How Many Times Can I Watch 2012 This Year?

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Remember a long time ago, during the last year in the last millennium?  The year was 1999 and there was some hoopla over something commonly referred to as Y2K.  Life as we knew it was going to end – or at least drastically change – at the stroke of midnight January 1, 2000.  The year even had its own anthem.  The artist formally known as, or is currently again known as (I can never remember), Prince sung about the ultimate New Year’s Eve for our lifetime in the early eighties.  When the year 1999 rolled around he was poised to receive some hefty royalties that should ensure a lofty retirement.  Or to pay for some therapy to discover if he is in fact a Prince, a symbol, or just a creepy little man.   The song was played ad nauseam that year.  Genius little guy!

It’s 2012 and instead of an anthem, we have a very long movie.  When the movie 2012 came out a few years ago, it was one of those blockbusters the critics panned.  No surprise, isn’t that usually how it works?  But the trailers sold me on the premise completely.  I eagerly awaited its arrival in theaters.  I can handle destruction and chaos – as long as it stays on a movie screen.

Sure, there have been comments about gaping plot holes in the movie.  But it takes a lot to deter me from watching a movie.   After all, I’ve sat through Hallmark Channel movies.  It’s not as if it was mismarketed like other movies (looking at you any post Sixth Sense M. Night Shyamalan movie).  The movie delivered pretty much what I wanted to see.  Utter destruction of the world as we know it while I sit in the comfort and safety of a movie theater?  Check.

It wasn’t the most memorable of movies.  I forgot almost the whole storyline.  Only certain keywords stuck out to me: 2012, modern day arks, and Yellowstone National Park (which oddly enough, this movie gave me the desire to revisit the park).  This week it’s been on tv twice (and it’s only January).  I’ve been able to catch a little bit of it and now I remember.  I remember what I didn’t like about it.

First of all, it has a running time of 158 minutes.   That’s 2.5 hours in the theatrical release.  Now that commercials are being thrown in it probably takes a full evening.  I have the attention span of a gnat.  And really, after the first few buildings fall into the ocean, how much annihilation can I actually handle watching at once? 

Second, I’m fine with California falling into the ocean.  I’m okay with Yellowstone blowing up.  I can handle the whole secretive ark building in China.  Although, China?  Really?  I can accept the heads of nations hand picking the survivors.  And I can even live with the fact the little hero family makes it all the way to China just in time to be saved.  After all that, I’m willing to hang in there.   And then – spoiler alert – Gordon dies.  So, after sitting through a movie in which the entire world is destroyed and masses of people are killed, the with-it boyfriend dies and the slacker dad lives (he took his kids on a camping trip in a limo for crying out loud!).  It gave the movie a forced happy ending to serve as a band aid for all the obliteration.  A note to the movie writers:  it’s kinda movie making 101 to make the boyfriend a heel before killing him off.  I thought that was common knowledge.  Guess not.  Glad I can help.

It’s only January and I’ve already watched this movie more than I thought I would.  It’s going to be a long year.

A Little Break from the Blog

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I’m taking a break from my normal blog entries.  Mainly because the well is currently dry.   So I’m just going to write what’s on my mind right now.  My mom died 48 days ago.  This may sound odd but this is the longest I’ve ever gone without some kind of contact from her.  When I served my mission I could count on not-quite weekly letters from her.  Even when I lived in a different state, she was always just a phone call away – for chatting or emergencies (I just (sob) ran over Santa Claus!).  

I’ve become a member of an exclusive club.  A league I really didn’t want to join but here I am.  Now what?  I breathe in and out.  I eat and sleep.  I laugh and cry.  In other words, the current of life is carrying me downstream. 

I’m not worried about mom’s welfare.  I look forward to the time when we will meet again.  Yes, I believe that.  I have to hope in it.  Otherwise, what’s the point in today if there is no grand tomorrow?  Every person who sent condolences offered the same comfort – despite all the different dogmas. They offered the belief that mom was at peace now.  It’s funny how a lot of people with different faiths all agree on that point.  No, I’m not worried about mom’s eternal well-being.    I just miss her today.

I have what I refer to as, an acquired taste in humor.  There are only three people who get me.  I’m one of them.  Mom was another.  Yes, my audience is dwindling. The hardest part is not being able to share funny stories that happen.  This has led me to talk to myself.  I tell my stories out loud hoping she can hear them.  I close my eyes and imagine her reaction.  Whenever thoughts of her pop into my mind, I raise my hand and pump my hand three times.  Three squeezes and love you to pieces.

I entered the angry phase of the grief cycle.  Mom was an artist and painted ceramics for many years.  I talked her into taking it up again – with me.  Because I’m not an artist so she was going to help me.  We never got the chance, though.  So yeah, I’m angry about that.  There are a lot of things she will miss out on.  A line from the Princess Bride has been running through my mind.  An edited version, of course.  I’m not sure who I’m speaking to; it just makes me feel better to put it “out there.”  “I want my [mother] back you [son-of-a biscuit eater]!”  (That was mom’s fill in for the swear word so I thought it appropriate to use).

By no means am I claiming she was a perfect person.  But she was a pretty darn good mom for me.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be all right.  Thankfully, there were no hurt feelings before she died.  So, I don’t have any extra baggage to carry.  I’m grateful for the pain I feel.  It’s a mark of her well-lived life.  I’m honored I call her mom.  And I miss her.

The Progression of the Picture

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(sigh) I’m not a model.  I know this; I’ve come to accept this.  When I was in college, I took a photography class.   Or at least, I started the class.  I had to drop out because, as I found out on day 2, photography is an expensive habit.  But the one thing I remember during my week of class is this:  a photographer doesn’t take pictures, a photographer makes pictures.  Okay, so can I blame all the photographers that have ever aimed a camera in my direction for me not having one good picture of myself?   Didn’t think so.

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You Say OCD, I Say Quirky

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My mom enjoyed playing Solitaire on the computer.  She spent a lot of time playing game after game.  After she became so sick that she couldn’t sit at the computer anymore, I bought her a little handheld Solitaire game.  The screen was smaller and only displayed in monochrome.  She refused to play it.   I learned how to play it so I could show her how easy it was play.  She chose not to learn.

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Do Over!

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I once sneezed and threw my back out.  Go ahead, reread that sentence again.  It wasn’t an abnormally big sneeze.   I don’t think I was in an awkward position when it happened.  If I remember right, it was just a typical run-of-the-mill sneeze and it caused instantaneous pain.  For at least a week, I walked like Frankenstein and with the amount of agony I felt, I probably grunted like him too.  It hurt to move and turning my neck was out of the question.

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F-L-A-K-E Part II

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Okay, now I’m starting to get a little worried.

Sign #1:  This morning I performed my normal routine.  I got my lunch out of the freezer, my breakfast out of the cupboard, and my yogurt out of the fridge.    I put everything on the table and retrieved my bag.  Before I loaded my falling-apart-but-I-refuse-to-get-rid-of-it-because-I-got-it-from-the-Art-Institute-and-it-makes-me-feel-pretentious bag, I went into the living room and opened the curtains.  Even if nobody was going to be home all day, the house still needed sunshine.  I went back into the kitchen and stuffed everything in my bag and left.  When I arrived at work, I emptied the contents from my bag and discovered I was yogurtless.  Despite getting the yogurt out and putting it RIGHT NEXT to my bag, I still forgot it!  (sigh)

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Chalk it Up to Poor Planning

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I braved the Wal-Mart crowd yesterday.  Regarding a couple of my purchases, it was not the most productive shopping experience.  First, I decided I needed a new shower curtain.  I had actually taken the time before hand to map out my shopping route.  A shower curtain should be with the bathroom fixture items, right?  Wrong.  It was over in the domestic aisles by the curtains and sheets.  Right off the bat my painstaking effort to map out my shopping route was foiled.  So much for a quick trip to the store. Continue reading →

The Quest for Beauty

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(fiction)

Dylan knew something nobody else realized.  She knew there was something inside her.  Something trying to find it’s way out.  Something beautiful.  And she just knew, if she could find someway to let it out, it would touch other people.  Maybe even help them.  There were only two problems: 1) she didn’t know how to get it out, and 2) she didn’t exactly know what it was she needed to get out.  But she knew something was in there.

 

One day, she heard a beautiful song.  “Maybe,” she said, “my beauty will come out as a song.”  So she sat down at the piano to  compose a beautiful song.  The only trouble was, she didn’t know how to compose music.   It didn’t matter to her, she moved her fingers along the keys just like she had seen her sister do.  But her mom came in and told her to quit pounding on the piano.  “Maybe,” Dylan said, “my beauty isn’t a song after all.”

But what could it be?

A few days later, her mother read her a bedtime story.  Dylan noticed her mother sniffing.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“This is such a beautiful story,” her mother smiled through her tears.  “It’s been my favorite since I was your age.”

A story can be beautiful?  Dylan thought.  Oh, yes, I will write a beautiful story.

The next day, Dylan sat down to write.  But she didn’t know what to write about.  She kept thinking about the story from the night before.  “I can’t write a story that’s already been written,” she decided and put her pen and paper away.

How was she ever going to let the beauty out?

A few days later, her parents took her to a play.  The play made her laugh.  At the end everyone clapped.

“Beautiful,” she heard someone behind her exclaim.

Beautiful?  Dylan thought.  Maybe I can be an actress.

The next time her school had a play, she tried out.  But didn’t get a part.

That night, her mother heard her crying in her bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” her mother asked gently.

“I don’t know how to get my beauty out,” sobbed Dylan.

“Your beauty?” her mother asked while dabbing Dylan’s tears with a kleenex.

“I tried composing a song, but I can’t even read music.  So I tried writing a story and I couldn’t think of anything to write.  So I thought I’d be an actress, and I didn’t get a part in the school play.  Maybe there’s no beauty in me after all!”

Her mother hugged her gently.  “There’s beauty in you.”

Dylan looked at her mother.  “You have to say that, you’re my mother.”

Her mother smiled warmly.  “Hey, I happen to know it’s true.”

Dylan looked down at the floor, still unable to believe her.

“Some people have to compose a song, write a story, or act in a play to let their beauty shine, but you don’t.”

Dylan sniffed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Her mother hugged her again.  “You don’t need to do all that, you have a better way to let your beauty out.”

“I do?”

“Of course.”

Dylan waited for an explanation.  “How?”

 

Her mother gently clicked foreheads with her.  “Through your smile and laugh.  Everybody loves your smile and they love to hear you laugh.”

“They do?” Dylan asked hopefully.

“They do.  People tell me all the time what a warm smile you have.  I know for a fact, it has cheered up many people.”

“It has?”  Dylan couldn’t help but smile.

“See,” her mom grabbed a hand mirror off the dresser.  “See what other people see?  That right there is the most beautiful thing.”

Dylan couldn’t help herself and looked in the mirror.  She had to admit, It was a pretty good smile.  She might even say, it was beautiful.