, who take great pride in the chocolate company they co-own. Choosing delicious Divine gives you guaranteed pleasure, and the farmers a guaranteed fair deal, as well as the chance to invest in a better future - that's good business.

Coat the bottom of cupcakes liners with some chocolate, blob on some of the peanut butter mixture, top with more chocolate, then some valentine sprinkles. Pop them in the fridge until they set up.)
They were pretty tasty. In fact, we’re not done tasting them because who eats just one peanut butter cup? No one, that’s who.

Now I'm trying to convince Tracy to watch Pretty in Pink or Say Anything with me because on the inside, I’m roughly 16 years old.

Flannel sheets

It's 8 p.m. and I have taken to the bed. True, my computer is with me, but I have pajama-ed up, put on the glasses, cozied into the flannel sheets and called it a day.
Every year it catches me by surprise that winter is cold. I went inappropriately without socks today and I never could get myself warmed up. Minutes ago I was sitting on the couch shivering and I just decided - bed time.
John Cusack is on Inside the Actors Studio and later, there's the second installment of Tin Man. It's a little violent for me, but I really like Zooey Deschanel.
So, I'm good.

Input

This long weekend, which sounded so luxurious on Wednesday, has flown by, and even though I’ve done quite a bit, quite a bit, of lying around doing nothing, I still crave rest. It’s as if there’s not enough rest in the world to set me right.
At the same time, my fingers feel itchy to make something. I keep thinking that if only I could find an inexpensive burner, I could make candles outside this afternoon.
I still have the urge to cook, even though I cooked a huge meal on Thursday; even though the feeding frenzy is over. I keep thinking that I still have dressing ingredients - that maybe I should make one more batch.
I keep thinking that my clothes aren’t exactly right - that I need some warmer things.
I keep vacillating between wanting to wait until days before Christmas to get out the stuff, and wanting to go get it right now and do the place up.
Massive amounts of butter and cream are not the only things I poured into my body this weekend. There was also a constant stream of audio visual input.
Home for the Holidays (Oh, how I love this movie. Love Holly Hunter. Love Robert Downey Jr., love Anne Bancroft, but it’s Charles Durning who kills me every time. His culminating scene speaks directly to the most inner part of my heart.)
Grey Gardens (We’d been missing the Edies, so we shared them with my parents, my grandmother, and friends Don and Myrna.)
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (Because it was on and it’s such a dear old friend.)
13 Going on 30 (Silly movie, but I love it.)
Planes, Trains, & Automobiles (Again with the silly, but a fine performance by John Candy, and I’m not kidding. The motel room scene is beautiful.)
Still, still, I’m searching for something. There’s a film that I’m wanting, that I’m craving, but I can’t figure out what it is. I want to curl up tonight under a blanket with a warm cup of something and watching a movie that is quiet and moody. Something moving but not tragic. There has to be a dark-haired man in it and at least one intense, powerful love scene. A sex scene, even. Not something schmaltzy romantic, but something that leaves you opened at the heart. An honest story, but a hopeful one, too. Maybe it’s a black and white movie or maybe there are lots of autumn leaves. Something like Woody Allen, but not as cynical. Something that feels a bit like 8 1/2. Something in between Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Being John Malkovich. The intensity of the porch scene in the Village. The atmosphere of Lost in Translation.
Does anybody know what I’m looking for? I’m now accepting suggestions.

Beads

I had intended to write a Sacred Life Sunday post today about affirmations, but I didn't get that out of my head and on to the screen.
What I did instead was sit down on the couch with Woody and a soft blanket around 2:30 this afternoon for a "short rest."
It was a rest that just kept on going. I watched The Ladies Man (yes, I did) and Spellbound and several episodes of M*A*S*H.
I did manage to take some clothes out of the dryer.
Tonight, still on the couch, I beaded two more necklaces.

And, finished beading, I made my way from the couch to the bed to transition my rest into sleep.

Time is weird

It has just come to my attention that the movie Singles came out fifteen years ago. This is very strange to me because when I see scenes from Singles (or, for that matter, Reality Bites, which came out in 1994) it still seems very current to me.

I graduated from college in 1992. That seems like a long time ago...sort of...because a lot has happened to me and my life has changed significantly in many ways since then...and yet...Singles came out in 1992 and Singles is pretty much still a new movie to me.
I just said to Tracy, "The movie Singles came out fifteen years ago."
He said, "Really?"
And I said, "Yes. 1992."
And he said, "The whole nineties for me are very compressed. There's no difference in my memory between things that happened in '92 and things that happened at '98."
UmmHmm. Yes.