five countries in 24 hours!

Okay, I may have exaggerated just a little about the time factor, but not much. Last night, I attended the 6:30 pm screening of a Swedish film, "The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets' Nest", as part of the PFS Film Festival at Muse Arts Warehouse. (I actually arrived circa 6:55 pm, but, as good luck would have it, the film had just started its opening credits. Hence, as you will see, the fudge factor on 24 hours.)
The film had English subtitles so we could follow along and I discovered something startling: I had absolutely NO IDEA what they were saying. None! Usually, I can at least partially match up the spoken dialogue with the subtitles in a variety of languages (Spanish, French, Italian, German), but I was stumped for Swedish. It was as if I had been dropped off in that land strange to me and was forced to rely on a translator to make my way. Still, "tack" PFS for that introduction!
After the film, I left Sweden and went in search of more familiar territory... and found it at Bonefish Grill. I had a gift card for that restaurant and was itching to use it! Noel started me off with fresh, warm bread and a plate of herbed olive oil for dipping. Ah, Italia! Grazie tanto!
Then, suddenly, I was transported back in time and geography to the early 1980's and Okinawa. The Ahi Tuna Sashimi had arrived! Lovely, lovely, lovely! Seared on the outside, rolled in pepper and sesame seeds, then sliced into rosy-faced circlets of firm, tasty flesh. As always, served with wasabi and pickled ginger, to spice up and then cleanse the palate. This also included a spicy chili scribble and a bangbang drizzle to change up this dish just a bit. Domo Arigato!
And now it was time to dip towards the equator and a cooler treat: ceviche! Now it was the late 1970's and I was in Panama, being introduced to Corvina Seviche, served in large brandy glasses with saltine crackers alongside. The variation last night had freshly toasted tortilla chips, nicely crunchy. I ate every last drop of the seafood, using a spoon to make sure I had plenty of the finely diced onions and lime juice for every bite. Muchas gracias para los recuerdos!
Sated, I wended my way home and settled in for the evening. Ah, nothing like a trip away from home to refresh the senses!
Then, this evening, REEL Savannah had brought to town a brand-new film from Poland, "Wonderful Summer". So, at 6:50 pm, I was in the theatre waiting for it to begin. (Whew! Just in the 24-hour timeframe!) As I had been married to a half-Polish man for a decade and a half, I had thought I would be able to catch at least a few of the words as they were uttered; sadly, no. Apparently, I only speak Polish food: kielbasa, kapusta, pierogi, golumpki, nalesniki. None of those were mentioned, so I allowed myself to once again to transported into the heart of a foreign land while I depended on subtitles to guide my journey. And what a wonderful, sweet journey it was, following a young woman through her first romance and job search. Thank you, REEL Savannah!

trapped in kelly's closet!

Wow! Thanks to Jim Reed and his glorious Psychotronic Film Society's Film Festival, I have enjoyed a new musical!!! Seriously, I adore musicals and R. Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet", which I had not even HEARD OF until this week, is fabulous! Originally released in two parts, the first twelve chapters in 2005, followed in 2007 by another ten chapters, the film festival brought the combined version to the big screen at Muse Arts Warehouse tonight.
Sure, it was campy, but no more so than any soap opera on television now or in the past. I suspect R. Kelly is a BIG soap opera addict, much like my bird and Chris Rock's dad and who knows how many straight men. That's right, I said it: STRAIGHT MEN. Hell, I'm talking straight BLACK men. Who knew? And R. Kelly positively revels in it, with trite dialogue, a narrator who tells us way too much trivial stuff ("and now she's wiping her nose"), and characters in and out of bed in a dizzying series of affairs. Hilarious!! Smart, too, demanding that you pay attention or run the risk of not knowing who's zoomin' who... and THAT would be a shame!
Mind you, I'm terribly keen on "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog", another modern musical. I am so very keen on that musical that I purchased three - yes! three!!! - copies when it first emerged on dvd. You see, it was released on the world wide web, one episode at a time, keeping its fans glued to their computers in anticipation of the finale!!! Well, maybe not quite so dramatic, but pretty darn close. So, I can now easily watch it whenever, and I gave a copy to one of my nephews for Christmas two years ago and he LOVED it, and I have one more which will be bestowed to another nephew for his birthday. Oh, yes!

can't have it all

"You can't have everything, where would you put it?" So says Lemmy Kilmister. Only he says it quickly, all run together, in a deep gravelly voice, no punctuation in evidence. You can tell it's one of his pet expressions, sort of an inside joke with himself. Every time he says it in the documentary, it's as an offhand remark after he has answered some other question... but I could tell he was waiting for a reaction from the questioner, an acknowledgement of the line.
I used to trot a very similar line out myself, but haven't for years. Usually, it was in response to someone complaining about not having some superfluous material thing or impractical gadget. "You can't have it all," I would quip, "where would you put it?" An exasperated glare was generally the response I received. Come to think of it, I pretty much haven't said it for quite a few years, as I got a bit tired of the evil-eye.
Still, with Lemmy, you could tell he'd been shooting that line out for a long time and would continue to do so, whether anyone paid attention or not. And, with Lemmy, it was a bit odd to hear him say it after you had just seen his extensive collection of knives and his collection of figurines in his image and his collection of... Well, you get the picture. Definitely an inside joke for a man who has, for the majority of his 65 years, lived the dream life he had wanted as a young man.
Sure, he discovered many years ago that he was losing his quick touch on the strings of his beloved bass and found the cure to be amphetamines, a solution he does not recommend as he "has known too many who died from this lifestyle". In fact, Lemmy makes a point of saying he doesn't want to glorify his lifestyle of drinking hard liquor, generous use of speed, and near-constant cigarette smoking. How refreshing for a rocker to acknowledge that he has made wrong choices, even when he still chooses to continue in his admittedly bad habits. That reminded me of one of my brothers, who has lived on the fringe of "socially acceptable" for many years, but is, nonetheless, a good man. He hasn't made the choices most of us make, but that doesn't make him bad. If he was in the entertainment business, as Lemmy is, my brother would simply be regarded as "living the eccentric lifestyle".
Lemmy is shown to be a gruff man, almost ageless, in his trademark black hat and custom-made boots. He speaks his mind, using a range of words that make many outside the rock music business cringe. But his gruffness is on the surface, hiding the caring, careful heart beneath. When asked what is his most treasured possession in the room, Lemmy answers, without a moment's pause, "my son" - who happened to be sitting there on the couch. An amazing response to the interviewer, amazing also to the son, but certainly not amazing to the man himself. Lemmy spoke his heart. That also describes my brother: caring and giving to those he knows, not caring what strangers might think of his words or actions. That can, and has been, a roadblock in his career, as most work situations demand a set method of dealing with and responding to the actions of others. Strange how the world works, isn't it?

change is gonna come (CHANGE)

Earlier this evening, I gave away part of my past. The futon I had since my days in Okinawa, a custom piece made in South Korea for my boyfriend at the time, is now gone. I swear, the room I had it in now has an empty feel to it, even though that room still has furniture in it. I almost thought I heard an echo.
I also gave away my stoneware which I had purchased in Okinawa and used for almost three decades. I had bought it just a little ahead of my "permanent change of station", or PCS, in 1982, wanting to get a few good items for the Navy to ship for me. The maker was Ranmaru, style Lotus White, color "Soft Petals". A lovely, graceful service for eight, with dinner plates, bread plates, saucers, teacups, salad bowls, a serving bowl, and a meat plate.
As I recall, the cups and saucers were given to Goodwill some years ago, as I did not use them. The dinner and bread plates, as well as the bowls, were all used regularly and some were broken along the way. Eventually, I was down to two bowls, five bread plates, and four dinner plates. The dinner plates and four of the bread plates left this evening to help someone who lost all in a fire. I do hope they will bring her as much pleasure as they brought me.
I have kept the odd bread plate, the two chipped bowls, the serving bowl and the meat plate. I may give them away, too, one day, but not quite yet. I'm not done with those memories evoked by the pattern: shopping on Gate 2 Street, so many meals shared with family and friends, packing and unpacking for each move.
The futon served me well and was, as I said, a custom piece. A modified double bed, it was sectional and folded into a neat loveseat, waiting to be unfolded on a tatami mat for the evening. I always received "outstanding" awards for my barracks room there on The Rock. The futon was constructed as separate foam cushions which fit in the zippered compartments of the washable cloth cover. I'm telling you, it was a wonderful piece of furniture! I never saw anything like it here in the States.
After a couple of decades, the zippers on two of the compartments wore out and jumped their tracks, refusing to be set right. Still, the futon itself carried on as an emergency guest bed for many friends and even some family. If not for the comfortable mattress in the sleeper sofa, I might have held on to that futon forever.
But the sleeper sofa DOES have a comfortable mattress. And the sleeper sofa looks good in the guest room and makes the term "guest room" more meaningful, somehow, than an odd futon with busted zippers. And I have noticed that those who partake of the guest room enjoy using the space as a sitting room as much as a bedroom. That's nice, to be able to offer the feel of a suite to a single room.
Still, it feels like such an end of an era. No more Korean futon. No more Ranmaru stoneware set.
Change IS gonna come - CHANGE!

feeling taller

No more pap smears! Woohoo! The doc looked under the hood today and declared me good to go! Whew!
Very good to know. On January 2nd, I had a sneezing marathon and pulled an abdominal muscle. I was in SUCH pain. It was bad. I was popping 800 mg ibuprofens like they were manna from heaven. I limited myself to no more than two a day, but sometimes, a third one would sound like a really good idea. The pain went on for a week and then, one fine day, I woke up and the worst of the pain was gone. I still had an ache, but at least I didn't feel crippled by the monster.
I had wondered if I should return to the doc, have him check around and make sure all was well. After all, the day of the sneezing fit was just shy of three weeks post-surgery. But I told myself that if my bowels still worked as they should, then I had pulled a muscle, not anything more serious, so going to the doc wouldn't help. If the bowels were NOT working, then I would have to go and see what I had damaged by my full-body sneezes. And my bowels DID work, so I kept to an ibuprofen regimen until all was much better.
I did mention all of that to the doc today and he listened and seemed to indicate that I had done the right thing. And all checked out just fine - I'm "all healed up!" he said! I just have to remember to "go slow and easy" for a while, listen to my body, let it tell me when I've pushed too hard.
I can do that. Hey, did I tell you I feel taller? I do!

what a long strange trip it's been

These were taken fourteen years apart.
The upper photograph was taken in my Grandparents' back yard in Waycross in 1975. I'm fairly certain it wasn't any later than that, or earlier either. After all, my youngest brother looks about eight years old.
The lower picture was taken on Labor Day, 1989, at my stepdad's house. We had all gathered, as was the custom before Mama's death, for a cookout and family get-together on that holiday weekend. The day was winding to a close and we were goofing around, being silly, when that moment in time became frozen for eternity.
Somehow, when the fourteen-year mark rolled around in 2003, we missed the opportunity. We were all a little scattered two years after Mama's death and the youngest was living in Baton Rouge that year (and several after, too).
I hope one day to have another image of the four of us to post here, but it may be a while before that can transpire. One of us (my middle brother) had a near-death experience last fall, so time does seem to be of the essence, as it so often does. Another (the youngest) is currently not in a position of freedom of movement, a definite hindrance to picture-taking. 2017 will mark another twenty-eight years (twice fourteen) since the last group shot; will we be able to mark the occasion?

letter

Today, I received the letter I had written at the Bowl Burning Ceremony last year. I had wondered what had happened to it, as I had thought it was to be returned to me around Thanksgiving. I knew there were some of my forecasted changes which had not occurred, so I was expecting to read those parts and either grin or grimace. And so I did.
But, surprisingly, there were other parts which I had forgotten. I had written of how much I had enjoyed going to Las Vegas with Paul and Cathy and how much I closer I now felt to Cathy. True!
I had written of going to Myrtle Beach with my bird and how much I had enjoyed that experience. True! I had also written of my feelings for him and I was a bit surprised at what I had said. I'll certainly have to give that more thought.
The biggest change I had forecast apparently got lost along the way. I was going to straighten up the house and have folks over more often. More dinners, more get-togethers, game nights and such. Never happened. Hmmm. THAT definitely SHOULD happen... and I'm going to see that it does.
One of the good things I did last year was get a lot of STUFF out of the house. eBay has been quite helpful with that, even paying for my airfare to San Francisco and home from Las Vegas. I think my total items vamoosed is more than 200, which is definitely an accomplishment.
I even cleared out enough that I have an actual GUEST ROOM, which has been successfully used by friends and family. AND, when my bird flew here to nest, I not only helped him locate some furniture for his new nest, but I also supplied him with a chest of drawers. An EMPTY chest of drawers - that's right, I had managed to empty out four drawers full of STUFF. Again, rather impressive doings, as my tendency is more toward pack rat than neatnik.
So, in retrospect, I have done rather well at accomplishing most of the goals set forth in my letter to myself. Now, to invite folks over more often... definitely doable!
And I would follow the advice of Erma Bombeck, one smart cookie! "IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love you's."
More "I'm sorry's."
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it .. live it and never give it back."
Good advice for a new year!

here we go now (Mama's gonna worry)

Life is getting better. Slowly, but getting better.
Today, I went to the jail, in search of my driver's license. You see, when I had gone there on Sunday to visit my youngest brother, I had surrendered my license, as is the requirement for such visits. When I departed, I had retrieved what I believed to be my license... but I found out yesterday that it was most definitely NOT mine. Oh, no!
As I tend to stay a bit befuddled, post-surgery, I could not think of where it might be. Had I actually given it to a waitress and she had returned the wrong license to me? Was that at the beach? In Bluffton on Sunday? WHEN???
Then, last night, just as I was drifting into slumber, the thought materialized: Check the jail. But of course! That was the last place I KNEW I had my license. When I had left, there was a shift change or something going on and the new person must have given me the wrong license. Fine, I would go there first thing and check it out.
And so I did. And there it was. And I didn't need to spend half a day, and more money, at the Department of Motor Vehicles to get a replacement. Whew! (I had turned in the license I had erroneously received to DMV and hopefully they will send it to its rightful owner.)
With license newly restored, I felt safe to drive again. Off I went to the beach to take care of my parking citation. I had hoped the City of Tybee might credit the fine amount toward the cost of a parking permit, but, no. Nonetheless, I went ahead and purchased the permit anyway. I'm glad I did! Now, I can tool on down to Tybee anytime I want, stay however long I want, park in any lot I want, with no fear of a parking fine until after January 31st of 2012.
You bet I'm going to do just that, too.

dagnabbit

What a start to a new year. Truly.
Today the American Legion Post to which I belong was having a fundraiser for nursing scholarships at the beach. I've never been to this function and, as my bird had to work, I decided that would be a quite lovely way to begin my year: at the beach, doing good for others.
So, after breakfast, and a couple of episodes of The Twilight Zone, off I went. And a beautiful blue sky day it was! Warm, too, needing only a light jacket to ward off the cold-tinged breeze. Ah, yes!
But I had the directions wrong. Somehow, I thought the function was to be near the pier and pavilion, so that's where I went. The parking meter refused to accept my credit card, but I noticed someone else having the same problem and decided to go ahead and seek out my Post.
And things just started falling apart. I walked up and down the pier, looking for the Legionnaires. No success. I decided to go visit the marine science center at the foot of the pier. It was closed. So, I headed back to the car, only to find the parking police had beat me there and left me a $35 citation. WHAT?! For lack of a $3 slip of paper I was being hit up with a fine that was more than tenfold that amount?? No, no, no, I was going to wait by the parking police vehicle, right there in the parking lot, until he returned and I could show him the meter that refused my credit card and led to this mistaken fine.
And I waited. And waited. Apparently, he had just started his rounds and had a lot of other vehicles to cite, as I waited almost exactly an hour for his return. And even so, I very nearly missed him. The speed with which he approached and entered his vehicle was amazing. Nonetheless, I stepped quickly in front of the vehicle and to the driver's side door. He came out to speak with me and I started with my complaint about the meter and my card. He countered with no one else had said anything about a broken meter, at which point I pulled out my card and pointed out the offending meter and asked him to see if HE could get the machine to give me a parking slip. Taking my card, in a trice he had the machine do that very thing! He could tell from my face that I was completely taken aback, so he said he would adjust the charge of my citation. Numbly, I gave it to him and he scribbled on it. (I'm still unclear whether he took $20 off or whether the charge is now $20.) Then I repeated that I had come to the beach in the first place for the American Legion fundraiser and he says "That's at the other end of the beach. It's almost over now."
And that's when I lost control and the tears rolled down my cheeks. What a terrible start to the new year! I had missed the fundraiser and the chance to get to know some of my fellow legionnaires better. I had missed my chance to start the new year helping others. I had missed it ALL... AND I had been penalized, to boot. I was inconsolable. But I was also determined to utilize the parking slip I had just received. I had until 5:26 PM before I HAD to move my car and , by golly, I was not moving it before then! Dagnabbit!
And so I stayed. The day was losing its warmth and the wind was picking up, but I persisted, blotting my tears with the sleeve of my jacket. I wanted to sit in the sun and look at the ocean and listen to the waves. But, no. Both swings were occupied. So I leaned on the lifeguard station and waited. And wept and waited and rocked myself. And eventually the sound of the lifeblood of this planet got through to me and calmed me. And eventually the young people in one swing left and I was able to sit there and rock myself.
After about fifteen minutes of that, I was cold and calm and ready to get warm. I drifted into Fannie's, remembering the hoppin' john from two years ago - or was it only last year? There, I received the nurturing I needed to turn the day around. Hot coffee, fresh chips and salsa. Crayons on the table to leave my mark. Hoppin' john, with greens and a warm doughy biscuit. And a waitress who kept showing up at the right time, with a kind word, a warm smile, a touch up of coffee. Ahhhh.
And all was again right, or at least right enough, for this first day of 2011.
The time was 5:21 PM as I pulled out of the lot. Time to spare.