No WOW in The Vow

It’s a great story, the one about the wife who loses her recent memory in an automobile accident and cannot recall either meeting or marrying her husband. He stands by her and stands up to her parents, but in the long run, it’s a losing battle, so he lets her go and moves on with his life in whatever fashion makes that bearable. Long story short (or else it wouldn’t be made into a film) she comes back, not because she remembers her husband, but because she is finally told why she left her family in the first place: her father had an affair with one of her (age inappropriate) best girl friends.

Okay, if that’s the story, it’s challenging to turn it into a meaningful 2-hour theater release, but keeping the pace moving and seeing how the couple develop back into a marriage could do the trick; however, the male lead, Channing Tatum, would be a better leading man for a remake of Day of the Living Dead! This is a good-looking, strapping young man with a killer smile, but zero charisma, zero animation, zero ability to bring the audience into the story and keep them on the edge of their seats until the resolution. I love a good chick flick, and even enjoyed Channing in a couple of other movies, but he totally missed the mark in this offering. I'm sure the only reason this film has lasted 2 weeks is that it was released for V-Day without much competition.

A half hour in, I asked my 2 movie buddies if we could leave and go get a piece of pie and a hot cup of coffee; after all, I knew how the story ends, so if getting there is not worth either the time or the effort, why stick around and take the journey? I was hard-pressed to stay in my seat and absolutely could not sit still! I fidgeted and make snide comments, but they wouldn’t budge from their seats.

To top it off, when we left the theater a huge cold front/storm had blown into the area (and dropped snow in the pass a couple hours after I returned home). Seeing the ominous black clouds and shivering in the 20-degree drop in temp, we headed for home, rather than for a piece of pie and a cuppa joe, so the whole experience was a waste of time, money and personal resources.

Oscar Impact

The world views the annual Oscar show, but it's still an "insiders" evening filled with inside jokes and asides that aren't funny if you are on the outside. We (ordinary viewers) don't know these people the same way they know one another, so making jokes at each other's expense fails to make viewers laugh.

Billy Crystal tried to lighten up the evening, but I wasn't in on the jokes he used in the effort, so it felt unfunny and forced. He made insiders uncomfortable, too, with his efforts at "Billygelina" and the Clooney kiss. The Jewish references are uncomfortable for everyone because we aren't supposed to make fun of other people's race or religion, especially on a world-wide stage, nor should we make fun of our own religion! If it's going to be raucous, then let the fun fly, but by playing it straight while trying to be funny, it becomes offensive.

I enjoyed the Cirque 'd Soleil's unique performance as a refreshing break from the endless parade of presenters who try desperately to make their Oscar presentation a personal moment, rather than simply making the presentation to the contenders and the winner. It was also appreciated that the song nominees were shortened, as well as the best picture noms: clips should be short and pertinent, not the theater trailer, and this year it worked better. Of course, the best moment each year is the memorial to those who have gone to the big theater in the sky, and this year's tribute was especially moving and well-done because it was simple and tasteful.

Winners and losers? I'm glad that the movies that weren't all that great did not win the Oscar, such as Descendants, Bridesmaids and Moneyball, as well as the big name stars that went along with the films. I'm sorry that the incredible performances from Albert Nobbs didn't win, as well as the supporting performances from the older masters who took second chair to some younger one-hit wonders. When it comes to the big categories, the politics really shine through, rather than the performances.

All in all, someone got the Oscars more right this year, but there is room for improvement. I'm surprised that it's taken 84 years to fall so short as I kinda thought someone would have figured it out by now and know how to do the Oscars well, rather than just better than last year.

Coming Soon to a Theater?

The best TV show bar none is CBS’s Sunday Morning, an hour and a half of interesting content that informs, entertains, and engages the viewer with thoughtful, well-written commentary on a wide range of topics. Today’s theme was The Oscars, from obscurity to current predictions, beginning with a history lesson that was different from the usual historical context. The first motion picture to win an Oscar for Best Picture? A silent film about dogfights during the Big One, WWI. While the film played to packed houses, the sound tract was a phonograph recording of appropriate music and “war” sounds. But the real story is that the producer, a former fighter pilot himself, demanded realism, so he taught the actors to fly the planes and mounted a camera onto the front end for realism. Yeah, a couple of pilots died during the filming, but the movie was a hit for decades and the dogfight scenes were studied for choreographing fight scenes in the Tom Cruise film Top Gun!

The morning's discussion also questioned whether movie theaters can continue to operate as viewership (drastically) declines. Going to the movies used to be the most popular form of entertainment, and very affordable, but with today’s home theaters and big screens, as well as fast, easy and cheap movie rentals, people stay home and save the cost of a night out that currently includes $4.00/gal gas, $8.00 tickets even for the worst films, and an easy $15.00 at the refreshment stand for products that may cost as much as a dollar to pop and fizz! Oh, and don't forget the young people who earn $10/hour to ask, "Uh, do ya want butter?"

This conversation started me thinking about my own movie experiences because I love watching the films in a nicely darkened theater, on a really big screen, surrounded with Dolby sound system speakers. I know there won’t be interruptions, such as the neighbor ringing the doorbell, the phone summoning me, or the dogs barking loudly and long enough to wake the dead. I also know I can crunch popcorn in peace because it’s part of the experience, but if I make popcorn at home, somehow it seems like I'm just another couch potato who is eating junk food. Go figure.

Then the thought came to me: going to the movies should be more efficient, more like fast food service. Let’s say the theater schedules a Family Fun Nite, with “family pricing” that includes the typical family of four: tickets, popcorn and a medium soda for $25.00. No upselling; no surprises. Additionally, put an app on the smart phone so the family can purchase the “package deal” and save waiting in line to buy tickets by entering the theater through a specially-designated doorway, which also has the “special” family snack pack waiting for pick-up. The price is right, the service is efficient, and the emphasis is on something affordable and fun for the family.

What bugs me is how expensive it is per person to walk through the door – and I’m a single paying the $7.50 “senior” price, then another $6.00 for a special “senior snack pack” that includes a small popcorn and a small drink. Offer seniors the same deal for $10 and you’ll pack the theater weekly with lots of older folks who don’t have the $13.50 in their pockets (or $27.00 for two) more than once a month.

Take the idea to chick flicks with a Margarita Matinee for “the girls,” featuring non-alcoholic girlie drinks and an appropriate snack (veggies, fruit, or crackers/cheese) packaged with the ticket for $12.00. Include the guys with a Beer 'n Brat Bash, featuring a man’s movie, non-alcoholic beer and a brat with limited fixings. Encourage purchase ahead of arrival, check-in via the smart phone, package the refreshments, and voila: going to the movie becomes both efficient and cost effective.

Date night? Uh, I'm a bit rusty here, but some kind of "twofer" that includes faux champagne and chocolates, as well as a warm romantic feature film? Again, one price, one check-in, one romantic film experience and the opportunity once a week, rather than once in a blue moon!

First come; first served. When the seats are filled, shut the door and everyone who didn't take advantage of the "night out" feature pays full price, waits through endless lines, and wishes s/he had joined the crowds having fun in the other theater!

If theaters want to compete, they have to become competitive: they no longer have the luxury to believe that if people wind through endless lines to purchase an $8 ticket, then wait in line again for the ticket to be torn, and then stand in yet another line to buy refreshments, they will better appreciate the theater experience and keep coming back. Here’s a news flash: it isn’t working now and it isn’t going to work until changes are made that benefit the movie-goer, NOT the theater owner.

Can’t hurt to create innovative ways to fill up the seats and keep the doors open so today's generation can share the Big Screen Experience with their grandkids someday.

W/E

For some movie-goers who attend a screening of W/E, a movie that seems on the surface to be about England’s notorious Wallace and Edward, expectations would center on the love story of … "that" Wallace and Edward. Imagine my surprise to find out that it’s sort of about that couple, but mostly not. This has to be one of the most challenging movies to unravel in recent months, tying Tinker/Tailor for requiring intense cognitive engagement throughout the viewing experience.

Yes, there is a main character, Wally, but she’s named for Wallace Simpson. She works at Sotheby’s, which is auctioning off memorabilia from Wallace and Edward’s estate, which is the tie-in to that famous couple. Her own first marriage was a nightmare and she’s enduring her second marriage, another reflection of the famous Wally, and she also dreams about having what is lacking in her life: a loving husband and a child. We learn that the famous Wally lost her unborn child when her first husband viciously attacked her physically; hence, she was not able to conceive. The named-for Wally also cannot conceive, but that problem is cured with a torrid affair with a museum guard who recognizes her vulnerability and insinuates himself into her life after this Wally is beaten by her husband and flees for her life.

For whatever reason, the present-day Wally becomes focused on the famous Wally’s lament that no one ever knew the story from her side, so my best guess is that Madonna decided to get that story “out there” by using a fictional parallel present-day story. Good technique if it works, but I’m not convinced that it works all that well. Additionally, it's challenging to feel sorry for the notorious Wally's lament that she lives like a prisoner after Edward gives up his throne and spends the rest of his life in exile with her. Another cautionary tale: be careful what you wish for as you may get it.

Below it all is a good movie; it’s just challenging to get there from thinking it’s about one couple and realizing it’s about another couple. The flashbacks and flash-betweens are difficult to follow because the viewer keeps waiting for the movie to be about England's notorious Wallace and Edward, not the present-day Wally Wannabee and her life. Yes, there are parallels, but the movie is sold to the public under false pretenses. While other viewers, perhaps those who expected the movie to be about the famous Wallace and Edward, walked out of the theater, I stayed the course, but it was a close call about half-way through the screening!

Moving On

It is challenging to understand the hoopla over a singer’s death, especially a singer with a history of substance abuse and a career that languished for the past dozen years. It’s sad when anyone dies unexpectedly, but the headlines that scream WHITNEY’S TRAGIC DEATH are a bit over-blown. She died as many of us wish to die, peacefully, in our sleep, with the added benefit of a nice, hot relaxing bath, her struggles with addiction finally ended. A quiet end for a life of public desperation and despair.

A tragic death occurred locally the other morning when a man driving a truck suffered a seizure, lost control of his vehicle and careered off a transit bus into traffic, where his truck crushed beyond recognition a PT Cruiser and its driver, who was waiting for a red light to change, then pushed the wreckage into the intersection where it involved another 2 vehicles. Thankfully, there was only one fatality, but that was a tragic death for an unaware driver waiting behind the wheel of his car for the light to change.

A tragic death occurred out of state the same morning when a school bus on its way to school was hit by a huge 18-wheeler at an intersection, killing one triplet and critically injuring the other 2 girls. The family is not just grieving the death of one of their daughters, but praying for the survival of her 2 sisters, truly a tragedy for this family.

The word “tragedy” is reserved for specific circumstances, those that can be characterized as dramatic, calamitous, disastrous events, especially those of some moral significance. Houston’s death has none of these features and could best be described as “not unexpected,” or “a sad, sudden passing,” or “sorrowful,” but not especially tragic. The media makes it up as they go along, “hyping” (an abbreviated form of the word hyperbole, which means to exaggerate for effect) commonality into exceptionality without reason other than ratings. People with tangential connections to Houston proffer profundity about who she was and the impact of her life/death on America as if Whitney Houston were the second coming, not an addicted singer struggling to make it through just one more day.

Whitney Houston lost her battle with just one more day, but leaves this world as if she saved us all from certain doom in the process. She sang, oh, yes, she sang, but the Glee star, Mercedes (Amber Riley), who covered I Will Always Love You, sang it as well on last week’s episode of Glee as Whitney ever sang it – and better than Whitney has sung her signature song in a dozen years! When what you do to earn fame or garner respect can be replicated by others who are just as talented, or, perhaps, more talented, but didn’t get your break-through fame by using family connections, then you are not “the one,” but merely one more.

The week before her death, Whitney sold fewer than 500 albums; during the days following her death, sales of her albums soared into the tens of thousands. If her life truly is worth mourning to the extent the media hypes it, she would have been selling albums every week, but no one cared about her drug-fueled past, nor her questionable present, until she died. That defines hypocrisy, not tragedy, and certainly does not merit the overwhelming public displays of distraught grief that have filled the TV screens for the past week.

Whitney’s passing is a sad time for her family, but it’s simply one more moment in time for both the singer's fans and the media, who move on quickly when the next "tragedy" offers another opportunity to boost ratings.

Don't Like the Weather?

From 80s over the weekend to snow/rain a few days later, if you don't like the weather in the desert -- stick around. It'll change.

"Our" storm is moving out, heading east after leaving snow up the grade that began falling as I left for home after teaching my Wed class. It was in the 50s when I arrived on campus and in the 40s when I left, with the snow heralded by freezing rain all the way home and low clouds hovering over the mountains surrounding the highway. Cold here all night, with assorted power outages again and again and again in the same spots that always have to do without power if it rains, the wind blows, or a line falls onto a wooden fence and starts a fire.

Our infrastructure was poorly constructed over the 50 years this crappy community developed and no one has done anything to upgrade it as the utility companies are all too busy on the other side of I-10, the important side where all the tourists spend their money. The local streets are dirt spottily covered with patches of asphalt: no sidewalks, no curbs, no rain gutters. Main street is well-defined, but go one block either side of it and it's rural community between the isolated private gated communities that boast of their amenities, but I bet their power was out all last night, too!

SNAFU

ONGOING UPDATES: CalTrans blew it big and now everybody is on-board for making sure this does not happen again, citing the "national emergency" nature of shutting down a major US highway to ... fill potholes. It does not matter what caused the problem; the issue is why it continued to worsen over the period of 12 hours. There is a contingency plan in place, but no one recognized the severity of the situation and then took action to deal effectively with the existing conditions. It may well be that the head of CalTrans will be replaced before all the hearings scheduled for the next several weeks are concluded. I believe that's called "accountability," a rare commodity indeed these days.

SNAFU is an acronym for "situation normal: all f'd up." We had a major SNAFU on I-10 this past Sunday, a SNAFU that caused a 25-mile back-up ultimately of 8 lanes of traffic involving thousands and thousands of unaware and unprepared motorists. Nope, not an accident this time: people understand a major traffic accident. This time, it was a CalTrans crew filling potholes in Banning.

The crew began scheduled work during the night Saturday, work that was set to be completed early Sunday morning; however, the crew did not finish the job, so they stayed on the freeway and continued to work at what some motorists have called a "leisurely pace" throughout the day Sunday. When the 10,000 people who were in town for the major biking event started to leave, the already normally heavy weekend traffic came to a standstill from Banning to Palm Springs -- roughly the same distance as it is from the CA coast to Catalina island: 26 miles.

Again we had travelers without options because there are limited travel alternatives in case of emergency. And, apparently, no one thought to go to the job site and tell the workers to pick up the cones and get the hell off the freeway before traffic backed up all the way to Phoenix! Why? Because, evidently, no one at either CalTrans or the Highway Patrol knew what was happening on I-10 Sunday.

Motorists missed flights, ran out of gas, had no food/water with them, had to go potty alongside the road, and escalated the traffic nightmare by going the wrong way against traffic, traveling in the emergency lane, bunching up on the shoulder of the road -- all in an effort to find a way off the freeway. Some motorists got off the freeway west and turned back east, but that soon jammed up the eastbound, as well as the westbound traffic. Unfortunately, options are few, and, for several miles, non-existent, so once the situation develops, there is nothing to do but wait it out.

In this case, however, the situation never needed to develop as it is a result of bad judgment.

The workers were well aware of the traffic conditions they created and the supervisor should have been at the site to assess the progress on the job and make a decision whether to continue or come back later. CalTrans has apologized -- in a news release -- but is that enough? Saying "sorry" only feels right to the person who says it to excuse inappropriate and/or unacceptable behavior. If there is no dire consequence for this kind of SNAFU, there is nothing to prevent it from happening again.

We all need to relearn the value of stepping up and speaking out when things go wrong. "Someone" should have said, "Hey, this is a nightmare! Let's pack up our stuff and open these lanes." Do what needs to be done when it needs to be done and deal with the aftermath ... afterward. The consequences for making a judgment call in a situation that necessitated common sense to over-rule a job order could not be worse than the damage done to CalTran's reputation this past Sunday afternoon.

If nothing else, these workers put their lives at risk, as well as the safety of the thousands of vehicles caught in the middle of the mess.

UPDATE: After dozens of horror stories and complaints from motorists and local politicians, the head of CalTrans informed the media this afternoon that the workers involved in the SNAFU have been demoted, not fired. No details have been shared because "it's a personnel matter" and cannot be publicly disclosed. Everyone/everywhere is calling for action, not apologies, so we'll see what happens.

Quick Question

Why do people not seem to realize that it's a bad idea to take provocative nude photos of themselves? If the photo is not taken, it cannot "accidentally" end up anywhere the subject of the photo does not intend it to be. Thus, the teacher/coach who "accidentally" posted a provocative nude photo of himself on FACEBOOK (for crying out loud!) would still not only have his job, but also his self-respect.

Ditto: sex tapes! Really: anyone thinks making a sex tape is a good idea and believes that both participants will keep that a private matter? Yeah, like that's going to happen, especially if the relationship ends (badly or otherwise). The sex tape can become revenge or some pretty gross free advertising for the parties involved.

Keep your clothes on and you don't have to worry about what if.

Near-sighted or Simply Blind?

For the past 10 days or so, I’ve watched what’s going on in Athens, the first stop on my retirement cruise to Greece. People are violently rioting in the streets, smashing windows, starting fires, and seemingly unwilling to stop the violence until stability returns to Greece's economy. Officials are fighting back with all the enforcement mechanisms at their disposal, but the violence has continued to escalate with each passing day, so I decided over the weekend to contact the travel agency and ask if I should be concerned about my May cruise departure.

Imagine my surprise when the first responder, a woman, was stunned into silence with the mention of “violence in Greece.” You know that moment of silence, when, as the caller, you ask, “Are you still there?” She acknowledged that she was still on the line, but an unexpected click was followed by a male voice introducing himself to me and asking if he could help me. “Yes,” I answered. “What happened to the woman who answered the phone?”

He told me that I (evidently) have a question that she felt he could answer better than she, so she transferred me – without making me aware of her decision to do so. I asked him my question: I’ve been watching the violence in Greece escalate for about 10 days, with it becoming out of control over the weekend, including rioting, fire bombings, and shootings in the streets of Athens, the first stop on my May cruise. Is this violence, combined with the financial problems that may lead Greece into bankruptcy, going to affect my cruise?

Again, the stunned silence, followed by an absolute denial of any of the issues I had just described. As a matter of fact, he slightly laughed, he explained that what’s going on in Greece is just like the US’s Occupy rallies: harmless, non-violent, and nothing to worry about.

This time, I am stunned silent. “Really?” I finally asked. “Have you watched any TV news over the past 10 days or listened to the radio at all? What’s going on in Greece is far beyond the US Occupy protests of senior citizens standing on street corners and asking passersby to honk if they support the cause!”

The man admitted that he doesn’t watch much TV; instead, he relies on the State Department to provide the agency with necessary information about worldwide violence that could affect one of their overseas trips. And, he assured me, because I purchased trip insurance, I won’t lose anything if the trip is cancelled.

Lucky me, I guess, but I’d feel so much better if the travel agency had a better handle on what’s going on in the world, rather than worrying only whether it will cost them revenue if they have to cancel my trip to Greece the first of May!! My final payment is due March 8, so I’m going to do some thinking about this until then and decide whether to cancel my reservation.

Where There's Smoke ...

The power went out about 1 pm, so I opened the house (it's in the 80s today) until power was restored. A strong smell of smoke permeated the house, almost enough to close the windows. A few minutes later, my next-door neighbor came over to ask me if my power was off, which I told her it was. She was talking to an Edison Co rep on her phone -- and the service rep claimed that no one else had reported a power outage in our area. I told her to tell him that I smelled a really strong odor of something burning about the same time as the power went out, and they could be related.

Or not, the service rep assured us, because he would have a notification on his computer if that were the case.

An hour later, after I finished prepping my taxes for the tax man, I came online to see what's been happening since early this morning and discovered that a power pole a couple of blocks west of me, in the same block, split in two, fell onto a wooden fence, and began a fairly significant blaze, as well as created a power outage in the neighborhood.

Vindication: not only was the power out and I'm SURE someone reported it to the power company, but the smoke was a result of the fire caused by the power pole problem. Occam's Razor rules: sometimes, the simplest answer is also the right answer. Where there was smoke this afternoon, there was also a fire!!

The Definition of Stupid

Today, as much as I did not want to do it, I was going to drive for an hour to the computer store, leave my Toshiba laptop so "someone" could figure out what's wrong with it, then drive an hour back home and wait for the "it's fixed" call. The little internal voice said, plug it in first and be sure it won't work before going to all that trouble and loss of personal time.

I did; it works; I feel stupid.

Guess the battery died completely, but I thought it was plugged in, so didn't check the obvious until forced with having to do something to put the machine back in use.

Whatever.

Daddy and the Titanic

My father was born in Everett, MA in April 1912, at about the same time the Titanic hit an iceberg and sank to the seafloor. When he was 3, his mother died, but I have no idea what caused her death. My grandfather decided to relocate, so he packed up his sons and moved to Santa Barbara, CA where he opened a woodworking shop. Somewhere along the line, he met a prominent local woman, whom he married and with whom he had a couple more children. During my father’s youth, his step-mother made it abundantly clear that he was not her child and treated him with disdain that we would call abuse today. He was turned out of the house after breakfast each morning and allowed to return for dinner, a meal that did little to put meat on his bones, as they say, because Kate’s forte was neither mothering nor cooking.

Dad met my mom on State Street one early evening, according to the story I was told. He saw her glowing crown of blonde hair blowing freely in the window of another car and told his best friend, Chesley, who became my godfather, that he was going to marry her. Chesley laughed and told him that he had to meet her first. They did marry, in 1939, and began a life of struggle together that probably seemed like paradise after the lives they had lived as children. Back then, the Great Depression was beginning to fade, but no one had it easy, and adding 6 children to a couple’s financial burden strained the most bonded couples. Daddy drank; Mom was strung out with stress; and life became an endurance contest for all of us, a struggle not solved when Daddy died a short 3 months’ after celebrating his 50th birthday with his best friend, Chesley, and a motorcycle. The cause of death was leukemia, but my Mom always believed that Daddy developed that disease after a series of blood transfusions following the motorcycle accident. Regardless of the cause, Daddy’s death imploded our family, creating schisms that exacerbated with my mother’s death 40 years’ later.

My Dad was not a handsome man, with protruding teeth and a large, beaked nose, but he was a good man who earned the best living he could. When I began attending the local Lutheran church in my early teens, Dad joined a men’s group. He became part of the men’s effort to build a retreat in the mountains surrounding what is called The Grapevine, the highway between the Los Angeles area and Bakersfield. He was proud of his contributions to that effort and often told me that he found God on the mountaintops, a hold-over from his youth spent hiking endless hours in the foothills surrounding Santa Barbara.

Daddy also built a family home for his wife and 6 children, a home that he never completely finished and which became the biggest bone of contention after Mom’s death. He paneled the huge living room with heavy slabs of natural wood that he sanded and then varnished until they reflected the sunlight coming through the large plate-glass windows. He installed wood floors in the entire upstairs of the two-story house, one small piece at a time, without a nail head showing anywhere. He again sanded and varnished the floors to a mirror finish that didn’t last long with 8 people living in the house. After Daddy died, the family died, along with the house. It was an unhappy place to be for all of us, but rather than sharing our sorrow, we each fled from the scene of such sadness, leaving behind Mom and the youngest, a little boy who had just celebrated his 7th birthday before his Daddy died.

Mom had never worked a day outside the home because she had a full-time job caring for her growing family, as well as her invalid mother and alcoholic father. It should have been a kind of relief when both of them died, but my father’s father had also passed away, and then my father, so the people to whom my mother could have turned for help were not there to help her. Her 2 brothers, both of whom were married and had their own families, were of limited help, with one refusing any assistance and the other offering $20 a month. My father’s life insurance, $5,000, could have helped until my mother found a job, but the evil step-mother came calling, claiming that my father owed her … $5000 … for a car she loaned him the money to purchase, a coincidence that could not be proven with paperwork. Back then, however, there was no choice, so Mom signed over the insurance check and we had to figure out a way to pay the bills and hang onto life, such as it was.

Mom did find a job working the lunch counter at a local pharmacy, a job she opened and I closed, riding the bus from my high school to my job during the week and working all day Saturday, too. It took a while for Mom to hire on with the local library, where she worked at what today is called an administrative secretary position. When I became able to help her financially later in my life, I contributed what she had always asked: if each of my 6 children would send me $100 a month, I’d be able to make it. I was the only one to send the checks, and I raised the amount to $150 when I could afford to do so, but she struggled to keep her home.

People who claim they have no regrets do, and I am no different. My father was my protector, keeping me safe not just from life, but from my Mom, who seemed to dislike me more than my siblings, and from my siblings, who delighted in taunting me and making my life miserable. It is what it is, but I have few recollections of my childhood because it was painful to be unattractive, awkward, and unliked by the one group of people who have to love you, like it or not: family.

Robert Frost claimed that “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in,” but home was the last place I ever wanted to be once I left it. I’ve always wished that my father had lived because he would have welcomed me home with a comforting hug each and every time I visited, but he died. I think he would be happy with what my life has become, and I need to believe that he would have supported me much better than anyone else because he accepted me, warts and all.

I have little bits and pieces, two of which are painful, including the day I broke my leg riding my bike down the driveway at the house he was building. He didn’t have time for that, so he carried me upstairs after he realized I could not walk, set me down on the bare hardwood floors of the living room, finished his day’s work, and then took me home. When he carried me inside the tiny cottage where we all lived at the time, he set me on my feet, but my legs gave out and I fell, alerting my Mom to the reality that something was wrong. She took me to the hospital where it was discovered I had fractured my leg over a dozen times, perhaps creating additional injury when I was forced to my feet, rather than taken to the hospital. I did not have surgery to repair my leg, but wore a hip-high cast for what seemed like forever.

The other time was leaving the house across the street after babysitting, mis-stepping on a step not more than 2” high and shredding the insides of my left foot, but hobbling home crying all the way. God, that hurt!! Daddy told me to ice it, which I did, but it did not get better, so I was finally taken several days later to see a doctor who explained that it was the ligament and tissues in my foot that stretched and, thankfully, did not tear, so no surgery was required, but I was back onto crutches for 2 months.

However, the most painful experience of my life happened 6 weeks before my father died, two weeks before he was diagnosed with leukemia. It was my 17th birthday and my girlfriends from the neighborhood wanted to give me a birthday party, unheard of in my family. There was a performance at the high school that night, so the girls wanted to take me to dinner (I had never eaten in a restaurant before this day) before the concert and then stay overnight at one girls’ house. I was thrilled beyond words to be asked to do all of this, but also to have permission to enjoy this special party. The next morning, however, all hell broke loose when I returned home. My father accused me of not being where I said I was and would not listen to me when I told him I was at Ellen’s house, there were no boys involved in the party or sleep-over, and he could call Ellen’s mother to verify I was telling the truth. My father was out of his mind with anger and accusations and completely ruined not just my birthday, but my friendship with the neighborhood girls when he told me I could have nothing to do with any of them again.

My mother always said that he was already sick, but somehow that doesn’t change what he did. I was homely, socially awkward, continually berated by my mother, and struggled just to make it through my miserable days, but I always had my Daddy when I returned home from the cold, cruel world. Once he turned on me and, in my mind, became my mother, I was devastated and could hardly function. I told him he could believe me, but he chose not to do so, and that was that.

Yes, he died 6 weeks later, but I was already numb from losing my Daddy on my birthday, so it barely registered that he was gone for good. One foot in front of the other, I kept making it through the days, but my life has been clouded with grey since 1962, when life as I knew it, imperfect as it was, came to an end. I’ve missed my Daddy every single day since he died, but, to tell the truth, I cannot recall when my mother died.

This year, my Dad would have been 100; every time I see the images of the Titanic at the bottom of the ocean, giving way to nature’s forces, I see my Dad at the bottom of a cemetery plot, nothing left of the man I remember and miss so much. Recently, while I was in Santa Barbara with a friend, she asked me if I was going to visit my parents’ grave. I told her no, excusing myself with the busyness of our visit, but truthfully, the last place I ever want to set foot is at my parents’ gravesite (my mother, who was cremated after her death, is inurned with my father's remains). I miss my Daddy for the love lost, but it’s harder to miss my Mom.

Contrary to those who had to find the Titanic, who had to explore what's left of the once majestic ship, I don’t need to see the grave to remember how short life’s journey can be for some and how powerful the impact of death can be on so many levels of a survivor’s life.

Just Another Game

The Super Bowl has become just another football game: regardless of how well the teams play during the season, one team dominates the other in the final game of the season and the other looks inept. Tom Brady is a much better quarterback than yesterday’s game showcased, so it’s embarrassing to have to be "losing quarterback Tom Brady" for the coming season! Eli Manning stepped up to the plate and scored the homerun, but so what? who cares? I’d already seen all of the “hot, new commercials” a dozen times, the half-time show was like watching a bad foreign film without subtitles, and the actual football game was tedious. My vote? Take the “super” out of the bowl and just end the darned season already.

I did, on another track, receive a phone call from the manager of the McDonald’s at which I purchased the nastiest Angus mushroom burger ever. I complained at the chain’s website, provided the specific details of the outlet location, and figured nothing would come of it. My suggestion to the manager is to forget the mushrooms as they are not a product that does fast food well. Mine were black, shriveled, and slimy, not an appetizing accoutrement to any burger, so I threw the whole thing into the trash. It also featured Swiss cheese, although I said several times that I don’t eat Swiss cheese and requested yellow cheese instead. I don’t remember which fast food joint offers to do it my way, but it’s not Mickey D’s.

My Saturday plan was to attend the food truck event downtown, featuring 40 assorted food trucks accompanied by stars from the cooking shows (my favorite weekend pleasure), but 9,999 other people had the same thought. No parking; no easy access; and long, long lines at all the trucks. With an entrance fee of $10 to attend the event, then the cost of food (and calories) extra, I decided to return home and knit headbands for my dotter. Her ears get cold, but she isn’t a hat fan, so I made her an assortment that she can try for the coming cold spell the weather reporters keep predicting. If they work, fine, I can make more, but if they don’t, the ear warmers are easy to make and use up bits ‘n pieces from my stash of multiple boxes of yarn hidden in the guestroom closet.

My Discover card people contacted me again to remind me that Amazon.com is using my outdated card. Yep, I know that, and I keep changing the info on the appropriate page in the website, but evidently Amazon’s amazing technology does not allow for change. Guess I’ll have to switch out the card and delete the Discover card altogether.

Been watching movies at the theatre with my movie buddies, so have seen some outstanding movies, such as Albert Nobbs and Iron Lady, as well as a cute chick flick, One for the Money. Janet Evanovich has written a series (current: Explosive Eighteen) of TRNs (Trashy Romance Novels) that feature a female protagonist, Stephanie Plum, who jumps into a job as a bounty hunter because her cousin has a bail bond business and Stephanie always needs money. The setting is New Jersey, the family is Plum crazy, and it’s both the characters and the romance that help the series be so engaging. The major conflict is between Stephanie, her former boyfriend, Morelli, and the hot, really hot mystery man, Ranger, whose business is personal security. Throughout the 18 books in the series, I’ve taken sides, deciding that Morelli is a commitment, Ranger is for as long as he’s interested, and Stephanie is enjoying both at her whim, as well as theirs. What’s funny is that they both know they are sometimes almost simutaneously enjoying Stephanie in a carnal manner, but don’t seem to be as upset about that as I think they should be. Stephanie isn't even upset at that triangle: shouldn’t she at least see one into a relationship and then break it off if it’s not going to work before taking up with the other?

Yeah, I’m old-fashioned that way: one at a time, girls.

Finishing up with the two outstanding movies, Glenn Close’s portrayal in Albert Nobbs is without equal. The physical appearance of the character is entrancing because it’s difficult to distinguish between the woman actor and the fictional male character. The story is subtle, nuanced, layered as it builds from a quiet beginning to a silent fade-out. Close projects an intensity of emotion through her eyes that confirms the eyes as the windows to one’s soul, and she does this without moving another part of her body. When she meets “the painter,” neither she nor I is aware that he, too, is a woman in man’s clothing, doing a man’s job. That meeting becomes the pivotal moment of Albert Nobbs' life, the exact moment when his life begins to fade and her life begins to emerge. The film is, in the vernacular, A-MAAAA-ZING and an absolute tour d’force for Glenn Close.

The second film of note is The Iron Lady (starring Meryl Streep), which seems on the surface to be the story of Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister of England, but is much more deeply the story of Margaret Thatcher, a woman whose political life becomes bigger than the sum of its personal parts. It is gut-wrenching to slowly realize that the old woman on the street is the same woman who carved a path into England’s history, but movingly poignant to accept that she is living her past again and again by keeping her deceased husband alive in her present. The day she finally throws away his suits and his shoes sent tears coursing down my cheeks as I realized that once she accepts the past, she also has to accept her present, and her present is devoid of the various forces that made her such a formidable woman. Not only was my heart on the screen, but it was also with my dear friend who is suffering from a slow mental decline herself, and reflected onto myself, especially the feelings of not being who I once was and not knowing who I currently am.

But, most importantly, I’ve been taking good care of my two girls, taking a walk every afternoon, and cuddling with them during the evening hours. I’ve been offered another female Jack Russell terrier, but that’s not a good idea either logistically or practically. The man up the street took the dog from his daughter, who has 4 other large dogs, and wants to find it a good home. He and I have exchanged pleasantries for the past year as I’ve walked past his home and greeted his little barkers, so I’m thinking that he told his daughter that he knows a patsy who will take the dog off their hands. Just sayin’. Mia is aging, but she’s still frisky enough to walk every day and strong enough to pull me to a sudden stop when she wants to sniff a bush, so I’m not ready to send her to the glue factory just yet. The problem is, of course, having someone stay with them when I want to travel, and that’s a problem often without solution, which means I stay home when I want to be gone.

Have some thinking to do.