The last day of the month! Time has indeed flown! I had a happy busy weekend, going to the Buddhist study group, having dinner at our son's house, shopping with our daughter-in-law and daughter for birthday clothes and watching the Oscars. Now it's time to play a little catch-up with real life. I have a date with bleach and a shower this morning. Then a lot of plant trimming. The day is beautiful but cold. I saw this morning in a email that Cara Black's new mystery is coming out, and that is cause for joy. In the meantime I'm reading a book my older daughter recommended - Wolf Hall - which won the Booker prize in 2009. It's exciting from the beginning - a fictionalized account of Thomas Cromwell in England.
The Oscars were maybe too predictable, even though I can't argue the results. I wanted "Biutiful" to win for foreign film, and Bardem for actor, but I do love Colin Firth. The gowns were scrumptious, but I missed Meryl Streep's huge fashion mistakes and anything unpredictable. Still, it's wonderful eye candy. Now to the eye candy that is the guest shower.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Old Age Day by Day February 25, 2011
I didn't feel happy after last night's chorus rehearsal. I felt all my confidence ebb away, when our conductor sent a woman to sing with the tenors (me and now a new woman), because this woman, meaning to be helpful, lectures me and so destroys my concentation I can't sing. I finally stopped, and went to the restroom as an excuse. I just feel hounded. I will have been singing correctly, and when she steps next to me, I am immediately rattled. This makes me believe I should quit, because I can't keep focused. I'm going to think it over for a couple of days. I really just want to enjoy the process, as I've said before. But maybe it is not going to be possible. I wish someone could give me an honest assessment of whether I am singing well enough to be a part of the chorus. I don't believe the conductor will tell me the truth, because we have so few members, and if I leave there will be one tenor, or none. I can't expect to give myself an objective assessment, and I'm up and down about how I think I'm doing. Sometimes I nail it, others I'm fumbling. Like life.
I hope I can sort my feelings out, and maybe talk to the conductor, which is the right thing to do. I cannot just quit without discussing why. But I don't want to talk about another member. It feels awful.
I hope I can sort my feelings out, and maybe talk to the conductor, which is the right thing to do. I cannot just quit without discussing why. But I don't want to talk about another member. It feels awful.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Old Age Day by Day February 24, 2011
I have to go to the bank this morning to grab copies of our older son's birth certificate. He's going abroad again and needs them for his visa. Sounds simple, but this kind of looking at the safe deposit box sometimes brings up a lot of emotion for me. My parents' rings, old passports, the will - memories arise. Then there is the guilt I feel for not having written a letter yet to each of my children for opening upon my death. And the pesky fact of needing to list what special things I want to go to which kid. I know it would be better to state ahead of time and save tension after I'm gone. I also should say what I want for a memorial service, and what songs.
So it's about a birth certificate, but it's about death, too. And its about responsibility and easing the way for any grieving that occurs when I'm gone. From that point of view, I need a letter to my husband as well, and maybe a couple for friends. I try to make each encounter with another the best it can be, in case we never see each other again. Maybe my next encounter with the safe deposit box needs to be as thoughtful.
So it's about a birth certificate, but it's about death, too. And its about responsibility and easing the way for any grieving that occurs when I'm gone. From that point of view, I need a letter to my husband as well, and maybe a couple for friends. I try to make each encounter with another the best it can be, in case we never see each other again. Maybe my next encounter with the safe deposit box needs to be as thoughtful.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Old Age Day by Day February 23, 2011
My daughter and I saw "Winter's Bone" yesterday. It was depressing, and not that great a movie, from my point of view. Maybe Jennifer Lawrence and John Hawkes deserve the nominations, especially the later, but I'm not entirely convinced. Why wasn't Matt Damon up for supporting actor for "True Grit" or best actor for "Hereafter".
I was saying to a friend the other day, it's interesting that two films about psychics were prominent this last year - first "Hereafter" and second, "Biutiful". With both Matt Damon's and Javier Bardem's characters, there is a loneliness and sorrow attached to their gift, and a complex turmoil about serving others, benefiting financially themselves, and the overwhelming isolation they feel because they can "see things". Not since "The Sixth Sense" has this subject been dealt with delicately and with insight. In each case, the psychic is a representation of the aloneness that people can feel, when they are too empathetic and have not set their boundaries safely enough for themselves. These people are not jokes, as is Whoopi Goldberg in "Ghost" . These people seem real, and share our human dilemma. These people are unable to avoid death and its effects, unlike most of us in Western cultures, and they face what we refuse to face. Therefore, they seem fully alive, in a way that few are. Damon's character ends up being reconnected to another in a mutually beneficial way. Bardem's character has always been deeply connected, to his family and all beings. He dies, but the viewer believes his caring and legacy will live on in his children and the people who's lives he's touched.
So Bardem gets the Oscar recognition, and Damon not. Bardem's is the better performance, perhaps, but Damon is subtle and haunting in his film. I hope everyone sees both.
I was saying to a friend the other day, it's interesting that two films about psychics were prominent this last year - first "Hereafter" and second, "Biutiful". With both Matt Damon's and Javier Bardem's characters, there is a loneliness and sorrow attached to their gift, and a complex turmoil about serving others, benefiting financially themselves, and the overwhelming isolation they feel because they can "see things". Not since "The Sixth Sense" has this subject been dealt with delicately and with insight. In each case, the psychic is a representation of the aloneness that people can feel, when they are too empathetic and have not set their boundaries safely enough for themselves. These people are not jokes, as is Whoopi Goldberg in "Ghost" . These people seem real, and share our human dilemma. These people are unable to avoid death and its effects, unlike most of us in Western cultures, and they face what we refuse to face. Therefore, they seem fully alive, in a way that few are. Damon's character ends up being reconnected to another in a mutually beneficial way. Bardem's character has always been deeply connected, to his family and all beings. He dies, but the viewer believes his caring and legacy will live on in his children and the people who's lives he's touched.
So Bardem gets the Oscar recognition, and Damon not. Bardem's is the better performance, perhaps, but Damon is subtle and haunting in his film. I hope everyone sees both.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Old Age Day by Day February 22, 2011
Some cleaning and organization has now transpired, and I no longer imagine the CDC tenting the house and putting us in quarantine. I began my first marriage living with my husband in an apartment over a garage on a big estate. I was the housekeeper and he the gardener. We were in college and the jobs meant we got the apartment rent free. The house had fourteen huge rooms and seven bathrooms. The kitchen area had a kitchen, walk in pantry and breakfast room, and the lady of the house thought the floors looked better if they were scrubbed by hand instead of with the polisher etc she owned. She often would have me also watch her three kids as I went about my merry work. Her daughter's room was the size of my whole house now. She was busy with the Junior League and had adopted the children (all blond and blue eyed) in perfect order: boy, girl, boy. There was a nanny, but I think she was often between nannies. Probably they were college students as well, but I never got to speak to any of them. I was once on my hands and knees in the kitchen when she brought her visiting father through, and they stepped right over me as if I was a box in the way.
So, that kind of killed it for my domestic cleaning career. When my parents would visit us in our tiny apartment, they would be surreptiously wiping down the counters and defrosting the refrigerator. I wanted to explain I had no energy when I was finished with work and classes and writing papers. But it seemed easier to pretend to ignore it and seethe. I never was a big one for conflict, and my parents had more firepower and expertise in that arena. Anyway, whatever houseproud means, I didn't get any of it. Or it got lost early on.
I am of the generation where the girls in the family (of which I was the only one) helped vacuum, do dishes, dust, iron and hang out clothes on the line. My brother did none of it. My mom got cancer when I was fourteen and my brother eleven, and it was understood I would take care of the house and my brother while she was in the hospital and for a long time after. I hated ironing the most. I never iron anything now, I just wear it wrinkled. Thank goodness for perma pressed.
So if I fall behind in the domestic skills, and fight tooth and nail for my husband to do 50%, there is a history.
So, that kind of killed it for my domestic cleaning career. When my parents would visit us in our tiny apartment, they would be surreptiously wiping down the counters and defrosting the refrigerator. I wanted to explain I had no energy when I was finished with work and classes and writing papers. But it seemed easier to pretend to ignore it and seethe. I never was a big one for conflict, and my parents had more firepower and expertise in that arena. Anyway, whatever houseproud means, I didn't get any of it. Or it got lost early on.
I am of the generation where the girls in the family (of which I was the only one) helped vacuum, do dishes, dust, iron and hang out clothes on the line. My brother did none of it. My mom got cancer when I was fourteen and my brother eleven, and it was understood I would take care of the house and my brother while she was in the hospital and for a long time after. I hated ironing the most. I never iron anything now, I just wear it wrinkled. Thank goodness for perma pressed.
So if I fall behind in the domestic skills, and fight tooth and nail for my husband to do 50%, there is a history.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Old Age Day by Day February 21, 2011
Today I'm shopping for plastic bins, to organize the basement and garage further, and protect from the river-runs-through-it syndrome prevalent in days of rain. Our house is downhill from a street behind high above, and even the houses on either side are higher up. Despite a drainage system that is more complicated than L.A. freeways, at some point our property always says "I give up, hit me with your best shot", and the tiny puddles become streams, the streams become lakes. You get the picture. So, I must contain everything in plastic, bad for the environment, or have moldy relics that are unidentifyable to even an advanced archeologist.
When I will actually transfer said relics, well, who knows. But just having the bins sitting empty in the basement is comforting. It's a step - a small step for womankind, a giant leap for moi. I feel organized, just thinking about it. Now if I can just get in the car and get to the store.
When I will actually transfer said relics, well, who knows. But just having the bins sitting empty in the basement is comforting. It's a step - a small step for womankind, a giant leap for moi. I feel organized, just thinking about it. Now if I can just get in the car and get to the store.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Old Age Day by Day February 20, 2011
Well, everything is soaked and flooded and moldy, and today is sunny, so maybe our yards and our minds will dry out. It was yucky even to get to the movie yesterday, but it was a terrific film and we were gratified afterward and had tea at my friend's house and talked about it at length. "After the Rain" is the title, and it is a film from Spain, but about an uprising in Bolivia a few years ago over water rights. Don't miss it.
And here we are, today, after the rain. Last night I was in the shower with bleach and a rag trying to clean grout. My hands still smell like bleach. I must have spring cleaning fever. It's a better way to occupy my time than a lot of activities. My husband is working on various tasks as well.
i"m reading Karen Armstrong's new book about 12 steps to a compassionate life. I find her very informative and readable. She is good at the big picture stuff. I hope the book influences people to attempt reconciliation and tolerance. I'm hopeful.
And here we are, today, after the rain. Last night I was in the shower with bleach and a rag trying to clean grout. My hands still smell like bleach. I must have spring cleaning fever. It's a better way to occupy my time than a lot of activities. My husband is working on various tasks as well.
i"m reading Karen Armstrong's new book about 12 steps to a compassionate life. I find her very informative and readable. She is good at the big picture stuff. I hope the book influences people to attempt reconciliation and tolerance. I'm hopeful.
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