They say silence is golden. Sometimes it is. I like moments of silence, especially after a week of work. The absence of ringing phones is heavenly.
A hundred years ago, silence became golden on screen. The potential of moving pictures was discovered by those outside of it's invention. People realized stories could be told by what we today call movies. So, they started to create them: romances, adventures, horrors, drama. All on a huge screen in glorious black and white. Within just a couple of years, actors became stars and fan groups were started.
And it was all silent.
The actors of the early 20th century were silent. Not in reality, of course, but on screen. The addition of more than a live tinkling piano to moving pictures took several years to tweak. When it hit the movie studios, some doubted it would work. And to some, it did mean the end of a career. "Out with the old, in with the new." For "talkies" stuck...and have been around for 85 years. Most of us have never sat through a silent film.
Nor do we imagine doing so. When Haley and I flopped down in our living room on Wednesday evening to do nothing yet again (it's too hot to do anything...), the first thing Haley said was, "All right. Here we go. Think we can sit through the silence?" I was wondering the same thing. The movie is over an hour and a half long. And even though I was interested in seeing the winner of Best Picture this past winter, I had my doubts I could suffer that long through silence. Prejudging as we all tend to do, I was pretty sure The Artist won it's Oscar not because it truly deserved it but because it was unique.
I mean, it's 2012. Only those of us who are "old fashioned" watch black and white films anymore. People don't think "Lionel" when they hear "Barrymore" - they think "Drew". And actors that say nothing (unless they're cast as a mute) don't exist. You have to speak to act. Or do you?
I'm no film critic. I don't watch movies and then critique them to pieces. I have my opinions, of course. I like some actors and not others. I enjoy some plots and have felt a few to be a waste of time. But I do expect a movie to entertain. After all, that's what it's supposed to do.
So, the big question Wednesday night at my house was: would The Artist entertain? The big answer? YES!
Without any moment-by-moment critique, Haley and I completely agree: The Artist is amazing. It proves that, indeed, silence can be golden.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Charles Dickens vs. eHarmony
Okay, the truth is I'm not a big Dickens fan. Even as an avid reader, I find the length of his books to be a little daunting. In my repertoire I have read Bleakhouse, A Tale of Two Cities and The Christmas Carol (which by Dickens standards is not a novel). But, of course, I am very familiar with his stories and most of the characters. For I watched quite a few of his novels: Bleakhouse, Little Dorrit, Oliver Twist, many versions of The Christmas Carol, Our Mutual Friend, The Old Curiosity Shop, David Copperfield and Great Expectations - the latter of which Haley and I are making our wait through the latest version this week.
But back to Dickens...
As a writer, I'm very appreciative of the scope of Charles Dickens. His insight into humanity is quite excellent. His characters are often quirky beyond belief (with names to contribute to their odd traits), but even his oddest, or meanest, or kindest, or craziest characters are to be found in our world. It's what makes them so real. But of all his works, Great Expectations is probably my least favorite.
Why? Well, Haley and I were discussing it last night. Our conclusion was thus: there's no one to cheer for. While Joe is a great, solid character and Mr. Pocket adds good humor to the tale; you spend half the book wanting to tell Pip, Estella, Miss Havershim and the lot to learn from their mistakes and improve. But they don't. Even when they show signs of a foundation of truth, they don't gain any ground. And it leaves you disheartened. But who knows? Perhaps that was Dickens's whole point.
So, in truth, Great Expectations doesn't leave a lot to hope for. But I couldn't help laughing hysterically last night at one point. Pip is at a party, following Estella around like a lost dog who wants only a crumb from her grand table. Estella's chaperone comes over and informs him that he ought to pay a little more heed to the other young ladies who are flapping their fans and fluttering their eyes at him. He shrugs them aside, which causes the chaperone to inform him: "It's a market. You're supposed to look at all the stock."
Some things don't change in 150 years. Today we have match.com and eharmony. In the 1850s they had parties. The idea was the same: it's a market. So don't forget to look at all the stock.
And
just as a disclaimer on the title of this post, I am also not an eHarmony fan.
Never been on it. Never intend to be on it. I just didn’t realize Charles
Dickens had anything in common with it.
But back to Dickens...
As a writer, I'm very appreciative of the scope of Charles Dickens. His insight into humanity is quite excellent. His characters are often quirky beyond belief (with names to contribute to their odd traits), but even his oddest, or meanest, or kindest, or craziest characters are to be found in our world. It's what makes them so real. But of all his works, Great Expectations is probably my least favorite.
Why? Well, Haley and I were discussing it last night. Our conclusion was thus: there's no one to cheer for. While Joe is a great, solid character and Mr. Pocket adds good humor to the tale; you spend half the book wanting to tell Pip, Estella, Miss Havershim and the lot to learn from their mistakes and improve. But they don't. Even when they show signs of a foundation of truth, they don't gain any ground. And it leaves you disheartened. But who knows? Perhaps that was Dickens's whole point.
So, in truth, Great Expectations doesn't leave a lot to hope for. But I couldn't help laughing hysterically last night at one point. Pip is at a party, following Estella around like a lost dog who wants only a crumb from her grand table. Estella's chaperone comes over and informs him that he ought to pay a little more heed to the other young ladies who are flapping their fans and fluttering their eyes at him. He shrugs them aside, which causes the chaperone to inform him: "It's a market. You're supposed to look at all the stock."
Some things don't change in 150 years. Today we have match.com and eharmony. In the 1850s they had parties. The idea was the same: it's a market. So don't forget to look at all the stock.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Beep! Beep!
Growing up I remember spending Saturday mornings watching Wile E. Coyote try is hardest to catch that rascally Road Runner. Dynamite that never went off where or when it was supposed to, Acme anvils that always missed and fake scenery that never worked. The Road Runner always got away. That was the point.
This past week, I've chased a roadrunner of my own. Well, not really. For at the rate I run, it would be nearly three times ahead of me within a mile. (Roadrunners run 26 miles an hour - the fastest flying bird ever clocked.) But Mr. (or Mrs.) Roadrunner and I meet almost every morning as I leave for work and again every evening when I come home. He lives down near the old windmill, and I have a feeling he and his wife (or she and her husband) have a nest somewhere around there. I'm thankful to say no coyotes have been chasing them. I haven't seen a coyote around in over a year.
I did a little research on roadrunners since I really don't know much about them except they're cute little birds and they usually do run. I've seen this one fly, but only a short distance before it went aground and ran off into the brush. If they have a nest, the eggs will hatch in 20 days and fledge in 18, so they may be around for just over a month. They're members of the cuckoo family. They are sometimes referred to as "snake killer", and I can appreciate that. The less snakes I see the happier I am. However, I don't believe they eat grasshoppers. Which is very sad because we could stand to lessen the plague of them. The horrible things are everywhere more than ready to destroy whatever they didn't get at last summer. I will also add they are much nicer neighbors than the ugly opossum and cute but hungry raccoon that hang around our garage and dig around our house. Apparently roadrunners do eat small mammals, but there is nothing small about the opossum or raccoon that have made themselves fat feasting on the cat food.
I have to say that while I don't care for Texas weather, or scenery, or lifestyle, or...well, almost everything; the creatures that live down here can be interesting...as long as they don't bite, or poison, or destroy every green thing available (which isn't a lot once the 100 degrees hits on Sunday and last for what - a million days straight?). And, I suppose, even the ones that bite and destroy display God's creativity. Personally, I just like the roadrunner type better.
This past week, I've chased a roadrunner of my own. Well, not really. For at the rate I run, it would be nearly three times ahead of me within a mile. (Roadrunners run 26 miles an hour - the fastest flying bird ever clocked.) But Mr. (or Mrs.) Roadrunner and I meet almost every morning as I leave for work and again every evening when I come home. He lives down near the old windmill, and I have a feeling he and his wife (or she and her husband) have a nest somewhere around there. I'm thankful to say no coyotes have been chasing them. I haven't seen a coyote around in over a year.
I did a little research on roadrunners since I really don't know much about them except they're cute little birds and they usually do run. I've seen this one fly, but only a short distance before it went aground and ran off into the brush. If they have a nest, the eggs will hatch in 20 days and fledge in 18, so they may be around for just over a month. They're members of the cuckoo family. They are sometimes referred to as "snake killer", and I can appreciate that. The less snakes I see the happier I am. However, I don't believe they eat grasshoppers. Which is very sad because we could stand to lessen the plague of them. The horrible things are everywhere more than ready to destroy whatever they didn't get at last summer. I will also add they are much nicer neighbors than the ugly opossum and cute but hungry raccoon that hang around our garage and dig around our house. Apparently roadrunners do eat small mammals, but there is nothing small about the opossum or raccoon that have made themselves fat feasting on the cat food.
I have to say that while I don't care for Texas weather, or scenery, or lifestyle, or...well, almost everything; the creatures that live down here can be interesting...as long as they don't bite, or poison, or destroy every green thing available (which isn't a lot once the 100 degrees hits on Sunday and last for what - a million days straight?). And, I suppose, even the ones that bite and destroy display God's creativity. Personally, I just like the roadrunner type better.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Texting
In today's world, almost everyone has unlimited texting. And no wonder. Teenagers don't know how to communicate without it. They can't talk, write or put together a complete sentence. They don't know what punctuation is, can't spell and to decipher their texts you need a dictionary (only not the one Webster wrote). I'm convinced the only reason kids go to school anymore is to get them out of their parent's hair. Oh, and to socialize. Because, apparently, that's the most important part of education. (So we homeschoolers are told...) But we won't go into how sitting across the table from one another and texting is NOT socializing.
When we first got texting at work my boss got me 250 texts a month. That lasted a month before I got unlimited. I mean, I use 10% of that or more on a Monday morning alone. You would think I'm a texting guru if you walked into the office first thing Monday. I kid you not that I spend the first hour doing little but texting: asking the on-call nurse to clarify something, making sure the aides got info on their patients from the weekend, med refills, answering the nurses as they text me questions, and then answering all the responses to the texts I sent out. It was about 9:15 this morning before I got started on my regular work.
Never thought I'd be that "in-to" texting. And I'm not. I don't do as much on my personal phone - not by half. And it's almost a riot to think we do that much texting at work after it took a good month to get all these "old" nurses educated in the use of their phones. (And I still get "tech" questions every other week or so.) But I'll tell you this much: our communication is up by 200%. In fact, we may be over-communicative. But better we're all clear on a thing than something gets missed entirely. After all, that's what unlimited texting is for, right?
When we first got texting at work my boss got me 250 texts a month. That lasted a month before I got unlimited. I mean, I use 10% of that or more on a Monday morning alone. You would think I'm a texting guru if you walked into the office first thing Monday. I kid you not that I spend the first hour doing little but texting: asking the on-call nurse to clarify something, making sure the aides got info on their patients from the weekend, med refills, answering the nurses as they text me questions, and then answering all the responses to the texts I sent out. It was about 9:15 this morning before I got started on my regular work.
Never thought I'd be that "in-to" texting. And I'm not. I don't do as much on my personal phone - not by half. And it's almost a riot to think we do that much texting at work after it took a good month to get all these "old" nurses educated in the use of their phones. (And I still get "tech" questions every other week or so.) But I'll tell you this much: our communication is up by 200%. In fact, we may be over-communicative. But better we're all clear on a thing than something gets missed entirely. After all, that's what unlimited texting is for, right?
Friday, June 15, 2012
Dads
I once heard a guy say that sermons on Father's Day are hardly fair. On Mother's Day the ladies get a wonderful sermon on how good it is to be a Proverbs 31 women and we should all honor them. On Father's Day, men get a sermon on how they should do better. Thinking about it, he was right. And it's not really fair. After all, I could use a bashing once in a while on how far short I fall on being a Proverbs 31 woman. And I've learned that men could use a whole lot more encouragement than they ever receive.
But it's true that fathers and mothers have very different roles in the life of a child. Who wants their father when they're sick? In our house, we don't want my dad to cook...nor do we want him to clean. (Even though he is vastly more thorough in cleaning than my mom - which is why we don't want him overseeing that. Have you ever mopped a floor with a former Naval officer watching you? Well, you're not missing anything...) On the other hand, who wants their mom to push them on the swing? And mom's don't play catch.
Last week I was reading Focus on the Family's two children's magazines Clubhouse and Clubhouse, Jr. and I was smiling at all the things these children had to say about how great their dads are. It was so different than what the kids were saying the month before about how great their moms are. Last month it was, "My mom cooks dinner for us" or "My mom takes us to the store". This month it was "My dad throws us into the pool" and "My dad tickles us until we can't breathe". I realized how very different children (probably unknowingly) view their two parents. And yet how much children need BOTH of those parents.
Because I can say the same things about my dad. I loved being pushed high on the swings. I loved playing catch with him. (Even though he always told me I throw like a girl...I used to wonder how, then, I could change that. I mean since I am a girl...) Dad played tag, and tickled until I couldn't breathe, and sang funny songs (about boys named Sue, and John Henry being a baby, and rattlesnakes having hips), and threw us way high into the pool, and wrestled, and played Checkers, and took us hiking. And while I can say much on my dad's leadership in the family, and instruction in God's Word, and strong protection; honestly, it's the riding bikes and fishing expeditions I remember and smile. Because a dad is so much more than the leader of the home. Dad is fun.
But it's true that fathers and mothers have very different roles in the life of a child. Who wants their father when they're sick? In our house, we don't want my dad to cook...nor do we want him to clean. (Even though he is vastly more thorough in cleaning than my mom - which is why we don't want him overseeing that. Have you ever mopped a floor with a former Naval officer watching you? Well, you're not missing anything...) On the other hand, who wants their mom to push them on the swing? And mom's don't play catch.
Last week I was reading Focus on the Family's two children's magazines Clubhouse and Clubhouse, Jr. and I was smiling at all the things these children had to say about how great their dads are. It was so different than what the kids were saying the month before about how great their moms are. Last month it was, "My mom cooks dinner for us" or "My mom takes us to the store". This month it was "My dad throws us into the pool" and "My dad tickles us until we can't breathe". I realized how very different children (probably unknowingly) view their two parents. And yet how much children need BOTH of those parents.
Because I can say the same things about my dad. I loved being pushed high on the swings. I loved playing catch with him. (Even though he always told me I throw like a girl...I used to wonder how, then, I could change that. I mean since I am a girl...) Dad played tag, and tickled until I couldn't breathe, and sang funny songs (about boys named Sue, and John Henry being a baby, and rattlesnakes having hips), and threw us way high into the pool, and wrestled, and played Checkers, and took us hiking. And while I can say much on my dad's leadership in the family, and instruction in God's Word, and strong protection; honestly, it's the riding bikes and fishing expeditions I remember and smile. Because a dad is so much more than the leader of the home. Dad is fun.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Bored
In case my mother reads this, I am not really bored - at least, I don't want her to find me anything to do. I never really had that problem like some of my siblings. There's always a good book to read. In fact there's one sitting next to me: The Rogue Crew by Brian Jacques. It's kind of bittersweet to be reading it, for the author passed away rather suddenly last year just before this book was published. I almost don't want it to end, for I shall miss the new adventures of Redwall.
But in truth, I am a bit bored. It's days like this one when I really wish I worked from home. (Actually, I wish that almost every day...) Business is very slow right now. We're managing to keep just around 40 patients - a low for the nearly three years I've been here. My boss even told me today that if I'm thinking about a vacation, now is the time to take it. (I didn't ask him if he'd also be willing to pay for it...) I sit at my desk and think of all the things I could accomplish: clean my bathroom, weed eat (now that we have the part to fix the weed eater), finish my dollhouse, read stretched out on a couch instead of my desk chair, exercise, run some errands... Instead I feel like I'm getting paid to wait for the phone to ring. It's a good thing I don't get paid per phone call...well, at least on days like this. Some days I could make enough to retire.
It's exhaustingly hot, and it's caught up with me earlier than it did last year. I already don't want to do anything. After tennis, I'm so sweaty my car smells like a locker room for days. Don't care for 5:30 in the morning runs, even if they do energize me for the work day (but I completely collapse once I get home from work). It probably doesn't help that my car is black, but it gets so hot even with the A/C running I detest being in it and I'm trying to stay at home as much as possible. I use to dig in for the winter - which is the way God created it and we call it hibernation. Now I dig in for the summer, a season much longer in Texas than any New England winter. I am truly praying this will be my last summer in this wretched place. Right now I'm thinking of getting a job drilling for oil in Alaska.
Well, I've run out of things to say in my state of boredom. Oh, but I have something to do now! At least for the next five minutes...
But in truth, I am a bit bored. It's days like this one when I really wish I worked from home. (Actually, I wish that almost every day...) Business is very slow right now. We're managing to keep just around 40 patients - a low for the nearly three years I've been here. My boss even told me today that if I'm thinking about a vacation, now is the time to take it. (I didn't ask him if he'd also be willing to pay for it...) I sit at my desk and think of all the things I could accomplish: clean my bathroom, weed eat (now that we have the part to fix the weed eater), finish my dollhouse, read stretched out on a couch instead of my desk chair, exercise, run some errands... Instead I feel like I'm getting paid to wait for the phone to ring. It's a good thing I don't get paid per phone call...well, at least on days like this. Some days I could make enough to retire.
It's exhaustingly hot, and it's caught up with me earlier than it did last year. I already don't want to do anything. After tennis, I'm so sweaty my car smells like a locker room for days. Don't care for 5:30 in the morning runs, even if they do energize me for the work day (but I completely collapse once I get home from work). It probably doesn't help that my car is black, but it gets so hot even with the A/C running I detest being in it and I'm trying to stay at home as much as possible. I use to dig in for the winter - which is the way God created it and we call it hibernation. Now I dig in for the summer, a season much longer in Texas than any New England winter. I am truly praying this will be my last summer in this wretched place. Right now I'm thinking of getting a job drilling for oil in Alaska.
Well, I've run out of things to say in my state of boredom. Oh, but I have something to do now! At least for the next five minutes...
Friday, June 8, 2012
Figure this out...
I have a friend who works at one of those pack and mail places - and, boy, the stories she has to tell! The one she told on Wednesday has to be the best yet: the woman came in with an urn she wished to mail. It contained the ashes of her boyfriend. Not sure where she was mailing them, but here was the question of the day: are ashes perishable or unperishable?
Yesterday Texas witnessed a miracle: rain. Now I have more or less adjusted to the idiots Texans become when something falls out of the sky. We would all be safer if they just stayed home because not one of them can drive - I just stay way out of their way and roll my eyes at them. But this was a new one: I saw that afternoon after the rain had ceased a guy on a motor scooter. Stuck in the bag behind him was an umbrella. I had to wonder: did he open that while he was riding his motor scooter? Or was it's use so he wouldn't get wet as he walked from his motor scooter into the store? I had a feeling it was the latter...
Yesterday Texas witnessed a miracle: rain. Now I have more or less adjusted to the idiots Texans become when something falls out of the sky. We would all be safer if they just stayed home because not one of them can drive - I just stay way out of their way and roll my eyes at them. But this was a new one: I saw that afternoon after the rain had ceased a guy on a motor scooter. Stuck in the bag behind him was an umbrella. I had to wonder: did he open that while he was riding his motor scooter? Or was it's use so he wouldn't get wet as he walked from his motor scooter into the store? I had a feeling it was the latter...
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
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