Wit, with Emma Thompson

I had no idea of the ride this movie would take me on when I slid it into the DVD last night. Wit, with Emma Thompson, is a brilliant rendition of her character's treatment of stage IV ovarian metastatic cancer, from the detached delivery of the diagnosis by her doctor in his office to the final ending scenes of her journey through modern medical science. I have known doctors like this, smug in their knowledge, flanked by a cohort of white-coated residents. I generally hope to avoid these types.

My friend Heather is currently undergoing chemotherapy, essentially a somewhat violent method of dealing with a violent intruder to the body: cancer. So that made this movie initially difficult to watch, but I wanted to learn, to know. This movie excels in narrating the journey that Dr. Bearing (her character, a renowned and tough professor whose emphasis is the metaphysical poetry of John Donne) takes from cerebral and abstract depictions of the struggle of life and death to the concrete and palpable illustrations of a patient who struggles with with her own failings, of issues of mortality. And chemo. And kindness.

I was thrown for a loop, as Dave will attest, struggling to process what I'd seen. I had just written my friend a somewhat light-hearted letter after she described to me the physical ravages of her first week of chemo. I tried to be empathetic and understanding because I'm keenly interested in her. But after seeing this movie, I wondered how I could be a better support to her--it's much different when a person might have physical discomfort recovering from a surgical procedure vs. having physical discomfort by choice--choosing the chemo to bring on symptoms of pain because the end result of ridding the body of cancer is the goal, the sought-after prize.

One of the best scenes (there were many) in the movie is the interchange of the younger Dr. Bearing with her mentor. This graduate advisor does figure in at the end as well, and is played with exceptional delicacy by Eileen Atkins. Her impatience with the use of a semi-colon rather than a comma in Donne's famous work Death Be Not Proud, is instructive.

Better Than Lady GaGa

I don't know why, but I like this remix/imitation version so much better than the real thing.

Over the River and Through the Woods. . .

There's some new recipes up on Elizabeth's Kitchen: Roast Turkey, Turkey Gravy, Creamy Chocolate Fudge, and my famous Christmas Caramels. The category is Christmas/Thanksgiving if you want them all together.

Happy Thanksgiving Day!

So Today's Just Such a Monday

It was one of those days, where after I finished getting ready for school, I walked it to say good-bye to Dave and said, "I just don't feel like going to class."

Just as I made the turn up into Crafton, Joe Cocker's "Feeling Alright" came on the iPod (do a search on YouTube to hear it) and that pumped me up enough to get into the flow of things. The students were higher than kites and the interaction was great and high and fun and when one young woman told me this was her favorite class, things were good.

Home again, eating my sandwiches from my lunch bag, feeling Alright and ready to jump into things. But the day went quiet, with me fixing up my Christmas list on my iPod, then it headed a bit south, then right on in to melancholy as I sat there in front of the computer hunting up new Christmas songs for this season (an annual event).

Judy called and it was great to talk to her again, and we spoke of lots of things: her mother's passing, the funeral last week in Utah, our kids, our challenges, Grading Avoidance (a condition we both fight on a regular basis), all things school, the changes in plans I'd had for Christmas and the new difficulties in the season ahead. The conversation wound down and I got off.

Dave found me trying to slit open the leeks to rinse out all the dirt, and I turned to him and said, "Can we just go and get a burger or something?" Wise man that he is, we shared a Happy Star experience at our local Carl's Jr. restaurant.

I finished the dishes from yesterday's Persimmon Bread bake-off (recipes to be posted maybe tomorrow) and came upstairs to hear him on iTunes this time, then YouTube, looking at different videos. We chatted, he left, leaving on Allison Krauss and Yo Yo Ma playing a duet. I clicked on to the next one, perhaps my all-time favorite Christmas carol. I post it here for your enjoyment: The Wexford Carol.



Another song to add to my Christmas tunes this year, and not a bad way to end such a Monday.

To Do List, November 20, 2009

Serious List of Get Things Done (take 3, 333, 234) Date: November 20, 2009

Dry and style hair (yes, it's this bad that I have to write this on the list)

Clean off computer desk and dust

Find Christmas China plates

Plan field trip next Friday (Galco's, furniture place, where for lunch?)

Do visiting teaching

Decide on Christmas quilt and begin to cut square #1 of 72

Stitch one block of above to see if I like it

Make the Bday present

Mail Keagan's birthday card

Organize calendar pages

Plan meals

Clear off microwave

Find red berry garland for chandelier

Do laundry

Post Munich posts on travel blog (finish that)

Write in Munich notebook (if you can remember any of it)

Write in Florence notebook (if you can remember any of it)

Stay off the interent unless the "timer" on Dashboard is going--a nifty widget that keeps a timer going for me when I need it.

Is there something wrong with me when I look at my house full of stuff, junk, dust bunnies in every corner, the constant hovering of YOU'RE NOT WRITING hanging over me and I'm stretching to find things to put on this list?

Time to go back to the internet, or grade something.

The Annual Question

A brilliant observation from Bizarro.

Veteran's Day, 2009

Click on picture for a different Veteran's Day story, from the New York Times.

And the poppy, a remembrance of the veterans, often used in Europe.
Happy Veteran's Day.

Altered Books

I was quite intrigued by Brian Dettmer's transfiguration of a Webster's Dictionary. He cuts, glues, keeps, discards pieces of the book revealing a closer look inside. I found his work through a series of links, but he is represented by a Chicago art gallery. They don't give the prices, but it's a different way to look at books, that's for sure.

Trading

I check horoscopes frequently, usually just for fun. I like to think of them as little treasures from the universe but don't let them rule my life.

Today's:
You can't gain one thing without losing something else, and you never lose without gaining something. The trick is in deciding what is most valuable.

Yeah, okay. Maybe the horoscoper had in mind something significant when they did whatever they do to come up with these things. But in my case, it fit right into my life. I've been sick for three weeks, and if you frequent this blog (which I really haven't given you any reason to lately, because I've been sick) you've seen the picture of me in bed with a cough for too long.

It began over three weeks ago with losing my voice. Yep--completely. Then it moved into a strep throat, then lung-cough-asthma and yes, I kept right on grading, teaching, because if you're as highly paid as we community college adjuncts are, you just don't want to let anyone down. I cancelled a class in there when I was communicable (disease-wise), but that's all. So Thursday I was finally feeling much better--in the 80% range. Yay!! I'd done it!! I'd beat the quasi-swine-flu-strep-throat-no-voice disease that had been dogging me out. A long-lost friend called about 9:30 that night just as I was headed to bed. I enjoy talking with this friend as it happens infrequently, but to be frank, after about 10 minutes I was done. However the Polite Disease kicked in and I finally crawled into bed a long time later.

That's where the horoscope comes in. I traded that phone call for what I am today: a sneezy-coughy-achy-tired person, tucked away in bed on a perfectly gorgeous afternoon when I could be out for a drive, or finishing up projects or ripping out the dead tomato plants out of my garden.

I did lose sleep. I gained this horrid cold. I did lose the quasi-swine-flu. I've gained a runny nose. If you want to know what I look like, check out last week's post. The only bright side I can see is that I'm knocking out all my diseases/illnesses in one month and come January when a new class starts and it's filled with hacking, sneezy students, I'll be immune. Wonder what my horoscope will say then?

Can't Stop Coughing

And now Dave has the cough.  (Disclaimer: That is not a portrait of him above.)  I realize I haven't posted--not that anyone reads this, but if you are, my apologies.  I'm now going to go swallow a slug of cough syrup and hopefully sleep well so I can wake  up tomorrow and grade my brains out.

The Ages of Man

From an interesting chart, published in the New York Times by one of my favorite columnists (currently): Ben Schott. Here's another (below) and don't miss the one in the lower right of his chart titled, A. A. Gill, who gave a riff on how the ages of man can be compared to European nations.

My Life in France

One bit of silver lining about being sick is the chance to reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out one of the books tucked away in there, and finally read it.

I just finished My Life in France, by Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme last night, laying low because Dave said I needed a rest (Did that mean I was a bit crabby?  A bit.).

I ripped through this pausing only for a snack or two, but that is to be expected considering the entire book is about her experience with food.  She begins in Paris, then to Marsaille, and the writing of her cookbook manuscript takes over and becomes the thread that runs through the other places that she lives: Germany and Norway, then finally back to the United States.

 If you've seen the movie Julie and Julia, much of the information in this book feels familiar, as Nora Ephron leaned heavily on this book for her screenplay.



From the New York Times:
Child also did a lot for France — and the American palate — by introducing French cuisine to American homes. But this book, written with her husband's great-nephew, Alex Prud'homme, before Child's death at 91 in August 2004, is really a love story: she loved Paul Child, 10 years her senior; she loved France; she loved French cooking; and she loved life. Listen to her: "The sweetness and generosity and politeness and gentleness and humanity of the French had shown me how lovely life can be if one takes time to be friendly." And a few pages later: "Oh, how I adored sweet and natural France, with its human warmth, wonderful smells, graciousness, coziness and freedom of spirit." 

I liked reading about her love affair with food, with France (Paris and then the south of France), and with her husband Paul, who seemed to have a generous heart and was very supportive of her endeavors (I love the photo on the original cover of the book, on the right. It is from one of their Valentine's Day cards, preferring to send those out instead of Christmas Cards.)

One thing I did find interesting is the references to "bilious stomach" and dieting and portions in this book.  Seems Julia and her husband Paul balanced their sumptious meals with leaner, lighter fare on other days.  Makes sense. This is a pretty fast read and I much enjoyed it.

I think about the list of cooking blogs I have now on my Google Reader (including my own as well as my daughter Barbara's) and have to think that Julia's enthusiasm for cooking from scratch has played a role in this burst of food writing.  I cooked from scratch for many years, and nearly every recipe began with: "Thaw one pound of hamburger. . ." the assumption being that everyone had a pound of hamburger in their freezer--and we did.

My friend Judy and I were discussing this last night and we both realized that we now rarely cook with hamburger.  Our tastes seemed to have changed (last night I just read Cooking With Dorie's discourse on butter, and now am going to track down "cultured butter" to see if it's similar to the butter I had in France on my Paul sandwich), and we're more adventurous with more time and more money to spend in the direction of cooking.

I don't think she and I cook as much as we did when we both had children growing up around us--we just cook differently.  A home-cooked meal two or three times a week, leftovers or a visit to a restaurant the rest of the time.

Signing Time

When Alex came to stay a couple of years ago, when Kristen was pregnant with Andrew (which made her really sick), he loved to watch this series of videos: Signing Time.  I still know the song, but have almost no memory of  the signs except for milk (mimic pulling on a cow's udders with both hands squeezing open and shut) and cookie (hand cupped into a C, and I think you put it on your forearm--not quite sure).

I could have used a few of those signs today as I have been rendered mute by some sort of laryngitis.  I could feel it coming on last night, when I talked with a very husky voice, and today the silence is complete.  If I try to talk, I squeak.  If I try to whisper, I remember that the Mayo Clinic's website said that does harm to the recovering vocal chords.

It's been an interesting day.  I didn't realize how dependent I was on the phone, on my voice.  Dave's probably in seventh heaven, as he's more of an introvert and doesn't mind lots of silence.
I generally don't mind it either, except when its forced upon me, by some random thing floating around in the air.  I don't feel too bad--just a little more tired--but realize I can't do anything because that would require me to talk.  Which I can't.

I have a job in my church which I've titled "The Mute Calling."  It's Primary pianist and except for a pair of hands and eyes, nothing else is required of me.  I am learning to appreciate the low-key calling, giving me time to rest for a season from my labors, but it is interesting to be mute at church, typically a place of lots of talk, chatter and action.

I recently read a book by Anne D. LeClare called Listening Below the Noise.  She chooses one day every two weeks to be completely silent, infusing this with a spiritual quest.  I liked the book, and could handle the religiousity bits.  But I never thought I would like to have a day like that.  I can find stillness in my life and I don't need to shut out the noise (although, again, it was an interesting read).

Apparently one challenge for writers is dealing with the silence, the constant isolation.  I've read that many park themselves in the middle of a busy place, tapping away at their keyboards.  They're not necessarily involved with the busy place, but let it swirl around them as they live in the fictional worlds they've created.  If I ever write a novel, I can already tell I'd be one of those type of writers.

As for me, Dave's made me some chicken soup (I mimed it) and I'm headed down to eat.  This ought to be an interesting meal--Dave will have to do all the talking!

Shindig

While I like the music, it's the dancing that fascinates me. Reminds me of my sisters Christine and Cynthia.

A Day at the Office

Mine are never like this.

Be Of Good Cheer

I'd been seeing red, pink, white and orange quilts all over the blogosphere this summer, so I pulled out my stash, added a few (isn't that what we always do?) and made a quilt.  I somehow knew it wasn't mine, but hadn't yet figured out whose it would be.

My daughter Barbara has a rare heart disease, PeriPartum Cardiomyopathy, the onset timed with (and perhaps due to) the delivery of her third child last December, a little clone of my daughter.  While I could detail for you the technical aspects of this disease, basically Barbara has an 80-year-old heart.  So, no pushing her baby around the block in a stroller, no more taking casseroles to all her neighbors, no more running up and down the stairs.  No more sewing and putting things in her Etsy shop.  As her mother, my heart was in a wrench over all this.


As I sewed the colors of a heart (reds) sprinkled with pinks (for love?), orange (for happy) and white (for faith) it became apparent to me that this was her quilt. I poured my heart into my work as I stitched the brightly-colored blocks. While that has a sappy sentimental sound to it, I think that's what happens when the stewing over something moves into your bones, your thoughts, and all the tears and travail and remembrances carry through your hands.  Orange, red, pink, and white all combined to carry a message of love to her.

We traveled to a family reunion and brought the quilt to her in person (they live in AZ, some 7 hours from me).  She was sweet and open and loved the quilt (see her blog where she writes about it), giving me a tender hug.  This quilt is a tender hug for her when I'm not there, telling her that I love her, to hang in there, to believe that better days are ahead.
 

In short, to Be of Good Cheer.

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Here's some details:

The stash lined up on the ironing board.  I tried to use a lot of different fabrics.

The back, held up by my daughter and my husband at the Family Reunion (we held it in Eden, Utah, not too far from Park City!).

A close-up of the quilting, done with a butterfly pattern--Barbara's favorite since she was a child.

My quilter, Cathy Kreter, of CJ Designs, did it in a record two days--a favor to me because she knew the story and knew I was leaving.

Here I am, holding up Madilyn, that third baby.

She's a gift.

Grading Galaxy

I'm on the other side of the universe, caught in The Grading Galaxy.

See you upon re-entry!

Thinking About The Situation

My friend Judy and I discuss on a regular basis life, our students, and how our peers interact with the internet, which is (quite frankly) rarely. As a result, she and I are about the only commenters on each other's blogs outside of family members. I told her my daughter's peers have a different mindset (as does her daughter's) and that this younger generation regularly reads and comments on each other's blogs. Or Facebook pages.

I read a lot of blogs. Some dismiss them as narcissistic, lightweight and completely self-referential. Are they? I'd say no more so than personal essays that are published in the newspapers. (Or poems in various collections.)

But the difference between the published accounts and these "free web" accounts is that critical word: "free." I've thought for some time that the web could be a vehicle for publication of some kind, whether it be this blog-self-publishing version, or whether like Pioneer Woman, a blogger is picked up by the major publishing houses for a book, thereby legitimizing what is written by the act of putting ink to page, money into bank account.

In all cases, the goal is to build an audience. When I was at my writer-friend's home the other night, she had several books that she talked about. One was her friend Holly's book, a softcover book that didn't have enough sales so it didn't merit a contract for a second book. So, Holly's done. In a way. Much the way I felt after hitting 400 posts and the only comment was a "encouraged" comment from my husband, as well as a comment from my friend Judy, mentioned above.

Hitting 400 posts is not the same as batting .400, or hitting 400 balls out of the ballpark, or publishing 400 novels, or 400 personal essays, or raising 400 children, or baking 400 cupcakes. It's viewed as someone just sitting down at their computer and larking around with words, text, photos, illustrations, in other words, not serious writing.

But it is seductive for just that reason: a blogger/writer can mix, match, cull, steal, borrow, video, write, doodle, in short, lark around with all the various types of media that are out there. And it's immediate. And given the writing compulsion of the writer to write, it's easier than wading through publishers, agents, convincing the world out there that supposedly doesn't read, to Please! Notice Me! It's Web 2.o at its finest, and all free.

And if the blogger/writer picks up ads on the side, potentially lucrative. I noticed that Nienie has now opened up her cooking blog and the cynic in me noted that the ads were front and center. Given the proclivities of my generation I don't ever anticipate getting paid for my internet writing. But it's not only ads. Do prizes attract viewers? Do free giveaways bring in the blog numbers? In many cases (mostly those of the under-thirties generation) blogging has become about getting paid for the copy that is put forth into the world. We have come full circle. Does getting paid for maintaining a blog legitimize this endeavor?

Or is ink to paper still the only way for a writer to earn their credentials?

With This One, It's 400 Posts

Route 400 to Somewhere

400 Fantastic Issues!

400-Watt Ultrasound

Daytona 400, also known as the Pepsi Netzero 400 (apparently)

By 2020 China will have 400 new cities.
We are busy in the U.S. trying to keep our cities from dying.

Seating for 400 in a ballroom.
(Thanks, but no thanks. I'm through with all of our wedding receptions.)

The Atari 400 computer, from 1978
Designed primarily as a computer for children, the Atari 400 has an "advanced child-proof design featuring pressure-sensitive, wipe-clean keyboard."

Boeing 747-400 airplane

World's first 625 line television: The Philips TX-400.

Fundraising pitch from art gallery.

My first post: Thursday, September 14, 2006

Door to Heaven
Disney Concert Hall
Los Angeles, California

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It's been a nice journey. Thanks for listening.

Hot Dog Distributor

My horoscope for yesterday:

For Tuesday, September 22 -If work were a camping trip, you'd be in charge of the grill. Why? For one thing, everybody trusts you when it comes to handling fire. You can light it, you can keep it burning, you can make sure it doesn't get so big that is sets the paper plates and tablecloths on fire. Further, people trust you to distribute the hot dogs fairly, equitably and fully cooked. Yep, it's no wonder you're the office equivalent of the grill chef -- who else is as trustworthy as you?

Now you know why I read these things. It's just in case I ever have an identity crisis.