A place I'd rather be, the Caldera at sunset, Santorini

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Camp Counselor, YMCA Camp Montvale
2. Cafe manager, The North Street Grocer
3. Doula and Childbirth Educator
4. Advancement Slave, present position.

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Pride and Prejudice (the BBC version...what's your favorite, Catherine?)
2. Pirates of the Caribbean (the first one)
3. A Few Good Men
4. Any caper movie like Ocean's Eleven or The Italian Job.

Four places I have lived:
1. Tennessee
2. Indiana
3. Pennsylvania
4. California

Four TV shows I watch:
1. Project Runway
2. Top Chef
3. What Not to Wear
4. Monday Night Football

Four places I have been:
1. England
2. Germany
3. Austria
4. Greece

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Scallops, anyway you can cook 'em.
2. Ode to Doumar's tuna and cone from The Vintage Kitchen
3. Neel's chicken and stones which I haven't had in awhile, by the way.
4. I'm just gonna say it.  Bacon.

Four of my least favorite foods:
1. Orange juice
2. Goat, although Neel says I just haven't had it made well.
3. Brussels Sprouts
4. Chocolate covered cherries.

Four places I would rather be right now:
1.  Ocean Side Park, Del Mar, CA, eating Del Mar pizza and watching the sunset
2.  on the overnight ferry from Piraeus to Crete, knowing we're going to wake up in Crete
3.  eating dinner at the Attikus Restaurant in the shadow of the Parthenon
4.  right here, oceanfront, book in hand, friends alongside, kids swimming, just about hot enough to be ready to get in the water

Four things I am looking forward to this year:
1. I'd like to go on a little trip somewhere with my family...
2. sewing more, knitting more, making more
3. Getting squared away in my work life.  (Finding balance and organization and maintaining joy)
4. Becoming a better me.

Four goals I am pursuing:
1. Spend less money (Can you hear Neel cheering from where you are?  I can.)
2. Be less absolute in my judgements.
3. Getting squared away in my work life. 
4. My main catch all resolution for every year:  to be a better me.

I've been burning the candle at both ends lately and now I'm crying "uncle".  I'm worn out and I have the sniffles and that kind of pre-cold achey tender-skin feeling.  We have some late nights scheduled this week, and I'm feeling out of balance, so I'm going to take a blogging break and try to regain some equilibrium.  I'll be back next week with some thoughts on Christmas crafting (it's not too late to start, is it?) and trying to find that all elusive balance in my life, and I'm sure you'll want to know what we've been having for dinner!  (And Megan, don't worry, if I do a post about chestnuts, I'll warn you in advance.) See you in a few days.

Yep.  It's true.  There are two new pups in the house.  Can you believe it?  I can barely believe it myself.    We've been looking for another dog.  One other dog.  Remember Mandy?  When Lucy moved in, Phoebe already lived here.  Phoebe was our first born and she died last February at the regal age of fourteen.  I'll write about her someday, but not today.  For the time that Phoebe and Lucy overlapped we really enjoyed having two dogs in the house, and we knew we wanted to do it again.  We tried all spring and summer, but each attempt seemed forced somehow.  Neel kept reminding me that the right pup would fall into our laps.  He didn't seem to realize that the right PUPS would show up!

Thea

When I called my friend Greg last week, he surprised my by saying that he had a Corgi on his lap.  It was a trial run.  They think they're not ready for a dog.  I can appreciate that.  Still, I think you're always more ready to open your heart than you think.  So I jumped on that right away.  Lucy needs a Corgi sister.  (Right, Lucy?)  Then Greg told me, "Well, Miss Corgi here has a daughter." 

Violet

Here's how it happened.  Greg has a friend who is the kind of guy who just has a warm and open heart.  You can feel the goodness simply by standing near him.  I think these dogs knew that when they showed up at his doorstep a few weeks ago, bundle of belongings tied to a stick.  Dogs know, you know?  This guy will take care of us.  And John did.  He had two beagles for them to hang with, a great yard to run around in and a lot of love.  He tried and tried to find their owners.  Did all of the right things.  But the sad fact is that we have a transitory population in this town and people move a lot and animals get abandoned.  We think that's what happened.  After Greg and his wife decided that this just wasn't the right time for them to have a dog, John pointed out that he'd like to see these dogs stay together. 

It's clear.  They go together.  Thea and Violet.  Neel and I were pretty wary of two dogs.  We took Lucy over for a meet and greet, and as soon as we saw them we knew it would be fine.  They're little dogs!  It's the Black-and-Tan Brigade.  So we got another crate, some new toys and pink collars and here we are.  And so far things have been going fine.  Better than expected.

There's definitely a lot more movement in the house.  It'll take some getting used to.  Lucy was very jealous last night.  "Look, I can jump on the bed!  Oh?  You can't?  Too bad.  So sad."  And I wish I had a picture of the sleeping arrangements.  The new girls sharing a crate.  Lucy finally in her crate (we couldn't take her lording it over them by jumping off the bed and then asking to be picked up over and over again), and Callum asleep in a sleeping bag on the floor between them. 

Today Lucy has been all, "Here's my ball, and here's my bone, and oh!  You want to go in the living room?  We can go in the living room, let's go!!"   And then I look into the backyard and see Lucy and Thea and no Violet.  Of course total panic.  She's a baby.  We think she's only about six months old.  Throw on shoes and a jacket.  Bring the other girls in.  Run into the front yard.  Finally see her in our neighbor's backyard.  She dug under the fence (shades of The Pokey Little Puppy).  So I go next door to get her.  She's gone back into our yard.  So I go home.  And she's back under the fence in their yard.  I finally wait at the hole and she crawls under to me.  A little muddy and terribly pleased with herself.

And here's Thea's response to all of this mess...

Welcome home, girls.  Except someone has gas.

Meet Thea (left) and Violet (right, looking away).

What have we gotten ourselves into?

Ah, still. life.  I need some still life.  Neel, Mom and Dad, I know that you will be able to picture the look that would have been on my Grandma Charlotte's face when I say this:  I'm about ready for daylight savings to end.  She hated the end of daylight savings, hated dark and early evenings, so if I were to say this to her, she would take it as a personal slight.  But I'm ready.  Bring fall on.  The picture above was taken at seven this morning and I'm tired of the sun not coming up for two hours after I do. 

We're aided in our cozy morning by leaden skies and the threat of much-needed rain.   I've been yearning for a day like this.  Neel has taken Callum into school, and I'm home from work today.  It's how my schedule is meant to be, but somehow part-time jobs never quite work out the way they're meant to.  I have some thoughts on work and craft and balance that I'm not quite ready to share, but I will soon.  I've been thinking about it a lot lately.

I told Neel that all I want to do this weekend is sit.  Why is it that the very thought of being still engenders so much guilt?  Callum and I come home from work and school and a half-hour commute, and rather than simply sitting and resting and talking, even for a few minutes, I immediately move to the refrigerator to think about dinner or start straightening things.  I work so hard during the week, and still, somehow every weekend I feel compelled to move from one thing to another.  Yard work,  groceries,  fix the screen door, do the laundry.  We could do a better job at being still, that's for sure.  Last week, when we pulled into the driveway Jean and Paul were across the street, and Callum and I never made it into the house.  We walked straight to their front porch and sat down.  Callum, who had finished his homework at school, started throwing the football, and when Neel got home, he walked across to join us too.  As I sat there I could feel, kink, kink, kink, my muscles relaxing.  Okay, so this is how I need to do it.

So here's my day today.  Nothing more taxing than grafting the toe on my monkey sock, doing some planning for Christmas gifts, finally, finally flipping through Last Minute Patchwork + Quilted Gifts which I've carried from work to home and back again for days with the hopes of actually getting a chance to look through, browsing some catalogs and a movie or two.  If I'm lucky I'll do it again over the weekend.

Despite a crummy start to the morning and me being grumpy all day, Neel got some good news, a scientific paper accepted (and that's been a long time coming), so we did a wee bit of celebrating.  A sip for each of us.  And a fresh start tomorrow.

I was all set to write a post about this awesome dinner we had on Saturday night, but we went to a memorial service yesterday, and I've been thinking about it a lot, so here I am.  Writing about death instead of food.

This is actually the second memorial service Neel and I've attended in the past six weeks.  One was in a Quaker Meeting House with the late summer sun streaming in through the windows, the other, yesterday was held in a windowless lecture hall in the medical school where Neel works.  At the first we were surrounded by my colleagues, at the second by Neel's; dark suit-and-beeper-clad doctors.  An old boy's network the likes of which I haven't seen in a long while.  Both services were standing room only.  Both were personal and quirky, at times sweet and funny.  Both men loved the outdoors, at each was a great story of a hiking or camping trip.  Both had threads throughout the various stories, one of how fiscally responsible (read "cheap") the guy was and one of hot dogs and tacos.  Both men left behind a wife and grown or nearly grown children.  Both loved their work and adventure, but they loved their families more.

I barely knew the man who was being remembered at today's memorial service.  I have no right to "out" him here, and I won't.  He was a colleague of Neel's.  Had the office next door, and Neel talked often of dropping in just for a break or a quick chat.  We had barely moved here when I first met Dr. B.  It was at an after-Thanksgiving party at another colleague's house, and I immediately liked him.  We were new enough here that everyone swam in a sea of barely-recognizable faces (and believe me four years later, not much has changed).  We talked about dumb stuff, not at all memorable, but I took note of both Dr. B and his wife in a I-might-want-to-be-them-when-I-grow-up kind of way.  In the handful of times that we met afterward, nothing happened to change that feeling.  He was a no pretense kind of man.  You were getting the genuine article with him and his spirit shone through in even the most casual of conversations.  On the drive home from that first meeting, when Neel told me that he was sick, I thought, "Oh no, I don't want him to die."

That was nearly four years ago.  I last saw Dr. B late this spring on a rainy night.  His son was graduating from the Governor's School and having an art show.  His work was good.  Surprised us for someone so young.  We met someone there named Callum.  How cool is that?  And there was Dr. B.  Clearly tired, but proud and happy with that same sweet smile.  I'm so glad we went.  I feel so glad that he got to see his son's show.  Got to see all those little red "sold" dots along the titles of the pieces. 

I'm not sure what the word is for what I feel when I cry at these things.  Fraud is as close as I can come right now.  How dare I?  This is not my loss.  Seriously, I can probably count the number of times I'd met this man on one hand.  It seems intrusive of me to be weeping when this loss is so acute for his wife and children.  Neel feels it keenly.  This man was his nearest neighbor in a hall of offices, an older brother who been this way before and jovially helped Neel navigate the world of Assistant Professorship.  When Neel got up to speak his emotions took over, but he was eloquent and funny nonetheless. He crashed out on the sofa for the rest of the night.  If we were that tired, how must that poor family feel.

Don't really know where I'm going with all this, just to pause and take note of what all of this feels like.  Mourning and sadness and acknowledgment of grief.  Not bad stuff necessarily.  Just stuff.  Just my Sunday this week.  But sometime overnight I realized something.  We were sad all evening.   Neel is so low.  He keeps thinking of things he wishes he'd said.  Understandable, of course.  We all do that.  And for me at least it isn't just that I'm feeling the wellspring of another person's emotions and riding the tide of their sorrow.  Some where in the dim recesses of the night, I realized that it wasn't fraudulent for me to cry for this man's death.  If I, who'd met him only a handful of times could feel his loss so keenly, what an amazing person he must have been.

May you be filled with lovingkindness

May you be well

May you be peaceful and at ease

May you be happy.

Tomorrow, dinner.  I promise.

Oh my god people this global warming bit has got to stop.  I love living in the coastal south, but it's October already.  Apple bobbing time!  Sweater wearing time!  Blue jean time!  Not 90 degree weather time.  Finally, finally yesterday it started to feel like fall around here.  A breeze, sun-swept skies, and a nip in the air.  It was a seriously, lovely bit of cool.  If I hadn't been so busy I would have toddled over to Target to get myself a sweater.

I am warily eyeing some eighty degree temps at the end of our seven degree forecast, but for now I can put down the sock knitting and pick up the sweater knitting.  I can start thinking about making chili, and I can scrounge around for some lap blankets to use when we have our fire pit this weekend.

I *heart* fall.

I first saw this meme over at wisecraft and thought it quite interesting.  I love Blair's blog.  There's something about its, I don't know, clean palette, that really appeals to me.  Her work is always inspiring.  Not just the crafting she's doing, but the blogging as well.  She's one of my daily stops and this project was particularly inspiring to.  It's made the rounds since I first saw it, but as you know, it takes me awhile to get my act together these days.

1. Do you promote your blog? 

In a word, no.  Unless you count shyly admitting that I actually have a blog.  I've finally started doing that.

2. How often do you check hits?

Well, I don't really.  I know that I can, but I almost don't want to.  I'm asked often if I can determine where my readers are coming from and how many I have, and while I know it's possible to do that, I'm not sure I want to just yet.  And I'm not sure I could tell you why.  Every comment, from those from friends to those from folks I don't know, is a lovely and special surprise.  I certainly recognize an obsessive part of my personality, so do I want to start checking hits and mess with that?  Tap, tap, tapping the refresh button?  I'm not sure.

3. Do you stick to one topic?

The subheading of bluerainroom is "home, craft, life," and I guess that says it all.  Someone else, when working on this meme wrote: me, me, me, me, me, me!!!!  Okay, fair enough.  I was first drawn to blogging by the abundance of knitting blogs, but soon saw that those blogs that were about life and how it's well, lived (not even necessarily well-lived) were most appealing to me.  When we were still in California and I was struggling with adjusting to motherhood I spent some time trying to find a therapist who might help me navigate this new and challenging phase of my life.  Have you ever tried to find a therapist?  It's almost as hard as finding a good hairstylist.  I spent several sessions with one woman until one day, after I'd said (yet again), "I don't know, I just feel..." She cut me off with this:  "I don't care how you feel.  I want to change what you feel."  After a horrified moment where I thought (audible gasp), "But all I care about is how I feel!" I never went back.

This is my memoir.  My love letter to my family and my life.  If I'm good at anything, it's at crafting a life for my family, that's what's most important to me, and this is my chronicle of that.  I've been interested in memoir for a long time, but never felt memorable enough or clever enough to produce one of my own.  Our life here, and what I craft of it is as close as I come.

4. Who knows that you have a blog?

I was slow (and still am) to come out of the closet about this.  I wanted to get my feet under me before going very public, and man, talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve.  I want people to know now, but I hope they understand that it was nothing more than shyness that kept me from cluing them in from the beginning.  Who knew I could do it or would even like it?  It doesn't really come up in casual conversation either.  "Hi.  I have a blog."  So what started with a very few friends and family is growing.  They are telling friends, I assume.  I hope they are, because I'm still not brave enough to wear this:

Ripples in a pond.  That's fine by me.  Stop in and say hello. 

 5. How many blogs do you read?

Did gazillion really become a word?  It must have because typepad spellcheck caught it.  (Typepad spellcheck did not catch "typepad" or "spellcheck" however.)  Seriously, I have many.  Again, because I'm lame I don't subscribe to anything (I know I need to get a handle on this), but I have a nice ritual of checking in on my faves when I need a break from whatever it is I have my hands in at the time.

6. Are you a fast reader?

This seems a funny, somewhat random question, but yes, I can be.  My only time to read these days is before bed and that doesn't allot a lot of time.  Falling asleep gets in the way.  So I've slowed down.

7. Do you customize your blog or do anything technical?

Oh to change my masthead each month or with each changing season.  Oh to know how to do those little buttons on the sidebar.  Oh thank you Typepad for doing everything for me.

8. Do you blog anonymously?

No.  We're all right here.  I toyed with the idea. But I wanted to be myself.  I wanted us to be us.  I totally understand why people use the barrier of nicknames or hide behind DH or DS or other monikers, but it didn't feel right to me.

9. To what extent do you censor yourself?

Well, you know.  You've been around for some of the sadness and laments!  Some of the details I will stay sketchy on, but the heart of what I'm feeling is pretty much out there.  At one point during this post I almost asked for permission to write some of the things I wanted to say.  And then I thought:  No.  My blog, my feelings.  I need to just go ahead and say these things.  

10. The best thing about blogging?

Well, for starters, you.  I can't tell you how exciting it is to get comments on my posts, whether we've never met or I had coffee with you that morning and you heard already, in great detail the story I just posted about.  So, on a broad stroke, it's the conversation.  The global conversation.  Knowing that something I've written is impacting someone enough for them to want to tell me.  Me!  (my own little Sally Field moment) It's exciting and thrilling.  I can't tell you or thank you enough.

For me it's the opportunity to write nearly every day (I promise I'll get back at it.  I'm writing a lot at work right now, and the ability to string sentences is pretty much wrung out of me when I get home at night.) that is measured and thoughtful and crafted.  For me, blogging is not journaling.  It's not free-form, and while sometimes it flows, it's not loose or necessarily easy.  I like thinking about my life in terms of writing.  I like setting on a theme for a post.  I like having an image catch my eye and adding pictures.  I like the work of crafting the words and living with them.  I look more closely at my life now, and I'm grateful for that.  I circled the idea of blogging warily for the better part of a year.  Now I CAN NOT imagine not having it in my life.  I'm enriched beyond measure.

I look up from this (picture of my desk) and it's noon, one, two o'clock...Where did the day go?  It's not wigged-out, over-worked stressed kind of where did the day go.  It's a happy, fulfilled and absorbed kind of where did the day go.

Callum's rumpled bed is exactly how my life feels right now (And if you, your spouse, partner, child or beagle is an academic scientist who relies on grant funding for a living, you may not want to read on. This post might inspire flashbacks.). We have grant-fatigue around here. Poor Neel, he bears the brunt of it, I mean, of course, but we all live it. We have every year at this time for the last four years. It's been better this year, no question, but I'm beat. I know, excuses, excuses. But Callum started back to school, I started back to work, Neel's writing, writing, writing, barely stoping to sleep or eat or acknowledge our presence (love you, honey!). I miss my blogging juju. I miss my sweet house. I miss sewing. I miss cooking. I miss you guys. And my camera is acting funky, so I feel a little heistant to pull it out (I know, enough with the excuses already), and so often it's a photo that really kicks off a blog post for me. I'm pulling it together. I'm figuring out what to say "no" to. If I could just clear off some of the surfaces, even just in the kitchen, I'd feel better.

Okay. Off my chest. Bear with me just a little longer, can you? Neel crawls out from under his rock next week, but I fully intend to be out there already in the sunshine, waiting for him.

If you know me IRL (In Real Life), you know that we watch a fair amount of football around here. And I'm right in the mix. My dad played high school and college football and I've been watching football my whole life. I am proud to say that I taught my first-generation American and Quaker-schooled husband nearly every thing he knows. (This isn't entirely fair. Neel's a very quick study and has gained an especial interest in the history of the game, both college and pro.) I'm not scary into it (really!), although I have prompted some friends to say, "But Lauren, you're a girl..." and others, when August pre-season games roll around, to say, "Here is where I lose you." I have to admit that I'm proud of my football knowledge, and I like it that this is a fun part of autumn for me. I like it that my dad and I saw Peyton Manning play in his last home game at the University of Tennessee (and lead the Pride of the Southland Marching Band in Rocky Top). I like looking forward to certain games (like Penn State vs. Michigan next week because I feel sure there isn't a Tennessee game that I'll look forward to ever. again. But we tend to be glass half empty this morning). I like having an opinion about the punishment Roger Goodell handed down to Bill Belichick (not harsh enough, plus I think he should have been forced to give up those cut-off sweat shirts) and the Patriots. I like hearing the marching bands from the high school games down the street (As my Grandma Charlotte used to lament, "Why don't they ever show the bands?"). At some point this fall someone in my neighborhood (probably Tyler) will have a football party and it will involve chili and a tv that is set up outside, and let me tell you, that will be a great day.

Callum, like me, is growing up in a football house. Since he was a little, little kid, he's been watching what he called, "uh-oh man ball." He's very loyal to his California roots and is an avid Chargers fan. He'll pull for the Eagles for his Dad, the Colts for me (as long as they're not playing the Chargers), and Tennessee on College Game Days. I'm constantly being dragged into useless exercises like, "If the Chargers are playing the Vols who would you be for? Who would win?" Or, worse, after last night, "Can the Chargers still win the Superbowl?" (I'm not gonna tell him what I really think on that one.) He's definitive and seasonal in his love of football. As soon as the Superbowl was over last winter, away went the football and back out came the bike and the skate board. Once the preseason games started late this summer, away went Tony Hawk on the XBox and out came Madden 08.

I am, however, surrounded by smart and sophisticated women, and I have to admit that I worry a little about being too heavily slanted toward "football momma." I've been sewing skirts like mad these past weeks, just to help prove that I still am a girl. Neel and I hit on a great idea this weekend. What better way to show that I really am multi-faceted than to create a dinner that only a lover of Monday Night Football and Top Chef can?

Sunday night, in honor of the Chargers/Patriots Game we had Fish Tacos. The recipe is from the NRP site in their "Kitchen Window" Segment. Those change a lot, so if you've missed it, drop a note in the comments, and I'll e-mail you.

These are all the goodies that go in the tacos. An avocado sauce. Mayonesa sauce. Cabbage. Beer battered fish, of course. Some salsa. Neel took one for the team and did the frying. He says he'd thin the batter a bit more next time.

Here they are, ready for their close up. They were pretty freaking awesome, if you ask me. Not so the game unfortunately. Patriots 38, Chargers 14. Those of you who know Callum, again IRL, understand that sometimes a loss is the best thing that can happen to that kid even if it's the hardest thing to face on a Monday morning.

So tonight the food is easy. We have Eagles and Redskins (can you say cheesesteak panini?), but I'm going to have to do some thinking for next week. Sunday is Dallas at Chicago and Monday is the Titans (Nashville) at New Orleans. Suggestions?

Five-day weeks, meetings, work deadlines, karate classes, school picnics, firepits, dinner with friends, birthdays, stuffy noses, showers after midnight to get rid of the goop, homework, Triaminic Cold, grant time, late departures, volleyball games, you name it, we're doing it and we're pooped. Coasting into the weekend, and we'll catch you on the flipside. Have a good one!

stop...

Don't dash away so fast. Take off your coat and stay awhile...

I'm off to work today and Callum starts school next week. Too soon, too soon. It may take me a bit to get back in the school/work/blogging groove, so bear with me a bit. I'll figure it out sharpish.

(And isn't that a nice photo? It's (duh) a stopsign near the Knossos Palace on Crete.)

So I went to see this movie with Jean and Rebecca last night. Have you heard of it? Oh, it was really lovely. A musical, actually. It took me a few minutes to settle into the accents and the language (seriously, English with Irish and Czech accents are so easy to understand), but the dialogue was at times poignanty and witty, the music moving and the scenery lovely. Pretty sharpish, I started wondering how Neel would look with a beard. And curly red hair. I can't really imagine why I bawled my dang fool head off through most of it. Could be that it's a little sad too...

We don't go to movies much in our family. I tend to think that people are either movie people or not-movie people. We're definitely not-movie people. Given a choice, I will almost always pick food and conversation over sitting in a theater. By the time Callum turned three, I could tell people that the last movie I'd been in the theater was Shakespeare in Love when I was pregnant. Neel and I tried to go and see A Beautiful Mind for his birthday one year, I'd even bought tickets for it. We went to dinner first and it was so nice just to sit and drink sangria and eat tapas that we let time slip alongside us and we never made it to the movie. I still haven't seen it.

Now that Callum's older we make it to more movies. Every installment of Pirates of the Caribbean when it first comes out. We saw Ratatouille a few weeks ago and Underdog comes out this weekend. Kids' movies I can make it to, no problem, it seems. Last night, nothing but the grown-ups, was a treat indeed. I'm starting to see the movie-people side of things. We had an antioxidant, free-radical infused cocktail beforehand (what the hell is an "acia berry", anyway?) to make up for the copious amounts of popcorn that we intended to consume. Great seats, front row of the balcony, in a great independent theater here in town. Rebecca was definitely driving the bus to get us to this show, and let me tell you dearheart, despite all of the bawling I did, I'm glad we went.

When my dad was up a few weeks ago, he brought a CD he'd purchased because of one song he'd heard on the Sopranos. The song is Evidently Chickentown by John Cooper Clarke. (There's an expletive or two in the song, not counting "bloody", so be careful when you click on the link.) As often happens in our family, song lyrics or phrases enter our personal lexicon, and for the rest of the week he was here and even after we've been saying, "Keep that bloody racket down, this is bloody chicken town." Dad asked why I thought he liked the song so much and I asked what he thought "chickentown" really was. My image was of darkened Dublin streets, washed in streetlights and recent rains. Angry young men clinging to the edge and dying to get out, out, out, anywhere else by here. The kind of images that ran through my head whenever I would read James Joyce or WB Yeats. 'Cause you know, I've always got my James Joyce nearby.

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;/ mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. -The Second Coming, WB Yeats

Well, Once is Evidently Chickentown. Just what I pictured. Bloody Chickentown. It was nice to see my mental images blown up big on the screen.

Here's another story about last night that has a potential spoiler so don't read on if you don't want to. After the screen went black, we all sat there, three in a row at the front of the balcony, me scrambling madly for napkins to wipe my seeping eyes. Shell-shocked. We couldn't belive it was over (and believe me, we berated Rebecca quite considerably on the way home), ended just like that. And I remembered this story about going to a movie with my mom, a long, long time ago. You know where this is going, don't you MJ?

There's a great old theater in Knoxville called The Tennessee Theatre. Our own independent theatre here is a scruffier version of The Tennessee, but hey, where else can you get baklava at the concession stand? Or yeast flakes on your popcorn? The Tennessee shows everything from old movies to concerts. They even have a Wurlitzer, can you believe it? Before every show the Wurlitzer rises up, the curtains open and a bouncy ball hops over the words to The Tennessee Waltz as everyone sings along. You know the movie is about to start when you sing The Tennessee Waltz. This is a place you go for the experience as much as the movie itself.

So one year when I was maybe nine or ten, my mom took me and my friend Stacy to The Tennessee for a matinee of The Kind and I. Just like last night, we sat upstairs in the balcony, and just like last night, the ending was an abrupt surprise. When the lights went up, and as we were walking out, my mom said what we were all thinking, "Nobody told me the god-damned king was gonna die." After reading this, if you go to see Once (and despite it all, I really hope you do), you'll now know that, metaphorically speaking, the god-damned king dies. I think I'll go download the soundtrack.

Jean and Rebecca will know that another phrase from the movie has entered our own neighborhood lexicon, but I'm too polite to say it here. Just as I was congratulating myself on my diminished use of that word too.

And the Yeats quote up there in the middle somewhere? That's another one that's entered into the fam. lexicon. Import it into your own, I bet you'll find it applies...a lot.

And another funny thing. Because of that song, I finally learned how to spell "evidently". Seriously. It took a long time. I was always adding an extra syllable or two.

Callum and I are going to have an Emergency! filmfest on my bed today (with the ac a crankin'). Now that's some watching I can relax about.