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nostalgia for the silver screen…

I am one of those hard-nosed, practical, logical people… yeah, the kind of pompous jerks the more emotional types like to throw foam bricks at…

But, at least I have a sentimental streak… and there is lots of room in my life for nostalgia.  When I do manage to find some elusive free time, that is one of my indulgences.

I should have been working this past weekend… and shirking my duties will likely catch up to me in a matter of days, if not hours, but I live in Vancouver and weekend the Ridge Theatre was closing.

ridge 015The guys who own the Ridge have always been cool… and because of that, they are not going out with a whimper – but with a bang.  A film festival of sorts!  I really wanted to go every night but I do have a serious job and it does pay for my serious travel habit so I had to constrain myself but this was the last weekend and I had to be in that theatre at least once before it was all over…

As is likely obvious, I have a lot of history… with people, with cities, with buildings…  I’m not quite sure where it comes from… this hyper-awareness of my part in the history of the world, small though it might be.

We are all part of it.  We all make history.  And I think it keeps us grounded – and relevant – to recognize it.

For me, the Ridge didn’t really begin there… it began with Mike… and the Bloor Cinema in Toronto… and being a poor student.  I can’t remember the exact price anymore but you could buy a pass to the networks of cinemas of which the Bloor was part and see second run films for less than the price of a draft beer…  I think beer was $1 and a second run film was 99 cents 🙂

That’s how I discovered Woody Allen… how I argued with Mike that Eraserhead was stupid – but started following David Lynch… how I learned that the cinema was full of ideas… and garbage… and you would have to wade through it… but how rich that experience would be… without Mike and the Bloor I would never have seen Koyaanisqatsi… or learned about Philip Glass… go see it, people, and see Al Gore for the gas-guzzling charlatan that he really is…

http://www.koyaanisqatsi.org/films/koyaanisqatsi.php

Media can be so powerful… but sadly is largely controlled by alpha male buffoons… so be careful what they are trying to brainwash you to believe…

Oh yes, the media and truth… My first film at the final Ridge fest was Argo.  I have been wanting to see it since its opening night – so figured I could be nostalgic – AND see a film I really wanted to see for $5 on the big screen!

http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/argo_2012/

It’s really worth seeing.  But, as a Canadian who at the time was a big Carter supporter and aware of current events, I was curious how the film story would go down…  Apparently not so realistically… the drama is great for film.  But, in the realpolitik of the 21st century, there is something to be said for Canadians – who are actually great at diplomacy, willing to do their homework and more concerned about the collective good than the glory.  It’s how we (all of us, not just Canadians :)) will save the world.  Sorry, CIA 😉

But, for me, it wasn’t really about Argo... it was about the Ridge.  I can’t remember my very first visit.  But I first moved to Vancouver in 1985 and it has been part of my life since then.  I saw a lot of films there.  I saw cool special events like weekends full of animation – or great advertising from all over the world.

But the way the Ridge became a place where I felt at home was courtesy of the Vancouver Film Festival.  I also started that courtesy of Mike, sitting in gritty suburban cinemas with uncomfortable seats and floors that always seemed sticky with decades of discarded fluids that could never be entirely eliminated.

But you didn’t come for the ambience 🙂 You came to have your young mind twisted and stretched by great art – and poseurs… eventually you learned to tell the difference 😉

One of those cinemas was the Ridge.  It might have mattered just because of that but years after Mike and I broke up, I was still going to the Ridge and began volunteering at the Vancouver Film Festival because I really believed in the power of cinema to change the world.

The first night I volunteered we made The Vancouver Sun because there was a mini-riot due to bad planning and administrative procedure.  But, at the time, there was a serious recession going on in Canada, and I was unemployed, and happy to be trying to stem the floodgate of disgruntled patrons to prove to myself I still had employable skills…

That first year I floated between Vancouver Centre (the riot locale) and the Ridge.  In those days, the Ridge was suburbia, despite being about a five minute drive from the center of the city.  And Louise ran the Ridge.  It’s been a few decades so I am going to say she was Scottish… She was definitely a Celtic woman with attitude – and principles.

I guess these days you would call it a girl crush.  I just wanted to grow up and be like Louise 🙂  Because she was commanding, fair and charismatic.  No matter what happened (and a film festival is a bunch of artsy prima donnas trying to do something that requires business-like precision so lots happened!) she was always cool and resourceful.  And she protected us.  And tried her best to give the patrons the best theatrical experience.

My years at the Ridge were critical to my human development.  Louise was the boss I aspired to be.  She knew how to manage both up and down the chain – and if you were ready for a challenge…

It is one of my most vivid memories…  I think it was because the Festival Director hired his girlfriend… or some such nonsense that is the stuff of real life… in any event, we had a sold-out show for Europa, Europa but had instead been sent Europa.  What’s one missing Europa you ask?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Europa_Europa

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Europa_(film)

That’s what Louise was afraid of.  I saw them both and would highly recommend you do the same.  But the audience looking for Europa, Europa might not be as keen on Europa.  And Louise knew that… I can’t remember exactly how many people you can fit into the Ridge – but it was the largest cinema on the festival circuit – and there were over 500 seats… so the lineup could be several blocks long and everyone would still get in…

So that night I walked the line and explained to over 500 people that they weren’t going to be seeing the film they had signed up for but the new one was equally compelling… but we would refund anyone who was disappointed, no questions asked.  We had to stay in the lobby to see what happened and process refunds.  I think maybe 5 people asked for refunds.

Louise was a master.  Be upfront with your customers and manage your customer relationships with honesty.  Evaluate your team and set them up for success by assigning them to the roles to which they are suited.  Be the boss but don’t be afraid to be one of the team when it can be strategically deployed to strengthen your organization.

Louise was an artist.  So I doubt she realized she was teaching me business lessons.  But she was a Scot and genetically predisposed to organization?  In any event, she inspired loyalty.  Once I discovered Louise, I always asked to work at the Ridge.  I wasn’t the only one who loved her so every year it was a bit like a family reunion.  And Louise inspired the well-organized rebels… so the theatre ran well… we got to hang out in the Crying Room watching almost the entire film… and it was always over Canadian Thanksgiving so Louise would have pumpkin pie and we would eat it at the concession stand.

My final film at the Ridge (the theatre’s final as well!) was Midnight in Paris.  I already saw it on a plane to Paris as my regular blog readers will recall 🙂 But it was a good film… and I discovered Woody Allen on the repertory film circuit so it was a poetic ending.  And the film is about nostalgia, so hard to find a more perfect ending.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midnight_in_Paris

I took pictures like all the other nostalgia freaks 🙂 And peeked in to see if the Crying Room was still there.  It was!  It is quite possible you don’t know what I am talking about as it is the only cinema I have ever been to with such a room.  It’s why there is something to be said about a 63 year old single screen suburban cinema.  The Ridge let you bring your baby to the movies… and, if the baby started crying (or you thought it might), you could watch the film from the Crying Room.  I think most people just figure their baby won’t be welcome at the movies so it was the place where we hung out during the film festival since we had to get the audience in and out of the cinema so could only watch the film while paying guests were happy and in their seats.  Louise knew where we were and could come and grab us if she needed help.ridge 018

The final night was quite emotional.  They pretty much packed a huge cinema to see a film you could rent on DVD or see on an airplane.  There was a short speech, lots of clapping and a standing ovation for the owner.  I think it’s my first standing ovation in a movie theatre 🙂

In honour of the Ridge closing, I would encourage everyone to go and see a film on the silver screen.  I’ve never been able to duplicate the visceral experience at home and will be a fan of the cinema as long as they exist…

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artsy stuff, life philosophy

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Mr. Pine’s Purple House…

Apparently I was not the only one inspired by Mr. Pine – you gotta love the internet 🙂  My crush, Jon Stewart, was talking on The Daily Show this week about painting your house mauve… in response to Glenn Beck’s crazy Marxist utopia Independence USA.  He likened it to Main Street USA at Disneyland.  Disneyland was fun to visit but it was not for the independent of mind.  So the comparison is apt.

mr pines purple houseAnd Jon is my age so I am wondering if he picked mauve because he also knew about Mr. Pine 🙂  Purple is an awesome colour – with lots of interesting associations –  but we’ll talk about the colour purple some other time…

Jon’s take on the whole crazy mess is hilarious and you should watch it, rather than listen to me paraphrase it (Jan 29, 2013)

http://www.thecomedynetwork.ca/shows/TheDailyShow?videoPackage=130175

It points out the strange, conceptually warped place that is the present day USA.  It’s such a complicated, remarkable and twisted place.  Watching The Daily Show freaks me out a little – and makes me recall my first public speech.  I was an atrocious public speaker.  But a precocious, serious child.  So aged 11 I warned about the dangers of watching too much television.  Back when all I could watch was the CBC!  No danger of wanting to watch it for too long 🙂

But I did LEARN some stuff from TV.  And was usually reading a book in the background because I wasn’t intellectually engaged enough.  But luckily my mom really liked small children and engaged us, rather than popping us in front of a video so we could have the storyline of every Disney animated classic memorized.

The media IS powerful.  And independent thought is essential when you are sitting in front of a TV.  Or a movie screen (more on that soon 😉

So… I am really grateful that reading was highly encouraged by my parents.  First, they read to us.  My internet research revealed that I was 3 when Mr. Pine painted his house purple – so it was likely one of my very first books.  Maybe that’s why it ended up as my favourite.  We had at least one story every night.  And I cleaned out the small town library once I could read on my own.  One of my favourite childhood memories were the boxes of books that came into my house courtesy of auction sales.

It certainly wasn’t all high brow!  That’s how my best friend and I found “The Happy Hooker” and read racy passages aloud to each other when her mother was at work.  We didn’t even really know what was being described – but we knew it was forbidden 🙂

Maybe your child shouldn’t read “The Happy Hooker” but it’s good to be exposed to new ideas and situations outside your own personal realm.  It was books that saved my ass when I ventured out as a young adult with very little knowledge about the great, wide world in which I wanted to wander.

The first boy I seriously considered marrying sealed the deal because we would chime, almost in unison, “let’s go get a book about that!”  We figured books were the answer to every obstacle or new situation life threw at us.

There is something to be said for human contact – and expert advice from live humans 🙂  But it took me a rather long time to figure that out.  In the meantime, I had books…

All sorts of points of view, myriad experiences I would never be able to create for myself, a chance to delve into both the past and the imagined future to try to figure out how to make the present better…

All that reading will also give you a point of view.  You don’t need to paint your house purple (it’s likely not a good idea 🙂  But you shouldn’t be afraid to stand up for what you believe.  People love a maverick!  Just ask Mr. Pine.  His purple house made him the toast of the town 🙂

http://www.amazon.com/Pines-Purple-House

p.s  I have carried Mr. Pine’s Purple House with me to over 30 residences and three continents – but I learned all the lessons by age six – so the physical book is just nostalgia 😉

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artsy stuff, life philosophy, social commentary

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the ghosts of New York past…

My recent trip to NYC was especially memorable as I spent time with three different friends, each one from a different decade of my life and each friendship established via totally different circumstances… but all of whom came together – without actually meeting! – back in 1996.

As I mentioned, in 1995 I decided to fly to NYC to meet up with my friend David who was working in Saudi Arabia at the time.  Only scientists knew how to use the internet back then (you actually needed to know things like DOS commands to use computers 🙂 so we arranged the trip via fax.

It was a roaring success so I went back the following year.  In July really cool people are in the Hamptons but I am never going to be cool so was happy just to be there in my cheap sweaty midtown hotel room.  My friend Sarah was working in DC at the time so came up for the weekend and we ran around in NYC imagining what it might be like to live there.

It was how I learned to love Negronis.  I figured it would be fun to play at being cool so I had read about a place called Pravda somewhere.  It was a bar in the emerging Nolita district of Manhattan too hip to actually have a sign so we had to wander around a bit and finally descend down a staircase and open a mysterious black door… but we found it.  And I suggested we order a Negroni since

bar ngorongoro crater lodge

bar ngorongoro crater lodge

said they were the hot drink of summer 1996.  Our cool factor may not have been really high but at least we were trying hard to not just be typical tourists…

And I really liked the Negroni!  In those days, I didn’t drink cocktails so was always stumped when there wasn’t a cocktail list.  So I started ordering a Negroni.  It took me years to remember what was in it.  It was purely accidental that I discovered it was one of those classic cocktails that gets you respect from the bartender.  Ordering a Negroni almost makes me seem cool 🙂

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Negroni

There have been lots of memorable Negronis over the years but it will be hard to top the one I taught the bartender how to make at the Ngorongoro Crater Lodge in Tanzania.  The lodge is a bit much but it was my last night in Africa and it was so fancy I could dress up.  I had forgotten though that it would be pitch black when I left the main building to go back to my Versailles-like hut so I freaked out my Masai warrior escort gingerly picking my way along the path in heels.  But I told him I had the balance of an impala – and we made it there without him having to catch me in his arms.  The wood was warped so the door stuck.  His job was to make sure I got into my room so he had to open it – it took some effort!  It had all been a delightful way to end the night – and my Serengeti adventure – so I blew him a kiss.  He blew me one back.  It’s not every day you have a Masai warrior blowing you a kiss 😉

http://www.ngorongorocrater.com/

I haven’t met any Masai warriors in NYC but there has been some kissing there over the years…

Including that week back in 1996… Sarah went back to DC and I was supposed to spend the next Saturday doing a bar crawl on the Upper West Side with my friend Despina.  I had read about all these new bars on the upper West and I had been there before with friends so figured it was a safe neighborhood for us to wander in and maybe have a bit of adventure.  But she had a new job so had to work on Saturday night to meet her Monday deadline.

It was my last night in NYC and it seemed wrong to stay in my hotel room.  At that stage, I hadn’t done much wandering in NYC alone but the neighborhood seemed pretty easy and I figured I would just stay alert – and drink lots of cranberry juice in between cocktails.

It was how I discovered the pleasures of having dinner at the bar.  I bonded with each bartender so I knew they had my back if I needed it.  I chatted with random people who sat next to me.  I eavesdropped on conversations and got a much clearer sense for the culture of the place.  That was also how I met my Mr. Big 🙂

It was the last bar.  I was just having a final cocktail and thought I would likely head home before it got too late.  But a guy came in and sat next to me and we started talking.  He was a junior investment banker.  For the first few years, they work practically around the clock so he was finishing work and having a drink in a local bar before going home to bed.

What really bonded us was that he was Canadian.  It seemed like fate…  going on a random bar crawl alone on your last night in New York and then meeting a fellow Canadian on the Upper West Side far from other tourists just as you were both planning to go home… so we didn’t.  He wondered if I wanted to go to a club in SOHO.  That seemed much more fun than my hotel room and we would be in a taxi so I could just get out if I needed to…

In the end, my attempts at personal safety ended up being quite hilarious.  I thought I shouldn’t let him know where I lived since I didn’t know him very well so I got out of the taxi a couple of blocks before the hotel and walked by myself at 3am on the streets of New York.  At the time, I didn’t realize he had the taxi follow me to make sure I would get to my hotel safely.  And that’s how apparently flowers showed up at my hotel the next day – but I had already checked out.

And – despite evidence to the contrary – he didn’t think I was completely insane and a grand, bi-coastal romance blossomed.  I don’t date people unless I really like them so we have stayed friends and try to meet when I am in NYC to catch up on our lives.  It’s been really wonderful to watch him change over the years.  Even cocky junior investment bankers can mellow into caring dads 🙂  It’s a crazy business with a lot of questionable ethics but that chance night on the upper West has allowed me to see that not all investment bankers are evil 😉nyc 324

I have known Despina the longest.  Our friendship began as pen pals at age 15.  When I was a teenager, I felt closer to her than most of the people in my actual community.  We finally met in person in the early 90s.  She is an artist so our lives have run on very different paths but we both love food and art so we incorporate that into our joint adventures.

We likely know more about each other’s romantic adventures than anyone else in our lives as we have been talking about boys since the point at which we were lamenting no one would ever ask us out on a date 🙂  What has been most interesting is the strange parallels in our intercontinental criss-crossing.  We have both lived in Australia.  When she was living in Paris, I was in Germany so could hop on a train and come to visit.  Now she is back in New Jersey so getting together in person is easier but she is an incredible writer so we still have letters travelling back and forth – they are just electronic now.  I cherish them.  They are full of newsy detail and personal thoughts – far removed from a tweet – and my life is so much richer for it.

And Sarah now lives in NYC!  She has made good on our wild imaginings about what it might be like to live in NYC.  It’s not what we would have imagined back then.  She is married with children now – and the cool factor has migrated beyond Nolita to the Lower East Side.  She’s brilliant and insightful so it was fascinating to hear her initial impressions of life in one of the most famous cities on earth.

And it will make it easier to visit her!  As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, most of my friendships have an unusual genesis.  Sarah and I became friends because she was my roommate for 6 weeks in Calgary during the summer of 1983.  I was living in the University of Calgary student dorm so the facilities were pretty limited and her sister lived in town so I barely saw her but our few chats really intrigued me so I made sure we exchanged contact information.  Neither of us has ever had much free time and it’s a bit incredible our paper correspondence survived before the internet.  She is a scientist so she was my first email!  There have been many since.  And some live encounters to supplement the flow of bytes.

The message?  You never know what life has in store for you.  And how random people in your life might align and create new adventures.  If you meet someone you find interesting, be sure to get some contact info – and then just see what happens…  All three of them opened up my world and changed my life – for the better.

 

p.s. one final restaurant recommendation that didn’t fit into the stream of consciousness…  Nomad (from the brilliant guys at Eleven Madison Park)

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eating & drinking - well, life philosophy, travel stories

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soaring like an eagle :)

The flight to Chicago had a lot of turbulence so when we landed safely on the ground it felt like more of an accomplishment.  It got me thinking about other flights.

I’ve been to over 50 countries so I have no idea how many flights I’ve taken.  I’ve definitely been in some interesting airports – from rustic and remote to high tech and glamorous.

I am definitely at the point where getting on a plane is no big deal but I always try not to take it for granted.  When I was in London in September I went to the Science Museum for possibly the first time.  It was a rushed visit and I will definitely be back.  But one of the fascinating exhibits was a history of air travel, complete with some actual aircraft parts.

It helped me to remember what an extraordinary feat, showcasing the ingenuity of mankind, every single flight really is.  I don’t remember all the history but, not only was the science of air travel impressive, so were the crazy guys who made it all possible, the intercontinental rivalry and the role of the military to do good (they invented the internet too!  Without them, google would not have become a verb).

My grandfather was one of the early crazy guys.  We know so little about him but some things seem clear – he was handsome, charismatic and prone to thrive on risk.  Supposedly, one of his “careers” was to have people pay him to ride in an air balloon while they watched.  I smiled in London when I saw the photos of the crazy dudes willing to go up into the sky in a potentially combustible air balloon to prove men could fly like birds.

This airbus 320 is a long way from an air balloon and feels a bit like sitting in a cramped living room in the sky.  Not too thrilling.  The bumpy flight reminded me of how much I enjoy actually feeling the flight.

That is best done via helicopter.  I’ve only been in one – and it was now over 30 years ago – but I can still remember almost every detail.

It was my first job, waitressing the summer before university in the only nice hotel in town in a remote community on the Canadian prairie.

That summer there were lots of forest fires so there was a steady stream of strangers in town staying at the hotel as part of the forest fighting team.

Two members of the various crews were young helicopter pilots.  Needless to say, they were very popular among the young servers.  I heard they were sometimes taking girls on a short trip to refuel the helicopter if the timing coincided with them coming off shift.  So I made sure they knew I was interested 🙂

I had developed a good rapport with – and a bit of a crush on – one of the pilots.  He would come down for coffee when the dinner shift was over and it was quiet so we would chat.  I can’t remember his real first name.  His given name didn’t matter as he was by then firmly established to the world as Bud Cave.  A very cinematic name for a pilot 😉

One day when I had just left the restaurant I got a call from Bud.  If I could get back there in 20 minutes he would take me up in the helicopter.  I didn’t have a car so pedalled furiously on my bike, arriving a little breathless.  But it was totally worth the effort!

All the other girls had gotten maybe a fifteen minute round trip.  Today Bud was going to pick up some guys in the bush – an hour each direction!

And, because I was the only girl in the helicopter, I got to sit in the front in the co-pilot seat and wear the headphones so I could communicate with the pilot.  So I had the bird’s eye view of the prairie and the forest as we flew over…. And got to experience the rush of landing a helicopter in the middle of the bush.

I had not appreciated the air velocity of a helicopter descending straight into the middle of the forest.  Things fly everywhere.  There is no landing strip and graduated descent to the ground.  It’s pure drama.  And, because I was a young girl, supposedly fearless, the pilot did some tricks for me as well.  It seemed like we were flipping upside down but I am not sure it’s even scientifically possible – but when there is an open door beside you and a glass bubble surrounding you, it’s pretty easy to feel like you are already on a roller coaster without the pilot doing tricks 🙂the view from the plane :)

A couple of years on, I became friends with a guy named Paul who was getting his pilot’s license.  We were both poor students so I had to pitch in for our time in the air but he took me up a couple of times in a small plane.  Some of the best money I ever spent in my early twenties 🙂

landing in the serengetiI’ve been in a few small planes since.  And have never lost the joy of seeing the world from only a few thousand feet.  Landing in the middle of the migration and trying not to descend directly onto a wildebeest lurking on the runway in the Serengeti has to be the most spectacular but a trip in a small plane trumps an Airbus any day.

I was just reading about some entrepreneur in Ecuador trying to develop a bicycle that would allow one to pedal like ET and fly like a toucan to check out the rainforest.  Maybe even cooler than a helicopter or a small plane?  But a prototype at this stage…  so, for now, I suggest you try the helicopter or the small plane.  I haven’t been up in a hot air balloon yet.  But it must be done.  And I will drink a toast to my mysterious grandfather as part of the experience…

p.s.  I am typing this in the mighty land of the eagle… the New York stories to come…

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life philosophy, travel stories

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life is a banquet – and most poor suckers are starving to death…

Not my line.  You can thank Patrick Dennis.  According to Wikipedia, he had a life almost as interesting as Mame’s.  If you haven’t already discovered Mame, I highly recommend you do so.  Apparently she was the Fifty Shades of Grey of the 1950s.  Mame is way cooler from what I can gather, since I refuse to actually read Fifty Shades… but, like the Kardashians, you can’t escape it even when you’re trying to…

Anyway, let’s talk about Mame!  And the brilliant Patrick Dennis.  I first stumbled across Auntie Mame in my early teens.  Especially interesting because it was supposedly out of print then.  But I read it – and the sequel – with great delight.  My recollection is that it is well written.  And Mame is a character who should be as famous as Scarlet O’Hara.

When I read the original novel, I related to the nephew.  To have a worldly aunt who would show me the world and shake up my boring “Little House on the Prairie” everyday life seemed a dream too big to actually dream.

But that is the wonderful thing about reading.  You can transport yourself into all sorts of worlds for which you have in reality neither the means nor the social skills to actually enter.  You can pretend to be all sorts of different people and lead all kinds of interesting lives.

If you aren’t a reader, Mame also made it onto Broadway and apparently there are two different film versions.  But the one to see is the 1958 Warner Brothers version with Rosalind Russell.  I was looking for something to entertain me in the background on Christmas Eve and that is how I saw it for the second time.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0051383/

Not everything is better the second time.  But it is one of my favourite films.  It’s fantastic – and not terribly realistic.  But highly entertaining.  And with a social message that still resonates today – and would have been shocking in the 1950s of the buttoned-up USA.

As a child, Mame was inspiring.  But now I see that I have partly turned into Mame.  And it’s not a bad thing.  She is resilient, resourceful, independent, entertaining and unconventional.  As the quote suggests, Mame really knows how to live.

Apparently the book has been a spectacular hit as a reissue in the 21st century.

Check it out.  Or rent the film.  Mame was ahead of her time so her message fits perfectly into the new century.

Live your life to the fullest.  Take some risks.  Do some interesting things.  Make sure you have at least a couple of stories that will get you attention in the nursing home.

Enjoy the banquet!  Apparently the world did NOT end after all… so it’s time to embrace 2013!

Happy New Year!

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artsy stuff, life philosophy

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how to wake the dead ;)

343 marla parentsDon’t be scared 😉  No zombies.  Not even a Ouija board.  I do remember playing with something that was supposed to be a Ouija board in my youth.  But being one of those dull, uber-analytical sorts… well…  someone else will find ghosts for you…

I just like the concept of invoking the dead… not necessarily into my living room 😉 I just think it’s great to keep dead people alive by remembering them – and talking about them – in voice and in print…

And this is my dad’s season.  It’s not quite the same these days but I grew up with some insane concept of Christmas that was informed by silly family rituals and too many Christmas specials.  Some of the rituals were normal.  Some I invented because I was obsessed with the concept and wanted Christmas to last as long as possible…

The strangest, but most enduring one, was when I discovered that there was a sense of letdown when all the presents had been opened… so first I held back one gift for each person and gave it to them later in the day… of course, that then became an expectation… so it became more complicated… to a point of some absurdity… it probably means the Jews have it right with Hanukkah 🙂

But the spirit of Christmas for me is less about presents than it is about carols.  When my dad died choosing the music for his funeral was very complicated – because the only music he really seemed to connect with was Christmas carols.

I still have a great love of ritual, especially around December.  And I think I owe a lot of it to him.  It was always a month unlike any other.  All the rules loosened.  Time seemed to stretch.  There was festivity in everyday activities.

These days in the developed world there is so much emphasis on goods and dollar signs.  But none of my great childhood memories involved much of a cash outlay.

Today I was listening to Bing Crosby sing Christmas songs, including obscure hits like Silver Bells and Christmas in Killarney.  This was the one Christmas album my family owned when I was a child and it was played so often that I know the words to every song and can identify any of them in the first couple of bars.  Because my dad decreed that we start playing Christmas carols every December over and over again.  He felt they should play Christmas carols all year round, not just at Christmas.

He also thought we should eat candy.  Sadly I shared his weakness so we had to fight over the toffee!  But we got to eat as much candy as we wanted for the entire month.  There was something wonderful and dramatic about having an entire month to indulge.  It made every year of my childhood feel special and exciting.  A month of unlimited candy is all it takes for a child to feel s/he has won the lottery.

I know my dad shared my love of Christmas.  And I won the lottery having him give me so much wonderful advice to guide me through the labyrinth of life.

But, on Christmas Eve, to evoke him, I play Bing and eat some toffee.  And he’s here… and we’re both listening… and not singing along – cause neither of us can sing 😉

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life philosophy, shining examples

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who is “that girl?” ;)

I am really dating myself with this reference but since I have put my age into the public record, no secrets will be revealed 🙂  A few weeks ago I stumbled by accident on TV reruns of “That Girl”.  It had a fairly short run – but obviously long enough to be in syndication 🙂

http://www.tv.com/shows/that-girl-1966/

“That Girl” never had the power or cultural prominence of “Mary Tyler Moore” but they both informed my childhood view of women – and reinforced the idea that women could be strong and independent that I was so lucky to have as my childhood motif courtesy of my crazy, think-outside-the box family 🙂

“That Girl” was a little extra special for me because the actress featured was named “Marlo”.  Obviously my great uncle Elmo must have been a secret fan of the show because he never got that my name ended in an “a”, not an “o”.  But “Marla” was a strange Martian name in the small towns of my childhood and “Marlo” was so much closer than all the other “M” names I got called because I was shy and soft spoken so I was grateful 🙂

No doubt Zooey Deschanel is referencing “That Girl” in “The New Girl”.  Almost nothing in the 21st century is as “new” as advertised – it’s most often just an update.

Shockingly to me, this is my 100th post!  So I thought it should be personal and introspective.  I am not Marlo – or Zooey – but I like to think I have updated my own version of “That Girl.”

The show was a cheesy trifle so I suspect my version of “That Girl” is a little deeper than the producers of the 60s would have been envisioning…

I think I am better at the “that” part than the “girl” part.  In my family, there were only two offspring.  Whether nature, nurture or divine intervention, I was happy to be the substitute son while my sister revelled in everything girlie.

paris early days

She embraced pink, skirts, jewelry… I refused to wear pink on principle.  I drove my mother to the edge of madness by wearing the same pair of brown sweatpants during high school so many times they started to disintegrate.  Finally, at age 31, when the man I wanted to be perfect enough to marry proved to be a bit more challenging, I finally succumbed to my mother’s pressure to pierce my ears…  I think it was my first girlie moment – changing my appearance to mark frustration with a relationship milestone…

The years go by… and all of us grow up… even if it takes a while… so I am scribbling this wearing a skirt, fuschia tights and special edition 007 Swarovski earrings cool enough to get a thumbs up from the gorgeous Parisian hostess at the restaurant.

It took over three decades but I eventually figured the “that” part of “that girl” was the most interesting part.  A four-letter word with all kinds of meaning attached.

I only saw one re-run but I think the concept is “That Girl” is memorable.  She is not lost in the crowd.  So, if you aspire to be “That Girl” you are going to have to be interesting…

I’m not sure I have totally achieved that goal yet.  But I am making progress!

As part of my spectacular 50th year (only a few months left), I relived my Hermes experience.  In the strange loop that is my life, my first Hermes visit happened when I ran off to Paris for the first time on my own just as I about to embark on a surreal love affair that would result in my European marriage.

In those days I had a regular job – or the kind of irregular permanent job that meant I worked at least 60 hours a week every week so taking vacation time was practically impossible and my best hope was over the Christmas holidays.  I had just met the German guy and we were trading emails… back in the old days when we had to write them at work on our lunch break… but it made the communication more exciting.  He had just bought an apartment and, being a practical German engineer, wasn’t ready for me to descend on the exact dates I could convince my boss to sign off on.  So I went to Paris first.

Paris in January with a strong umbrella and a good sense of humour when the umbrella just ended up in knots in the wind.  Don’t go to Paris in January!  But it was the only chance I had.  And the Australian had made me take the metro all the time while we sat underground and he dissed Paris the entire time so I knew I had to take the city back on my own terms…

I live in a city where it is famous for rain so I will always have fond memories of walking the streets of Paris in the rain with my broken umbrella…   No Aussie jackass to spoil my love of the city of light and a budding romance a few days away in Deutschland.  It could have been a film 😉

And in the photo montage, no doubt I would have been buying my first Hermes scarf.  When I was traveling with the Aussie dude on my very first trip to Paris, I was traveling on $50 a day and there wasn’t really money for postcards…  so it was a promise to myself… someday… I would return to Paris and buy a real Hermes scarf… at the shop on Faubourg St Honore.

The first experience was just OK.  I was easily intimidated by the sales associate and walked away with something… but the true satisfaction  that should have come from such an expensive purchase had always eluded me… so, in the end, my second Hermes scarf not only marked my 50th year but also bookended my European marriage – and highlighted how far I had come in the past 15 years.

This time I was confident and in charge of the sales associate, rather than vice versa, and walked away with a gorgeous scarf that should end up bequeathed in my will.

I’m not sure if I am “that girl”, “the new girl” or simply “this girl”.  But, what is clear to me is the journey I have already undertaken and the confidence the “current girl” has.

It is the confidence of age and experience, worn lightly, making an Hermes scarf seem heavy by comparison.

This trip was practical.  I wasn’t a tourist.  There was no requirement for stories or adventures.  And – compared to most of my travels – it was pretty low-key.  But, in an effort to stay awake and combat jet lag on Friday night, I wandered into one of those bar-lounge-bistro-etc type places that only exist in France and was rewarded with more than just a 3 euro glass of great Cote du Rhone.

They had seemed determined I should sit… so ended up at a table almost in the lap of the guy strumming guitar and singing the kind of French chansons you would normally hear on the soundtrack of a film festival selection at Cannes.

I was happy to just listen but he kept smiling at me… in that come hither way that Latin guys have that is deadly… and he was a shaggy haired piece of French manhood with a great voice and a seductive delivery…

I gathered the table next to me was composed of his close friends, who spoke almost no English.  I really need to work on my language skills!   It was all not very clear… but it seemed I might be being set up with one of their friends who spoke English… Chanteur guy seemed sad I was leaving… and there may have been an interesting story there if I had stayed but sometimes you have to be the girl who knows what she really needs is some sleep!

Don’t worry… it doesn’t happen very often 🙂  My goal is to make my real life surpass all the treacly TV episodes and prove that real people are cooler than anyone on TV – fiction or reality TV fact…

Stay tuned! 😉

 

 

 

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artsy stuff, life philosophy, travel stories

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