Archive for February, 2009

and um…

I don’t need to cry over my windshield wiper anymore. Doused that sucker in Liquid Wrench and away that. Things that should be simple frustrate me. And cars are decidedly not a passion.

I needed this today

a response to a post from Colin M’s  blog:

 “I know your works. You are neither cold nor hot. So because you are lukewarm, I will spew you out of my mouth.” (from the movie There Will Be Blood)

 Passion is hot or cold; love or hate; perfect or incomplete — never lukewarm. –

and…

check out these owls at softies central.

resurrection fern

I’m loving the moss terrariums on Resurrection Fern’s blog. I used to make a lot of those as a kid. It was like creating a strange and magical world.  And aren’t the thimbles darling?

I’m committed

No, not the way you think. Ok, that was a cheap joke.

Aside from the kiddo, it is indeed, very, very difficult for me to commit to anything other than a magazine subscription. I think I’m comitted to where I live now. I dropped my subscription to the Hartford Courant and actually signed up with my area newspaper. Not the hometown newspaper—I don’t count a two section rag that can muster only daily crime as their reliable (yawn) headline as a real news source. I want to know more about where I’m raising my kiddo. Particularly about the good stuff, the interesting stuff; the real issues that affect our ongoing life. We’re going to be here for awhile —well, at least two years–I think. 

I was pleasantly surprised to see in my first delivery, Alistair Highet’s article on Marlon Brando and improv (Fee, I think you’d like this. Quite Freudian.). I’m not sure what I’d have to say about Brando except that his nose was interesting (I like strong noses, not prissy perfect ones), and that I’d have to agree that he delivered the moment and at times, the character, when inspired. I had a tough time getting around his voice much of the time. But I thought he was brilliant in Last Tango in Paris (which I’ve always believed was an excellent study in grief and loss, and less about sex. Sex was the instrument.). Godfather? Yeah, good…but I’m more of a Godfather II girl. And I’d rather read Streetcar than watch it. I do like actors who are…actors…and less movie stars. I’d read Newsweek’s Oscars roundtable discussion with various nominees and others  and felt a strong urge to vomit violently. Movie stars. But Brad Pitt was right…in the early nineties, Penn, Oldman, and Rourke were gods. I can’t think of any among the younger set that compare. And now I sound quite old.

Legal issues from that messy separation still go unresolved. Which mean more court appearances, nasty glances and soliloquies from a certain, er, character. But I’m not mad anymore. Ok, I wanted to cry yesterday when I couldn’t get my windshield wiper blade off so that I could replace it–it would be nice to have someone to help with  things like that. But now  it’s only little things that get in my way, and not some terrible, oppressive boulder blocking my path. Life is good.

damned if I know!

Sunday morning, still in bed. Little sleepy head looks up to me with half lidded eyes fluttering and asks:

“Mama, how do weeble-wobbles sleep?”

Um, er…..

You’re out of luck, kid. Can’t find that answer anywhere in the manual.

a word…

It’s winter break and we’re chilling out; skating, playing board games, and watching flicks. We did see Coraline. It’s not a show for young children. Unless it’s the kiddo. It’s creepy in a sophisticated way, and visually beautiful and a tad crazy. It had a few boring (for me) moments, but otherwise, we both loved it. Fantastic animation, and Selick should just do animation for grownups. Seriously. There were many children as old as eleven around us, right, left, and in front…who announced to their parents their dislike and fright, and for that reason, I would not recommend it for the kiddie set. Oddly, I did not see one parent get up and leave with their kid, and I was sitting in the back row and would have noticed. Anyhoo, I poked the kiddo every few secs and would ask “are you ok?” …”yesssss, Mama”….she didn’t even take her eyes of the screen.

She also loves this short and can repeat Burton’s story/poem of Vincent by heart.

Interesting.

Actually, she’s informed me that there’s a Vincent finch in our future should her favorite finch (that would be Kisa, a very pretty grey and white pied male), reproduce with his lovely mate. Train ’em young, I always say.