dual personalities

Month: February, 2018

“Those who wait on the LORD will renew their strength”*

Well, a weekend without many plans turned into a pretty busy weekend after all. And it was cold again–it even snowed on Sunday!

I followed my usual weekend routine plus I re-read The Hours by Michael Cunningham, which was good but not as good as I remembered. I was overly aware of his details and his writing in general. But there is some real truth in it.

She simply does what her daughter tells her to, and finds a surprising relief in it. Maybe, she thinks, one could begin dying into this: the ministrations of a grown daughter, the comforts of a room. Here, then, is age. Here are the little consolations, the  lamp and the book. Here is the world, increasingly managed by people who are not you; who will do either well or badly; who do not look at you when they pass you in the street.

I watched The Shape of Water (2017) which has been nominated for 13 Oscars, including best picture, and has already won a slew of awards.

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I did not like it. “‘The Shape of Water’ is partly a code-scrambled fairy tale, partly a genetically modified monster movie, and altogether wonderful,”  gushed the reviewer in the NYT.  I would beg to differ. “Bigotry and meanness flow through every moment like an underground stream,” he continued. This is true. We are shown several examples of this. Women, blacks and gays are treated badly. We see, we understand, we virtue-signal our superiority.  Men are the bad guys in this movie, the enemy. The only decent man is gay. (Oh, and the other is a communist spy.) The #1 scary villain, of course, is a white male who works for the military, is married, has two children, lives in suburbia, and aspires  to own a Cadillac. He is the real monster. I am tired of being hit over the head with this view of the world. “The most welcome and notable thing about ‘The Shape of Water’ is its generosity of spirit,” the NYT reviewer concludes. Is he kidding?

The wee babes, thankfully, came over for dinner on Sunday night. They cheered me up! They are so active now and curious, so happy. They get very excited about  peanut butter and jelly, 30-year old toys, investigating the kitchen, and checking out the handles on the highboy. The wee laddie climbed all the way up to the second floor twice.

IMG_1972.jpegMiss Lottie slept on my shoulder after arriving, but perked right up once she awakened. She is a speed demon on all fours and can crawl the circuit of our first floor in under a minute.

IMG_1978.jpegThe wee laddie can take up to six steps on his own and is swiftly gaining his sea legs.

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Now it’s back to the salt mine–have a good week!

*Isaiah 40:31

Into the dustbin of history (again)

January 28th was the 100th anniversary of the death of John McCrae, the handsome Canadian doctor and artilleryman who wrote the famous poem, “In Flanders Fields”.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

First published in Punch in 1915, the poem was written during the early days of the second battle of Ypres. It became something of an overnight sensation and remained one of the war’s most popular poems. After serving throughout the war, McCrae contracted pneumonia and died in France in 1918. He is buried at Wimereux, France.

John McCrae  had an interesting career, although in some ways he was typical of his time: the family was hard-working, intelligent, and dedicated. His grandparents emigrated from Scotland, his father was a Lt. Colonel in the army, his sister married a lawyer, and he and his brother both became doctors, the latter eventually becoming a professor at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.  Despite his training as a physician, John McCrae joined the army in 1900 and served in the artillery during both the first and second Boer Wars. When WWI broke out, he returned to active duty as a Medical Officer and Major of the 1st Brigade Canadian Field Artillery, eventually reaching the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. He was a dutiful and patriotic man, who, one can’t help feeling, gave more for his country than he got in return.

McCrae’s personal diary from 1915, more of which you can read here, has this to say about the way the Canadian press covered 2nd Ypres:

Newspapers which arrive show that up to May 7th, the Canadian public has made no guess at the extent of the battle of Ypres. The Canadian papers seem to have lost interest in it after the first four days; this regardless of the fact that the artillery, numerically a quarter of the division, was in all the time. One correspondent writes from the Canadian rest camp, and never mentions Ypres. Others say they hear heavy bombarding which appears to come from Armentieres.

McCrae is much celebrated in Canada where statues, plaques and museum displays attest to his achievements. When the French held a ceremony at his grave to mark the centennial of his death, according to the Ottawa Citizen, “about two dozen visitors stood as a French band played O Canada, and the French town supplied a Canadian flag. French veterans stood with their banners. The town council of Wimereux laid a wreath. So did the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. So did one visitor from Britain,” but no Canadians attended.  I guess they were too busy voting to neuter their national anthem.

So it goes.

Still, we can lift a glass to the good doctor and to all those men who died in the mud of Flanders fields. A hundred years isn’t so long ago that we should forget. Who will remember you in a hundred years and what will they remember?

 

“Well, if this ain’t a frosty Friday!”*

“Having the right approach to life was a great gift in this life….Do not complain about your life. Do not blame others for things that you have brought upon yourself. Be content with who you are and where you are, and do whatever you can do to bring to others such contentment, and joy, and understanding that you have managed to find yourself…You can do that in the company of an old friend—you can close your eyes and think of the land that gave you life and breath, and of all the reasons why you are glad that you are there, with the people you know, with the people you love.”
―Alexander McCall Smith, The Double Comfort Safari Club

Do you have exciting plans for the weekend? As usual, I do not have exciting plans. I’m not sure I even know what exciting plans are. But I have a couple of estate sales to go to and the OM and I are going to get the ball rolling on having new kitchen counters installed.

I can’t say I care about the Super Bowl. Football is on the way out if you ask me. I won’t be sad to see it go. And I am not one of those people who watches the Super Bowl in order to see the commercials. I mean, commercials are the bane of my existence! I hardly even watch network tv anymore, such is my loathing of commercials.

Screen Shot 2018-02-01 at 1.17.07 PM.pngI saw something online about this emotional-support peacock and I thought it was a joke! Imagine my surprise reading this in the WSJ! Good lord! What is the world coming to?

If you want a weekend movie pic, here’s an idea. After watching The Valley of Gwangi last week, I thought I’d watch The Big Country (1958) which also features great music by Jerome Moross.  So I watched it last night and enjoyed. It is not a perfect western–mostly due to the annoying character portrayed by Carol Baker–but it is still a good one, and the music really is great. Gregory Peck is at his most appealing and Burl Ives certainly deserved that Oscar he got for supporting actor. You gotta love straight talkin’ Rufus.

Well, the wee babes will be over on Sunday with their parents.

Unknown-1.jpeg There is no pick-me-up like laughing babies.

Have a great weekend!

*Rufus Hannassey in The Big Country

“And you O my soul where you stand, …Ceaselessly musing, venturing…”*

Hello, February!

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The Olympic Games in PyeongChang begin in a little over a week.

PyeongChang_2018_mascot-01.jpgThis is the second time South Korea has hosted the Olympics–remember the summer Olympics in Seoul in 1988? I can’t say I remember much about them. I always used to love the winter Olympics with the skiing and the skating and the bobsledding. But I have to say that all the “big air” snowboarding and such leaves me cold. No one is an amateur anymore. Like everything else, it is all about the money and the politics. Oy.

It is also Black History Month.

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In the Episcopal Church we celebrate the life and ministry of the Rev. Absalom Jones, the first African American ordained as a priest in the U.S. “Stepping outside the box this year,” the diocese has designed a morning program for children and parents or grandparents. Gee, I can’t wait to bring the wee babes to this when they are old enough to appreciate it. We sent our kids to a public elementary school where they were in a racial minority, so they have always felt pretty comfortable wherever they find themselves–unlike those kids in the picture above who, we are led to believe, will encounter people of color in a “museum”. Oy.

The Orchid Show starts at the Missouri Botanical Garden.

Screen Shot 2018-01-31 at 1.25.20 PM.pngBut orchids always kind of freak me out.

The air was thick, wet, steamy and larded with the cloying smell of tropical orchids in bloom. The glass walls and roof were heavily misted and big drops of moisture splashed down on the plants. The light had an unreal greenish color, like light filtered through an aquarium tank.

Maybe I’ll just stay home and re-read The Big Sleep.

Thank goodness it is 31 Days of Oscar month on TCM. Lots of good movies to watch and/or DVR.

yankee doodle dandy.jpgFind something to do this month that you can relate to. Engage with some real people. Have fun! .Don’t waste the month of February.

*Walt Whitman, “A Noiseless Patient Spider”