Feed my Play List ..... Please!

What is it about a new song that makes me want to listen to it over and over and over again. I have been doing this since I was a kid with my first record player. I had a red record player that had a lid on it and it actually ran on batteries. The first album I shelled out my hard-earned babysitting money for was Herman's Hermits - There's A Kind of Hush All Over The World. I bet I wore out a dozen batteries playing that song over and over again. My next question is what happens to make you reach the saturation point with a song? Is it because you just get bored with it? Or is it because a new hit comes along to replace it? And depending on the song, sometimes it gets to a point where if you have to listen to it one more time you think you'll scream. Other times, you just lose interest and stop pressing the play button on your I Pod and hit the forward arrow to find something you haven't heard in a while that get your mojo going. Right now I can't get enough of Rolling in the Deep by Adele. How long before I am sick of it? Any one's guess really. But at a certain point I will get tired of it and I will only listen to it occasionally instead of constantly. It's kind of like sex in a new relationship (I do remember what that was like). You can't get enough of each other - you're all over each other every day - several times a day, and then eventually, you are not. I do see a very interesting parallel here. It's not unlike addiction in a way. You hear it. You start to seek it out. You buy the song. You listen to it over and over. But eventually, you start to crave something new, something that will give you a fresh charge. And on it goes. At least with music, it is harmless and won't land you in the hospital or in a gutter or suffering with an STD. And what happens next? You stop listening to the song so intently. You no longer turn it up when it comes on the car radio. You keep it on your play list, but you sometimes skip it when it comes on. Once in a while you listen to it again all the way through, but not every time. Then it gets relegated to the "has been" list. You hardly ever play it at all. Time passes. Months. Years sometimes. Then oddly, one day you happen to hear it again and it sounds fresh again for some reason. You find yourself cranking it up again, singing along because your brain has filed away the lyrics and you know every word. You feel that same feeling again you had when it was new again. But it doesn't last. Over the next few days you might play it a few times, but it's only a brief encounter with the past joy it brought you. However, there are many songs that you will always love - and no matter when they reappear on the radio, or at a party, or in a movie, or being covered by a new and younger singer or band (never appreciated) and you have this little space in your heart for those songs because they are part of your history now and they often can make you recall a moment in time, a place, a person, an event - a song can transport me back in time so accurately it is almost scary. Sometimes I am actually amazed that I can be continually stimulated by new music - and I really notice when nothing has come along to pique my interest for awhile. And what is it that makes you like a new song? How many times do you need to hear it before it captures you? For me, it varies. It can happen the first time I hear a song, but that is rare. I usually need to hear it at least twice or three times before it sets into my brain like slow firming jello. Not unlike dating - sometimes you're into him on the first one, sometimes it takes 2 or 3 before something clicks and of course there are the songs/dates that never do it for you. Since, I started writing this blog, I have played Rolling in the Deep about 8 times. Not sick of it yet, still grooving to it, still moving to it, still memorizing the lyrics, it is still making me want to dance and turn it up. This one will have some staying power I suspect, but I say that about all of them at first. Am I alone here? Am I like a "love em and leave em" Casanova when it comes to music? Maybe I am. Maybe there is a 12 step program for people like me. If there is, I don't want to be cured. I refuse to join. Just keep giving me more hits. I'll keep listening. Feed my play list. Yum.

Pass me a Sombrero - it's Nap Time

There is a rarity to this moment. It is 5:00 pm, on a late Saturday afternoon. The rain is falling steadily. I went to an early matinee with my daughter and when we got home we threw a nice pesto pasta primavera together, a late lunch/early dinner and now she is napping on the sofa behind me, a grey sky peering in at us from outside, nothing but the sound of this keyboard and the softly falling rain on the metal roof of this family room. Not a typical Saturday. Normally, we would be busy "doing". But instead, I am feeling quite mellow from the nice glass of Shiraz I drank with my pasta and there is a contented peacefulness surrounding me, her gentle breathing mixed with the sound of the rain, like a mantra were I meditating. Afternoon naps, not a common activity in this house, but for some reason today, completely appropo. There is a decadence associated with an afternoon nap. Some countries have it right - but not here. Not in North America. In Canada, we are a little more relaxed than our neighbours to the south, but generally speaking, we still place too many demands on our time - all self-inflicted. If you read my previous blog, you will learn I was up in the middle of the night writing it, so for all intents and purposes, I should be napping now too. Hmmmm, I think I just decided I would. See ya later. I'm off. I'll tell you about the movie later.

Did Sinatra lie awake too?

When the sun is high In the afternoon sky You can always find something to do But from dusk til dawn As the clock ticks on Something happens to you In the wee small hours of the morning While the whole wide world is fast asleep You lie awake and think about.......

It's 2:18 am. I'm awake. Women my age are cursed with this problem. We wake up and all the details of our day and the details of what we need to do the next day swirl around in our brains until we eventually fall back to sleep. Some nights are worse than others. Nights like this. Nights where I give in. Nights when no amount of counting sheep or "relaxing my body from head to toe," one body part at a time will lull me back to the land of nod. So I turn on the light. Sometimes I read, sometimes I get up and go to the kitchen and eat a bowl of cereal as it is sometimes hunger pangs that have awakened me. Tonight the sound of car tires on the wet roads, their whooshing monotony repeating again and again do not comfort, they annoy me. So here I am, alone at my desk, one small light glowing, the silence of the night surrounding me, the distant whooshing, less annoying now that I am not trying to fall back to sleep. I sometimes wonder if city living is what contributes to my nocturnal disruptions. The constant white noise of traffic, the odd siren, the occasional group of inebriated revelers passing by with their boisterous voices - is that what wakes me? I dream of sleeping somewhere night after night where it is completely quiet. Oddly enough, when I sometimes do, the silence seems strange and it can make falling and staying asleep just as difficult. I recall once staying at a friend's farm, the crickets early on in the night, followed by the low moan of distant cows, not all that peaceful really. There is one sound I like, the sound of rain falling on a roof, or skylight. That can act as a sedative. Maybe I am at a point where I need to look into sedatives, but I have such an aversion to any kind of drug or unnatural method, that gets ruled out. I wonder if we are waking for a reason? It can produce some of my more creative solutions; this time in the night when the world is at rest. There is a peacefulness about it that can be lovely really. Uninterrupted time. No ringing phones, no voices, no voice in my own head reminding me of things I should be doing. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure almost. Time that is all mine. Time I don't have to share with anyone. My mother says she suffers from this more and more as she ages. I think she lies awake reviewing her life now, wondering about the path she took and what she might have done differently. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe she just thinks about grocery lists and the changes she will make in her garden the next day, but something tells me her thoughts go deeper than that. Maybe she lies there next to my father, listening to him breath like she has for 53 years and wonders how she has managed to last the better part of her life with one man. Is there a comfort to that, or does she say - "what the hell was I thinking?" Hard to say. Does she ever wonder what might have been? Does she ever think about her destiny in this lifetime and whether or not it has been fulfilled? That is something I think about lately. All the time in fact. The fulfillment of my own destiny. I used to be content with motherhood. That seemed like a decent "destiny defining" role. But something happens when they grow up. What gave you a sense of purpose for many years, no longer needs you or feeds you in the same way. It's something all mothers face eventually I am sure. Some never stop, never really let go, but that's not me. I would be one of those mother birds that nudges her little ones out of the nest a bit early, forcing them to flap and fly, or fall. Maybe because I was an early out of the nest bird myself - that seems natural to me. No point trying to stay in the nest when there is a whole wide world out there to discover. I don't get these kids that stay home into their 30's these days. It's beyond me. Maybe our destiny is broken up into phases and I am in between phases, so this middle of the night waking is more of a "wake-up call". A time of clear-headed thinking that is necessary to soldier on to the next phase. In our busy lives, it is almost impossible to carve out the time during the day for this kind of thinking. It would be good now though if I could just move on to this next phase with a little more sleep being banked each night. I sense it is coming soon. I hope.

To Bloom or not to Bloom.......

And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom. - Anais Nin

I love this quote. It has been following me around for the last couple of years, appearing regularly here and there. It was in the forward of a book I read, it was sent to me by my astrologer, it echoed in my memory as I bought myself a silver ring in the shape of a fully blossoming rose last summer. A few years ago, when I lived in Vancouver, I purchased a couple of botanical prints at a yard sale. I was not familiar with the flowers that had been masterfully painted by an artist named L. Noble. I would later learn she was quite famous for her botanical art and that had they been originals, I would have hit pay dirt, however, they were prints and I just liked them. One was the Pink Fawn Lily and the other was a yellow Trout Lily. I had never seen either of these at the time in real life, but when I moved to Toronto, lo and behold, there were some Trout Lilies growing in the little woodland garden in my own back yard. I was surprised how small they were, how delicate, how perfect. They come and go early in the spring here, so if you are not observant, you will miss them. They grow like weeds on the forest floor and they are in full bloom right now all along the Humber River trail that I walk at least a couple times per week. As I walked the trail earlier today, I took such joy at the many carpets of them that I saw along the way on the forested parts of the trail. I took an especially close look at them today and it occurred to me that not every plant produced a flower. Not unlike humans I thought. There they all were - masses of them, all reaching for the sun before the tree leaves arrive and block the light for the summer. It made me wonder why some were able to blossom while others could not. They all had the same environment. The soil feeding them was the same. The moisture levels were identical. And yet, only some were reaching their full potential. Only some were fulfilling their destiny, their purpose in life. How like humans indeed. And then I took it a step further and wondered if the non-bloomers were content with their lot in life, or like humans, were they frustrated that they could not bloom? Did they wonder what life might hold for them outside the forest floor? Did they seek answers for their inability to flourish? Or was it enough for them to just survive? Was living there amongst the bloomers OK with them? Were they envious of the beautiful blooms around them? Did they wish they could be more like them? Or, did they just sit back and accept their position amongst the bloomers? Perhaps the safety and security of just being alive in the crowd was enough to satisfy them. So it would seem. The truth is, the frail Trout Lily would not survive outside the cool and shady forest floor. They are in the forest for a reason. That is their home, the only place they can grow. Which begs the question, if humans were to allow nature to take its course, allow their destiny to unfold as it should, would we be more content? Would it create an inner peace inside us? Would we stop struggling, stop trying to swim upstream, slow down, stop beating ourselves up, stop trying so hard to reach that level of perfection? Just be the plant. Or, if you're lucky, the flower. Ahhhh, if it were only that simple. I envy those who are content to be the plant. The non-blooming Trout Lily that dares to try and grow outside the forest takes a huge risk. I imagine few even try. And it would surely be next to impossible to thrive elsewhere without the helping hand of a human. That would make it possible. The correct environment could be re-created, the soil conditions duplicated, the careful monitoring of moisture - all of it could be provided. But it's not natural. It takes work. It takes commitment. It takes desire. Only brave and courageous Trout Lilies could make it. Frightened or cowardly plants would stay behind in the forest. Which plant are you?

A Day Without Music........well it just ain't gonna happen!

"Mom, it's like you're the teenager and I am the adult!" My 16 year old has said this to me more than once. Mostly she is referring to my taste in music. When she gets in my car, she immediately changes the radio station - from Virgin Radio 99.9 that I listen to mainly to Vinyl 95.3 (hits from the 60's 70's and 80's). Is there something wrong with this picture? She thinks so. I like pop music. She hates it. We do agree on the odd song. We both like Lady GaGa. She just came in here and asked what I was listening to. I told her Let's Play by Kristina Maria. She had no idea who I was talking about. It's my current fave song. It's dancey, kinda kinky and "oh so pop!" Oddly enough, she loves Earth, Wind and Fire - good thing, cause if she didn't - I might have to disown her. They were (and are) old faves of mine. I think she humours me a bit with some of the old disco music, but at least she does not switch the car radio when it comes on - tossing mom a bone perhaps. I have always liked the chart toppers - ever since I started listening to my first transistor radio in bed at night to lull me to sleep. It was one of those little hand held jobs - red - with a wrist strap. I loved that radio. I went through a lot of 6 volt batteries. I listened faithfully to CHUM AM for years. Static and all. I graduated to a larger red radio with a carry handle that ran on both battery power or electricity after that - I was about 11. It also had an FM band, so now I could expand my horizons a bit, but I still liked CHUM AM for a long time. In my later teen years, it was CHUM FM, Q107 or CFNY. I flipped around between those three until I found a song I liked - CONSTANTLY! I was never NOT on top of whatever new song was being aired. And now here she is, essentially listening to all that stuff I used to listen to for years. She is also into "alternative music". She is very selective. She hates rap and pop. I think she is probably more evolved musically than I am - although we both do enjoy some classical music too. She has Tchaikovsky on her I POD and I have some Vivaldi on mine. There are times when that is all that will soothe our souls. I could not live without music - at least I would not want to anyway. She is the same way. I'm glad she loves music. I don't care what kind of music. I'm just glad she finds solace and joy in it - the same way I do. Given the choice, I'd take listening to music over TV any day. And we both like it loud. We had a Musical Scrabble night on the weekend. She has a bit of a weakness for show tunes as well - and her Glee soundtracks cover a lot of that, so we invented Scrabble words and musical lyrics together - the perfect mother-daughter evening. Won't be long before she can join me on nights like this with a glass of wine as well. Simple pleasures. The best kind. Always accompanied by music.

If enough time passes, you stop wanting them.....

I'm trying to remember exactly when it began. If I close my eyes and think back, white go-go boots come to mind. Or Barbie's friend Midge. She appears. Then I recall penny loafers and needing to have the shiniest of new pennies in the slots. Perhaps those red, white and blue rubber balls, or the extra long pink skipping rope that was long enough for double dutch. All these items blur together around the same time period. I was about 7 years old, give or take a few months. It was my induction to materialism. Things I thought I just had to have. Things I thought I could not live without or at the very least did not want to live without. Over time the wants became more substantial. More expensive. A new bike - a CCM with a carrier and a bell. I recall a twinge of disappointment that I got a girl's upright instead of a boy's bike with a banana seat and upright handle bars. Seems I was starting to get a little picky, or shall we call it more "selective". A few years later it was my own roller skates - no rentals for me! Of course, the buckskin jacket with fringes that would trail behind me in the breeze as I skated round and round inside that roller rink. That was de rigueur! At 15, the CCM had to go and a 10-speed Peugeot was in order. No - not some no name brand - the real deal, from France. It was twice the price, but just think of the prestige. "That girl has style," they would say. "She has taste. She knows about good quality." Even the adults around me were impressed. "Wow, fancy wheels," they'd say, eyebrows arching up. It fed me. Spurred me on. Two wheels were left behind to the land fill as years passed. Now I needed four. And not just any four. Sure, that was OK to begin with, when I could not afford to buy my own. Whatever car mom was driving at the time - well, I'd have to make do with that. For a short while she actually drove a car I considered cool - it was an old Morris Minor, grey with red leather interior - just different enough to stand out in a crowd - how I saw myself as well. It had a standard transmission and posed a bit of a challenge however, being new to driving at 16, but it still had some panache. My first car was flashy, a special edition red Le Mans with white leather interior. I bought it from my dad for $2000. I had to make monthly payments to him. In the end I decided to strap on a back pack and go see the world (well, Europe and the South Pacific and Western Canada, anyway) and I sold it back to him, or gave it back, the details are fuzzy now. Staying in the city I grew up in was no longer an option. I had bigger ambitions than that. I think I would have to call that trip and the following few years of travel my "break from materialism." Whatever money I earned doing jobs like working in a French vineyard, or as a hotel chambermaid, or a waitress, or a bartender, driving a pizza delivery truck, picking apples in a New Zealand orchard - all just a means to an end. Earn enough to pick up and go somewhere new. See more of the world. Carry my entire life around on my back. Leave a few boxes in a basement somewhere with the rest of my worldly possessions. So simple. So unencumbered. SO MUCH FUN!!!!! Yes, there were times when it was a little scary and times when I felt a little lonesome for home or any home, but I was free and rarely afraid and not hung up on designer labels, fancy cars, home ownership, interior design, or living in the right neighbourhood. What changed? Why did I choose this fork in the road on my life's journey? What made me need those go-go boots again? I'm at another fork now. It feels that way. All these things I thought so necessary in the last couple of decades suddenly hold less and less meaning. I am exposed to the "wanting" every day with my work. Perhaps it's like working in an ice cream parlour. Eventually you get sick of ice cream. I just get sick of the excess. The constant clamouring for more, for newer, for more original, for bigger, for better. And for what? To prove your worth? To get some recognition? Are you taking all that stuff with you? Most of it will end up in a land fill somewhere anyway. Nothing lasts. At least not the average stuff we seem to collect and accumulate. On my recent trip to London, my daughter and I joined the throngs at The Tower Museum to have a glimpse of the Crown Jewels. Such a bizarre concept I kept thinking. Little bits of shiny coloured stones and metals treated with such respect and admiration, as though they were animate objects. How the world holds these silly things in such high regard. What have they contributed to the world? Other than being pretty to behold? The fact that we place such value on them just seems so outrageous to me. Outdated really. If I were the last woman standing, stranded alone on a desert island, what good would they do me? I couldn't eat them. Couldn't trade them. Who would I wear them for? Nothing but a bunch of useless rocks. I suppose I could try to throw one at a fish swimming by, in an attempt to stop it and feed myself. You get my point. I am all for beauty. Don't get me wrong. I love looking at beautiful things. Art, design, nature, fashion, you name it. But do we have to OWN it? That is my challenge from here on out as I walk this next third of my path in my journey through this all too short life. Admire it. Enjoy it. Take a mental snapshot. Then walk away. It won't be easy. But I might get there.

In Case you're Wondering....

On sabbatical. For awhile. I'll be back. (she says with her best Arnie impersonation)

Ringo! Call Me!

Two weeks from today, I will be stepping on a jet and flying across the Atlantic with my darling daughter for a whirlwind tour of London during her March break. I whisked her off to Jamaica in December for what we had hoped would be a week of sun and fun. We only had two days of sun, a little bit of fun and spent most of the week sleeping or reading to the sound of pouring rain. So, not to be disappointed a second time in a row, I decided to go somewhere where it is almost guaranteed to rain and with my luck, the sun WILL shine. I know, I know, it's a sort of warped way of looking at it, but it just may work. My first trip to Merry Old England was in 1974. I was 16. The same age my sweet girl is now. It was even around the exact time of year - March break. I recall how thrilled I was that the weather was mild and there were even daffodils blooming. Not sure if it will be this way in two weeks, but I am hopeful. I have had good experiences on my travels to England. Let's hope this time is no exception. My dear friend Janet is from England. I saw her today, her lovely accent reminding me what I will be hearing shortly. Lately, I am surrounded by English accents in fact. I have a new client at work with one and she has shared some tips with me on what to do and see. I have a pretty good idea of what we should not miss, but I'm always open to suggestions. We have a lunch booked with Kate and Wills on day two - looking forward to that - can't wait to see "the" ring up close and personal. We have been debating and debating over what to wear, but decided that since they are young and casual, we would follow their lead and just wear jeans. They insisted. Who am I to argue? We plan to check out the church too. They apologized for not inviting us to the big event, but we're good with lunch and a peak inside the famous house of worship and besides, I couldn't have gotten time off work in April anyway, so just as well. It would have been nice though, especially since my good friend Elton John will be there, but we had drinks with him night before last while he and David were in town for the opening of Billy Elliot, so we would not have had much to talk about a month from now anyway, having just caught up with them here. It was such fun reminiscing with him. I reminded him that Benny and the Jets was number one on the charts when I made my first visit to London and he said "SHUT-UP Deb, you CANNOT be that old," and I was surely flattered by his outburst, but I guess I don't look too bad for an old broad if I do say so myself! I'm still waiting to hear back from Hugh Grant. He is soooo hard to get in touch with these days. I sent him a note weeks ago explaining how I had seen every one of his movies at least twice and I can't even recall HOW many times I have watched Love Actually, so I assumed that would have guaranteed a social engagement, but maybe he is just out of town or on location somewhere. If you're reading this Hugh - CALL ME! We're getting really booked up and I would hate to disappoint you. I have one availability for lunch and one left for dinner, so don't wait too long or you'll miss the boat! And maybe, if he's around, bring that kid with the funny hair cut that was in About a Boy with you, my daughter would be about the right age for him and then you and I could have an adult conversation and they could talk about teen stuff - sound good? I think they may have the same taste in music, just guessing there. The only other call backs I am waiting for now are from Sting, Bono and Ringo Starr. YES, Ringo Starr. I met him when I was there in 1974 and I want to show him the photos we took of him that day in front of the Apple Recording Studio. My God! He looks so much younger in them, but don't we all! And Ringo, don't feel bad about how rude you were to me and my pack of frenzied teen-aged friends that day - we were a little excited to see you and we couldn't get those flashcubes on our cameras changed any faster. I bet it took hours for the little flash marks in your eyes to go away. Sorry about that. This is the best shot of the bunch here above on this blog. What do you think? I don't think we will have time to get to Stonehenge even though my budding ancient historian really should see that wonder. I heard you're not allowed to sit on the stones and smoke anymore the way we did in 74, so it would not be as much fun now anyway all roped off and everything. (see proof in my sidebar!) And it was such a long drive there and back - if we had more time, maybe. Next time perhaps. I soooo wish Biba were still around - I just loved that department store in 74, but Harrods will have to do. I'm told Kensington Palace is a must see as they have some of Diana's old dresses on display. A bit morbid perhaps, but I will admit I am curious. Should be a fun trip all round, even if the Ritz can't take us for high tea - screw them, we'll go to the Dorchester. It's more authentically "English" anyway!

In like a lion...........

March. Spring is on the horizon. Daylight savings time starts this month. With any luck at all, I might find more time to write this blog. For a genuinely entertaining take on March, go and read my friend Cindy's blog. www.halifaxbroad@blogspot.com

I would love to be able to make March sound so good, but I'll let her version do that job. Nobody does it better.

I've got nothing. Not today anyway.

My New Heroes

Violet and Allen Large are my new heroes. Not only did they give away all of their lottery winnings to family and more than 65 charities, they don't regret it for a second. They did not spend a cent on themselves. When the day comes that I can feel even close to their level of contentment and peace, will be the day I can say my soul has evolved to its potential in this lifetime. They are a symbol of hope for us all, as individuals and as a collective. The world could stand to learn a thing or two from this elderly couple from Truro, Nova Scotia. Their selflessness and love are awe-inspiring. They "have each other, and that's all they need." In a world gone mad, they are two people to admire.

Best Original Adaptation goes to.....Solution 3

So, Sunday is Oscar night and for as long as I can remember, I have forced myself to stay up and watch it, boring as most of it is and way past my bedtime. (more so with each passing year!) However, this year there is a new twist in this household. My daughter is planning an "Oscar Party" for her friends and although she said I could come if I wanted, the truth is, she was just being polite. And who can blame her? I know I am a fairly "cool" parent, but no one wants mom hanging around for more than a few minutes with their friends. This will however, impact my viewing of the show as they will have confiscated the big TV in the family room. I could watch it at the kitchen counter on a stool, but 3-4 hours on that stool is not exactly my idea of a comfy spot to sit and diss the stars. I have never wanted a TV in my bedroom - bedrooms are for other pursuits in my mind, but just this once, I wish I did have a big wide screen in there this Sunday night. Of all years for this to happen - I have seen all but one of the Best Film picks - never got around to 27 Days - but I don't think it stands a chance of winning anyway, so no great loss. Hmmmm, I wonder if I can get a live feed on my daughter's laptop? I feel stupid not knowing if this is possible, but it could be the answer to my dilemma. Surely she can sit through the show without her faithful techie companion - the least she could do considering I have been banished. And come to think of it - why are none of my friends having an Oscar Party and if they are, why am I not invited? These are important questions to ponder on the occasion of such a monumental event. Maybe the day has come when I need to succumb to a TV in the bedroom - this will likely not be the last time, and certainly is not the first time I have been banished from the family room. A finished basement would have resolved this crisis for me, but that is a whole other can of worms I best not open here. Right now, I am thinking the red carpet show on the kitchen stool and the rest, if I can, on the laptop. The only problem with that plan is I will surely fall asleep in bed watching it on the laptop as I have enough trouble staying awake to watch it in its entirety while sitting up. I know - solution number 3. Record it and watch it in bits all week long. There is something to be said for no commercials, but it will be old news by then, so what would be the point? On the other hand, it would be great to just zip through the boring speeches, the commercials and anything else I found uninteresting. As a matter of fact, when I think of it, I could probably just watch the opening, select awards that interest me and by the time all is said and done, could wrap up the whole thing in under an hour I bet. Hmmm, I am liking solution 3. Can't believe I didn't think of it in the first place. Now I can still get my beauty sleep (much needed) and stay out of the way of a room full of hormonal teenagers AND save time. That's it then. The Oscar goes to......Solution 3. And please, don't anyone tell me who won - I want to find out for myself on Monday.

Chilling to the Winter's Bone

At about the half-way point of watching Winter's Bone, I paused the movie to take a bathroom break. After about an hour into this bleak, depressing world, my image in the bathroom mirror struck me as especially beautiful. I don't say this to sound conceited. I say this to illustrate the contrast between my own image and my own life compared to what I had been watching on the screen. I thought I had seen "ugly" in The Fighter.(the ghastly looking sisters are still haunting me!) But not just physical "ugly". The whole thing. Physical, spiritual, emotional. People whose lives you observe and wonder what reason they could possibly have to want to live. People without joy. People without hope. People barely surviving. Winter's Bone, one of this years Oscar contenders was one of the last movies I had not yet seen. I don't even remember it when it came out in the summer of 2010, so when my film buff daughter asked if I wanted to see it, I said, "sure, may as well see them all." Already available to view on ROD, it was an easy option as I did not feel like venturing out on a cold night. I thought I had gotten away without feeling cold, but this movie was not going to let me. The fact that it is filmed in winter in the Ozarks was an obvious image, but no warm blanket around my shoulders could protect me from the chilling images and story of this young woman's plight. We tend to forget how fortunate we are. As I get older I am more and more grateful and aware of my good fortune, but even so, I still need a slap upside the head from time to time to REALLY remind me. This movie is that slap. Director, Debra Granik's stark portrayal of poverty and depravity and addiction is so real it makes "our" privileged lives seem extreme in the opposite. It is the story of a 17 year old girl trapped in a life she did not ask for. Her mother is mentally ill, her drug-dealing father has run off and left them penniless and she is left to take care of two much younger siblings and their home that is being threatened to be taken over by the bank if her father is not found and brought to trial for his crimes, as he has skipped bail. Ree, brilliantly portrayed by Jennifer Lawrence, sets off to try to find her father, risking her life in a seedy world of back woods meth labs and gun-toting drugged out hillbillies, one of whom is her own uncle. She enters a dangerous world she understands but does not partake in, with the bravado and bravery of a mother who was trying to protect her children, even though the easy path for her would be to dessert them all. My daughter loves a good horror flick. She prides herself on being pretty immune to just about every special effect going - nothing gets to her. She is able to laugh most of it off and is super-critical of movies that do a poor job of all the blood and guts. At the end of this movie, even she, Miss Jaded, had to admit, Winter's Bone in its tragic realism, was truly horrific. Some images and characters stay in your head forever. This movie and this heroine will without even trying. And it's not a pretty picture.

Snow Day, Snow Day, Snow Day........Please!

Snow days. Remember those? If you grew up in any province besides B.C. you surely experienced at least one snow day in your lifetime. What better way to spend a snowy blowy winter day than laying around inside the house all morning in your pajamas watching daytime TV instead of going to school? By afternoon, your mother had had enough of seeing your lazy ass laying about, so she would say "Get your snow pants on and get outside and make a snowman or something." Reluctantly you would layer up and before you could step over the threshold, a momentary guilt would wash over her and she would wrap a woolly scarf around your neck, tight enough to constrict your breathing, but not enough to kill you, and pat your ass on the way out the door. Surveying the lay of the land as you stepped out into the deep pristine powder, your eyelashes thick with flakes in a nan0-second, you would go forth into the backyard and into a world of wonder and magic full of possibility. Snow fort? Snow man? Snow woman? Snow angel? Stopping to snap off a low hanging icicle, tasting it, drawing with it, dueling with it, using it as an appendage on your snow person - again - endless possibilities. The only sound, that of your thick snow pants rubbing as you walked about - only silence when you stopped, or the sound of your own breathing under your now wet woolly scarf. Wet with melting snow and your nasal drip, annoying but warm. For the first while, you remained fairly dry and warm beneath all your layers. Sixteen snow angels later, not so much. No matter how tucked in you thought you were, some snow always made its way into your boot tops, creating a red ring of cold skin where it stopped and packed in on the way down. Now the lining of your boots was starting to get a bit damp, but you didn't care. You carried on. "I know," you thought to yourself, "I will build an igloo just like the Eskimos do and I will sleep in it tonight with a small fire burning in the centre, just like they do." After about a gazillion attempts to create perfectly firm packed "snow bricks", that idea sort of fizzled, but at least you had given it a shot. By now, you had mostly flattened the entire yard, uncovered a bit of the dormant lawn when you rolled the body parts of the snow man you made and were in search of some virgin powder. Now you were starting to notice the damp and wet beginning to annoy you a bit, but not enough to head inside quite yet. Not before you ate a couple more icicles, threw a few more snowballs at various targets and could not stand to go without a tissue for another moment. By now your mother would probably feel sorry enough for you to let you in, so you headed in, stripped off all the wet clothing with the chunks of snow clinging to it here and there, your reddened cheeks, hands and ankles burning as you unthawed. If you had a good mom, you got hot chocolate, a snack and sat back and enjoyed the scent of your woolly mittens and hats steaming on the rad where they were placed to dry off, ready to face another day of a Canadian winter. I hope that at least some kids do this tomorrow - just like I did more than 40 years ago. My own daughter is praying for a snow day tomorrow. Hard to believe, but she has never actually had one. Sure, she has played in the snow, but never had an official snow day in all her years at school. If she does get one, I doubt she will be outside making snow angels at her age, but if she plays her cards right, she may get some hot chocolate in front of the fire and we could both stay inside and enjoy the beauty of the snow falling outside the window. What are the chances we will both get one? We're praying. Fingers crossed. C'mon "snowmegeddon"!

Three things brought Tears to my Eyes today!

I took a "sick" day today. Well, actually, I was not sick, and it was my day off, but I decided to treat it as a sick day. In other words, I stayed in all day, did not put on any make-up, did not really comb my hair other than to sweep it off my face into a tiny ponytail and I did get dressed, but just went from my pajamas to my Lululemon gear, thinking it might encourage me to do a work out (it didn't). I then proceeded to take a late morning nap, get up, eat lunch, read for a while, then took an afternoon nap and then got up, had a snack and turned on Oprah at 4. I have not had a day like this in ages. It was overdue. Oprah was in Australia, and apparently she forgot it was summer there as she was sporting this red taffeta dress that was all billowy and covered every inch of her ever-increasing girth. Don't get me wrong - I love Oprah - so I won't criticize her any further - I just thought the dress choice was odd. The show made me cry twice - once when she was interviewing Steve Irwin's family and his cuter than cute little boy welled up when he started telling the world that his dad was the best dad in the world and that made his mom cry and then I started blubbering and the camera panned all the teary eyes in the audience. Then some local couple who were dealing with cancer told their sad story and by the end of the segment Oprah gave them a quarter million dollars so they could spend some quality time together over the next year while he was fighting the disease and before he died although they left that last part unsaid. More tears. So, considering I had not watched the show in over a year, it reminded me that she still had the touch and she will be missed after this - her last season. I was cheered up considerably when Jon Bon Jovi showed up and sang a couple of songs and flashed his pearly whites at us - the guy has the most perfect teeth I have ever seen. My daughter commented that he was also THE best looking old rocker from back in my day, citing how bad some of the others have fared - like Mick Jagger and Steve Tyler. I had to agree although I do believe he is slightly younger than those two. Still, the hair, the bod, the skin, all still good for his age. So, in an effort to remain on the couch, after Oprah I watched Dr. Oz and sat and nodded and agreed as he told the world about the dangers of sugar. Toward the end of the show, he started to lose me when he stopped talking health and started talking about coupon cutting to save money at the drug store - so I changed the channel and tuned into the new Marilyn Dennis show. I had been looking forward to her new show - this was a chance to check it out - I was excited.....and quickly disappointed. Some dude talking about house plants? Hello - the 70's called and they want their Boston Fern back! Then, some woman talking about various versions of the Kindle that are now available. Marilyn, nodding and interjecting the odd comment - her bubbly persona from Cityline days no where to be seen. And what the hell happened to her face? She obviously took some time in between gigs to get some "work" done and I have to say - I don't think it went very well. Sorry, Mar, but you got robbed. Who did that to you? I want a name. Just in case I ever think about going under the knife - I won't go to him. The only thing that made the show tolerable was that I was eating some nice freshly made sushi while I was watching it - the occasional blast of tear-inducing wasabi keeping me awake and distracted from the tedium and boredom on the screen. As an old fan of her on Cityline, I will likely give the show another chance one day, but it has to get better than it was today or I won't give it a third chance. With 2 hours of TV under my belt along with some spicy tuna rolls, I decided it was time to move from the sofa to the computer, a total of about 6 steps, and here I sit, writing this blog, not really sure what I wanted to yap about, but lo and behold, I have just filled the screen with the fascinating events of my day and it's not over yet! I have a good 3-4 hours left to fill before bedtime - who knows what exciting things I may do with the rest of my "sick" day. I can tell you one thing, by tomorrow, I will be re-charged and ready to face the world again. I'll shower, put on some make-up, fix my hair, get dressed and actually go outside. Maybe.

I Won't be Defeated!!!

Sabotage! I look around the office everyday since mid-December and it's everywhere. Sabotage! None of us need it, but it seems we all want it. Every desk, the board room table, the kitchen table, no surface is vacant. They are all covered with it. White death. It's everywhere. I wish they would stop bringing it in. I am strong, but not impervious to it. I walk by this one desk several times a day - it holds one of my favourite things. Anything with coconut in it - particularly tempting. Christmas has come and gone and now they all want it out of their houses, so they bring it to work - let everyone else get fat they think - stop it! Why not just toss it in the trash? At least that way it won't end up on the thighs of all the women at work. It belongs in the trash anyway - for the amount of nutritional value in any of it. As I have said before - how can you call something a treat that in the end only makes you feel bad about yourself? SUGAR IS NOT A TREAT!!!!! Ask the millions of obese people around the world if they feel they have been "treated" by sugar? Sure - treated to diabetes, heart disease, joint pain, self-loathing, depresssion - you name it. Treat? I think not. I have looked my enemy in the eye and have decided it will not defeat me. It injured me a bit - added 5 lbs to my ass this holiday season, but that's it. It's over you mother-f cker. You are out of my life - you will not put me back in a one piece this summer - don't even think about it! This is one war you won't win. I have the bigger weapon. Three words - No, thank you.

Never Judge a Movie by the Trailers

If you have read the reviews for Blue Valentine, you will learn that the story examines the breakdown of a marriage. Nothing new here, but the raw performances by Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams give it an edge that is creating some Oscar buzz and getting the movie-going public to fork out their hard-earned cash to sit through their depressing story. I happen to love this type of film that puts a microscope inside a relationship and lets us play voyeur into the lives of some ill-fated couple. The clever devices used to tell the story are of less interest to me than the director's (Derek Cianfrance here) ability to make the story and the characters believable. I struggled a bit with this one. Dean (Gosling) and Cindy (Williams) appear from the first scenes in the obvious end stage of their marriage. The director takes us back eventually to the early days of their romance when they first met so we can see how they came together in the first place. What we miss out on here is the middle part of the marriage - the critical part where things start to fall apart and the stage where it may have been possible to still save what was left and rebuild. That is the part I would have added as a director. We all are familiar with the beginning and end of a relationship, not much to learn there. What would be of some benefit to the audience would be the portrayal of the pivotal time in between. That time that is often hard to pinpoint. The time that is crucial for rescue. The part that anyone who has been through a divorce can look back on and recognize in hindsight that is where they should have started counseling or gotten help or at the very least admitted to each other that they were in trouble. I found myself trying to figure it out in the movie. From my perspective, Cindy was unable to accept love from Dean because she grew up with a poor self-image in a home where her own parent's dysfunctional marriage was her only role model. Her father mistreated her mother, psychological abuse from what little we learned in this movie and Cindy did not seem to expect much more for herself. She pushed Gosling away despite his best efforts to romance her but that is not to say he was without his own flaws. His lack of ambition and growing attachment to beer for breakfast, did little to woo her, even though he was an attentive and much loved father to her daughter. He married her knowing she was pregnant with another man's baby. At the time, his heroic gesture was welcomed, but as the years passed, his commitment was apparently not enough to feed her soul. Dean was content to be nothing more than a faithful husband and devoted father - Cindy wanted more. But we never get to see where the tables turned. How far into the relationship did they get before she realized his gallant gesture would not be enough to sustain them? At the time he was Mr. Right. She changed and grew and before long, her white knight looked more like Larry the Loser. They never really got to know each other in the beginning. He was a true romantic, writing her a song, blabbing to his co-worker about his belief in "love at first sight". She was more pragmatic, more of a realist, even though in her vulnerable position she allowed herself to be charmed by his heartfelt gestures. Being a bit of a romantic myself (OK - more than a bit), I couldn't help but relate to Dean. However, he did seem to deteriorate fairly quickly. He was helpless to penetrate her cold and angry demeanor and their complete lack of communication skills was so frustrating to me as an audience member, I wanted to freeze frame and play mediator between them. I expected far more from this film and the trailers for it are very misleading. It is more of a tragedy than a love story and the only scene where I actually felt a bit of bittersweet emotion was the one from the trailer where he plays his ukulele and sings a little song for her while she self-consciously does a little tap dance for him in front of a shop window with an appropriately placed heart wreath. Sweet. As for the acting, no question, both Gosling and Williams were giving it their best shot, and nominations may result, but I don't think either of them will be going home with the golden statue this year. Not yet. Worth a look, but if you have a choice, go see The King's Speech or Black Swan or The Fighter, all three a better bet.