Fiction to Cinema
Sadly, I started this post weeks ago, but holiday projects and my 3-year-old keep interrupting.
All year I'd been eagerly anticipating the release of some wonderful stories as films. The results of those efforts were, to my mind, mixed at best. First, the worst adaptation:
Goblet of Fizzle
I'd stayed up till midnight or one for nearly a week before going to see HP and the Goblet of Fire over Thanksgiving break, racing to re-read Rowling's 700+ page tome. I was a-quiver with anticipation, especially since a friend had raved about the film just days before we went.
Sadly, re-reading the book was a very bad move, because I found myself perpetually irritated by the scriptwriter's and director's decisions. I can live with some collapsing of characters to simplify for another medium, but some of the cuts seemed nonsensical to me. The plot was rendered almost unrecognizable. Any tension or subtlety was eliminated with poor pacing and beat-you-over-the-head clues. Rowling's stories stand up quite well as mysteries, with all the requisite red herrings and twisting back stories, if only scriptwriters would let this element shine through.
This film adaptation seemed to be suffering from an identity crisis. It wanted, most of all, to be a teen angst film. While that element is certainly there, it stands to undergird the main theme of the novel--misunderstanding. Misunderstandings abound in the novel: we have false impressions of Moody, Crouch, Bagman, Krum, Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory and as usual, Snape. Misuderstandings disrupt relationships between the champions and Harry, Harry and Ron, Ron and Hermione, Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Rita Skeeter exists in the novel to embody the destructive power of misrepresentation and spreading of lies. Without the emergence of this culture of misunderstanding and misinformation, the kinds of evil that abound in Order of the Phoenix would never have gotten off the ground.
In the film, many of these misunderstandings are simply eliminated. We get once more, a gee-whiz-this-is-cool approach (as in the first two films) that looks more at the furniture than the people interacting in a room. Only the third film got at the essence of Rowling's story as a mystery and piece of literature with themeatic elements. I fault the Goblet film most of all for its complete distorion of the core mystery--why is the difficult Triwizard contest so easy for Harry? The film gets it all backwards. In the book, Viktor, Fleur and Cedric are smart, savvy and heroic. Harry simply gets unsolicited help and there's something sinister about this.
My hope is that twenty years from now, a true Potter fan who understands Rowling's themes and vision will remake the films for a new generation. I think contemporary films 1, 2 and 4 are going to hold up about as well as the old BBC versions of Narnia.
And speaking of Narnia...
I was pleasantly surprised by the Narnia film. The film does a good job of contextualizing the children in the 1940s, giving contemporary kids a feel for this historical period and showing the bravery of Brits in WWII. (It also shows that Americans take far too much credit for winning the war, since we sacrificed and suffered far less than Britain.) The interaction among the siblings fleshes them out very well. The girls are far more psychologically interesting than in the book. Overall, I thought the film carried the themes of the book pretty well.
The tension was not quite what it could have been, however. In the book, it builds slowly but steadily. In the film, new scenes are added to build up and release tension in increments, which ends up diffusing the tension overall. I was also disappointed with some of the visual effects. Everything Weta did was magic--the props, some of the creatures and the battle scene. The CG effects were pure Lucas--not quite believably walking on the ground or existing in the same space as the live actors. Sorry George. Weta Digital beats your team hands down.
Overall, it's a worthwhile film, if you're willing to not expect LOTR, but a great kids' film instead.
11.21.2005
Holy roller
Claire loves doing somersaults and attempting more difficult feats like cartwheels. She was recently learning some new fun moves--headstands and crab walking. I left the room to put away laundry and returned to find her in a wonky pose, head down, one leg up in the air.
"Look, Mommy, I'm doing monastics!"
Now there's an order I'd like to visit. And you thought monks just prayed.
Claire loves doing somersaults and attempting more difficult feats like cartwheels. She was recently learning some new fun moves--headstands and crab walking. I left the room to put away laundry and returned to find her in a wonky pose, head down, one leg up in the air.
"Look, Mommy, I'm doing monastics!"
Now there's an order I'd like to visit. And you thought monks just prayed.
11.09.2005
Happy blogiversary to me!
On this day in 2001 I began my blog odyssey. Sadly, I have mostly blogged about very silly things, not too many poems in progress or other zaniness like my descriptor says. I decided to celebrate by reading over some old entries and remembering fun things (and some sad ones) from the past 4 years.
June 27, 2002
"In college I sang in a rock band, did theatre and created a poetry group called the Janitor Poets (we all had custodial work-study jobs)."
I wonder what ever happened to my fellow janitor poets. Now that i'm home compulsively tidying, I see how cleaning can free your mind for creativity. If you wish to become a true poet, I say take up your mop and shine!
Feb. 6, 2003
"I really love the writing on Gilmore Girls. Two days after seeing the new episode, I still chuckle when I remember some of the lines.
This cracks me up:
Lorelei to Sherry: Just don't look at the baby too closely until they clean it up, or you might think you gave birth to phlegm."
I'm not sure the writing is quite as zippy this season....
Feb. 5, 2003
"I hate how dementia has taken my Dad from me, and that neither Joel nor Claire will ever know my other Dad, the smart, funny, gifted, creative, fix-everything guy."
This saddened me especially last week, when I remembered the anniversary of my father's death on Nov 2, 2003.
April 13, 2003
"The network execs at Fox must be smoking crack. How else can you explain a show like "The Pitts"? Its central comic concept about a family of accident-prone losers is about as funny as a train wreck. I can't say I've managed to sit through an episode yet. I think I'd rather watch a whole season of "Charles in Charge" reruns than one episode of "The Pitts." The ads for the show are so painful the thirty second exposure makes me want to run from the room and call the nearest psychiatric center to schedule electric shock treatment."
That show was on the air for a month, I think! Sense wins again.
Aug 31, 2003
"This evening I returned a video to the video store. As I was leaving, a car full of nuns pulled into the parking lot.
What do you suppose they were going to rent? The Sound of Music? Sister Act? My guess? The Fast and the Furious. :-)"
Dec. 14, 2003
"Listening to the radio during breakfast, we heard a long segment on the capture of Saddam Hussein. At one point in the broadcast, a crowd reacted to the news with clapping and cheering.
In response, our toddler daughter kicked her high chair tray, clapped and said 'woot!'
Or should that be w00t? Only 16 months old, and she's picking up Internet chat slang. Thanks bq."
Feb. 24, 2004
"Boohbah makes Teletubbies look like Shakespeare. I really think you need to be under age 2 or a drug user to fully appreciate it. Almost no talking occurs during the program. For a good portion of the show, a glowing ball with a rainbow trail bounces around while children's voices say "Booh-bah" repeatedly and giggle.
The ball eventually lands and these five freaky creatures come out. They have turtle-like retractable kewpie-doll heads--but no mouth or nose--and bulbous bodies in rainbow shades. These creatures would have been the stuff of nightmares for me as a kid. They never, ever talk. They just roll their eyes from side to side with a clicking sound. Creepy. They do occasionally squeak and sing five-note chords. And they dance a lot. In fact, about all they do is dance. How children are supposed to learn anything from watching these singing rainbow freaks gyrate and sway is a total mystery to me."
Such fun, but that's enough for now....
On this day in 2001 I began my blog odyssey. Sadly, I have mostly blogged about very silly things, not too many poems in progress or other zaniness like my descriptor says. I decided to celebrate by reading over some old entries and remembering fun things (and some sad ones) from the past 4 years.
June 27, 2002
"In college I sang in a rock band, did theatre and created a poetry group called the Janitor Poets (we all had custodial work-study jobs)."
I wonder what ever happened to my fellow janitor poets. Now that i'm home compulsively tidying, I see how cleaning can free your mind for creativity. If you wish to become a true poet, I say take up your mop and shine!
Feb. 6, 2003
"I really love the writing on Gilmore Girls. Two days after seeing the new episode, I still chuckle when I remember some of the lines.
This cracks me up:
Lorelei to Sherry: Just don't look at the baby too closely until they clean it up, or you might think you gave birth to phlegm."
I'm not sure the writing is quite as zippy this season....
Feb. 5, 2003
"I hate how dementia has taken my Dad from me, and that neither Joel nor Claire will ever know my other Dad, the smart, funny, gifted, creative, fix-everything guy."
This saddened me especially last week, when I remembered the anniversary of my father's death on Nov 2, 2003.
April 13, 2003
"The network execs at Fox must be smoking crack. How else can you explain a show like "The Pitts"? Its central comic concept about a family of accident-prone losers is about as funny as a train wreck. I can't say I've managed to sit through an episode yet. I think I'd rather watch a whole season of "Charles in Charge" reruns than one episode of "The Pitts." The ads for the show are so painful the thirty second exposure makes me want to run from the room and call the nearest psychiatric center to schedule electric shock treatment."
That show was on the air for a month, I think! Sense wins again.
Aug 31, 2003
"This evening I returned a video to the video store. As I was leaving, a car full of nuns pulled into the parking lot.
What do you suppose they were going to rent? The Sound of Music? Sister Act? My guess? The Fast and the Furious. :-)"
Dec. 14, 2003
"Listening to the radio during breakfast, we heard a long segment on the capture of Saddam Hussein. At one point in the broadcast, a crowd reacted to the news with clapping and cheering.
In response, our toddler daughter kicked her high chair tray, clapped and said 'woot!'
Or should that be w00t? Only 16 months old, and she's picking up Internet chat slang. Thanks bq."
Feb. 24, 2004
"Boohbah makes Teletubbies look like Shakespeare. I really think you need to be under age 2 or a drug user to fully appreciate it. Almost no talking occurs during the program. For a good portion of the show, a glowing ball with a rainbow trail bounces around while children's voices say "Booh-bah" repeatedly and giggle.
The ball eventually lands and these five freaky creatures come out. They have turtle-like retractable kewpie-doll heads--but no mouth or nose--and bulbous bodies in rainbow shades. These creatures would have been the stuff of nightmares for me as a kid. They never, ever talk. They just roll their eyes from side to side with a clicking sound. Creepy. They do occasionally squeak and sing five-note chords. And they dance a lot. In fact, about all they do is dance. How children are supposed to learn anything from watching these singing rainbow freaks gyrate and sway is a total mystery to me."
Such fun, but that's enough for now....
11.04.2005
Time goes
We recently joined Netflix, largely because they offer so many great television series that our local video stores simply don't carry. The past 2 weeks, I've enjoyed watching through episodes of "As Time Goes By" with Judi Dench as Jean and Geoffrey Palmer as Lionel. The humor is largely understated, though occasionally they throw in a very eccentric character or bizarre situation. I love Lionel's 85-year-old father who collects pop culture items like jukeboxes and frequently uses the catch phrase, "Rock on!" :-)
I look forward to catching up on BBC series that only occasionally appear on PBS: Chef!, The Vicar of Dibley, All Creatures Great and Small, Good Neighbors. Of course, we'll probably get some movies too...eventually. Any film suggestions for an Anglophile like me?
We recently joined Netflix, largely because they offer so many great television series that our local video stores simply don't carry. The past 2 weeks, I've enjoyed watching through episodes of "As Time Goes By" with Judi Dench as Jean and Geoffrey Palmer as Lionel. The humor is largely understated, though occasionally they throw in a very eccentric character or bizarre situation. I love Lionel's 85-year-old father who collects pop culture items like jukeboxes and frequently uses the catch phrase, "Rock on!" :-)
I look forward to catching up on BBC series that only occasionally appear on PBS: Chef!, The Vicar of Dibley, All Creatures Great and Small, Good Neighbors. Of course, we'll probably get some movies too...eventually. Any film suggestions for an Anglophile like me?
10.31.2005
Another update
Thanks for your continued prayers for my relative who attempted suicide last month. He was moved from a medical floor to the psych unit a few weeks ago, though he is still on a feeding tube for nutrition. The doctors have changed his medication from antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication to one that stabilizes bipolar disorder. He doesn't have an official bipolar diagnosis, but this medication experiment may prompt one. Some of the literature I've read says antidepressants will make a bipolar patient worse, and he appears to have reacted that way.
The more researchers study bipolar disorder, the more they find a continuum of symptoms, particularly in the manic phase. Not all bipolar patients will behave as if they're "king of the world" while having a manic episode. Some will be agitated, paranoid, unable to sleep or concentrate, or have thoughts swirling like a hamster running on its wheel. The more I read, the more I marvel at the mystery of the human mind.
The best news I've heard yet is that my relative's care team is developing a plan for his release from the hospital that will involve a month of day treatment. Our big fear was that he would be under-treated and sent home too early with no support in place, with disastrous results. The developing plan sounds very promising.
Please continue to pray for his continued progress in therapy and good results with medications. Pray for his wife and daughters to be stengthened and filled with hope.
Thanks for your continued prayers for my relative who attempted suicide last month. He was moved from a medical floor to the psych unit a few weeks ago, though he is still on a feeding tube for nutrition. The doctors have changed his medication from antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication to one that stabilizes bipolar disorder. He doesn't have an official bipolar diagnosis, but this medication experiment may prompt one. Some of the literature I've read says antidepressants will make a bipolar patient worse, and he appears to have reacted that way.
The more researchers study bipolar disorder, the more they find a continuum of symptoms, particularly in the manic phase. Not all bipolar patients will behave as if they're "king of the world" while having a manic episode. Some will be agitated, paranoid, unable to sleep or concentrate, or have thoughts swirling like a hamster running on its wheel. The more I read, the more I marvel at the mystery of the human mind.
The best news I've heard yet is that my relative's care team is developing a plan for his release from the hospital that will involve a month of day treatment. Our big fear was that he would be under-treated and sent home too early with no support in place, with disastrous results. The developing plan sounds very promising.
Please continue to pray for his continued progress in therapy and good results with medications. Pray for his wife and daughters to be stengthened and filled with hope.
10.09.2005
Delight from Denmark
Last night, Joel and I watched a film called "Italiensk for Begyndere" (Itallian for Beginners). I vaguely remember seeing previews for this at an art house theater back in our pre-kid days. While it was marketed as a comedy for American audiences, the film defies genre classification, as do most films from this studio.
The first character we meet is Andreas, a young pastor sent to temporarily fill the pulpit in a suburban town's Danish national church. The former pastor was removed from his post because he became unhinged after his wife's death and assaulted the organist. Pastor Wredmann continues to lurk around the church, shouting atheistic ideas during services and generally terrorizing the congregation, which has shrunk to a handful of elderly women and the paid staff (verger and two choristers). The verger, a middle-aged woman with a checkered past of drug addiction and robbery, encourages Andreas in his work to revive the ailing church that helped her build a new life.
Andreas stays at a local hotel, where he meets the receptionist, Jorgen and Jorgen's work friends, Finn and Guilia, who work at the restaurant. Jorgen's boss wants him to fire Finn, a handsome but surly fellow who regularly insults customers. Jorgen sees Finn as a lost soul--an orphan with a troubled life--and procrastinates firining his pal. Guilia is young, Italian, and infatuated with Jorgen, though he's too sunk in gloom about his failings with women to notice the woman in front of him.
The film progresses as we see the characters going about everyday tasks. Finn picks up the restaurant's bread order from the bakery, and we meet Olympia, a young woman who's so incredibly clumsy it's funny only once, and thereafter quite poignant. We follow her home to see how she's bullied and cowed by her cranky, bedridden father. Andreas goes for a haircut to Jorgen's hairdresser and we meet Karen, who is also saddled with an abusive, ill parent. In Karen's case, it's a mother who complains of chronic pain and seems to lash out because of it.
Many of the characters converge at a nightschool course on Itallian. When the teacher has a heart attack, the class is in crisis. As they seek a way to continue, the characters' lives become entwined in interesting ways full of love and second chances.
I really loved the non-Hollywood feel of this film. The characters seem so ordinary, doing normal jobs, suffering losses and hardships that are common in life. Strangely, this is what makes them compelling. The drama and tensions are organic, never forced. Only one scene had the potential to be Hollywood-style drama--when Andreas confronts Pastor Wredmann. His confrontation is so peppered with love and grace for his broken predecessor, I know Hollywood would never film such a scene. Why is it in American drama, characters can't resist zinging a few home truths? Both pastors are widowers in this film, but Andreas doesn't even mention that he was able to keep his faith in the very same crisis that shattered Wredmann spiritually. Andreas' faithfulness to his calling as shepherd of the flock is rewarded in satisfying ways.
Even if you resist foreign films, give "Itallian for Beginners" a try. Its quiet charms will surprise you.
Last night, Joel and I watched a film called "Italiensk for Begyndere" (Itallian for Beginners). I vaguely remember seeing previews for this at an art house theater back in our pre-kid days. While it was marketed as a comedy for American audiences, the film defies genre classification, as do most films from this studio.
The first character we meet is Andreas, a young pastor sent to temporarily fill the pulpit in a suburban town's Danish national church. The former pastor was removed from his post because he became unhinged after his wife's death and assaulted the organist. Pastor Wredmann continues to lurk around the church, shouting atheistic ideas during services and generally terrorizing the congregation, which has shrunk to a handful of elderly women and the paid staff (verger and two choristers). The verger, a middle-aged woman with a checkered past of drug addiction and robbery, encourages Andreas in his work to revive the ailing church that helped her build a new life.
Andreas stays at a local hotel, where he meets the receptionist, Jorgen and Jorgen's work friends, Finn and Guilia, who work at the restaurant. Jorgen's boss wants him to fire Finn, a handsome but surly fellow who regularly insults customers. Jorgen sees Finn as a lost soul--an orphan with a troubled life--and procrastinates firining his pal. Guilia is young, Italian, and infatuated with Jorgen, though he's too sunk in gloom about his failings with women to notice the woman in front of him.
The film progresses as we see the characters going about everyday tasks. Finn picks up the restaurant's bread order from the bakery, and we meet Olympia, a young woman who's so incredibly clumsy it's funny only once, and thereafter quite poignant. We follow her home to see how she's bullied and cowed by her cranky, bedridden father. Andreas goes for a haircut to Jorgen's hairdresser and we meet Karen, who is also saddled with an abusive, ill parent. In Karen's case, it's a mother who complains of chronic pain and seems to lash out because of it.
Many of the characters converge at a nightschool course on Itallian. When the teacher has a heart attack, the class is in crisis. As they seek a way to continue, the characters' lives become entwined in interesting ways full of love and second chances.
I really loved the non-Hollywood feel of this film. The characters seem so ordinary, doing normal jobs, suffering losses and hardships that are common in life. Strangely, this is what makes them compelling. The drama and tensions are organic, never forced. Only one scene had the potential to be Hollywood-style drama--when Andreas confronts Pastor Wredmann. His confrontation is so peppered with love and grace for his broken predecessor, I know Hollywood would never film such a scene. Why is it in American drama, characters can't resist zinging a few home truths? Both pastors are widowers in this film, but Andreas doesn't even mention that he was able to keep his faith in the very same crisis that shattered Wredmann spiritually. Andreas' faithfulness to his calling as shepherd of the flock is rewarded in satisfying ways.
Even if you resist foreign films, give "Itallian for Beginners" a try. Its quiet charms will surprise you.
10.08.2005
Update
Sorry to keep you in suspense. I had the flu Saturday, Sunday and Monday and struggled all week to catch up with work left undone while ill.
My relative had surgery last friday to repair his cheekbone and jaw. The surgery was quite long, but the doctors were relieved to find that his cheekbone was not shattered by the gunshot, but just fractured. They put the bone to rights using plates and pins. He will have his jaw wired for nearly a month so the bones can heal.
Right after the surgery, two of my siblings went to see him and said they were amazed that he did indeed still have a face. He was very puffy and bruised, but far more intact than they expected, considering the nature of the injury (birding shotgun at close range). He wrote notes begging for doughnuts and hoagies and other treats he won't be able to have for some time. The doctors are unsure of whether he will be able to chew again or will need to be tube fed indefinitely.
This week, he was moved out of the ICU and is on a trach that enables him to talk. Meetings with a psychiatrist have begun anew.
Please continue to pray for his physical healing, and especially for emotional & spiritual healing and renewal. His wife and daughters are devastated emotionally and also covet your prayers as they cope with the long-term ramifications of his mental illness.
Sorry to keep you in suspense. I had the flu Saturday, Sunday and Monday and struggled all week to catch up with work left undone while ill.
My relative had surgery last friday to repair his cheekbone and jaw. The surgery was quite long, but the doctors were relieved to find that his cheekbone was not shattered by the gunshot, but just fractured. They put the bone to rights using plates and pins. He will have his jaw wired for nearly a month so the bones can heal.
Right after the surgery, two of my siblings went to see him and said they were amazed that he did indeed still have a face. He was very puffy and bruised, but far more intact than they expected, considering the nature of the injury (birding shotgun at close range). He wrote notes begging for doughnuts and hoagies and other treats he won't be able to have for some time. The doctors are unsure of whether he will be able to chew again or will need to be tube fed indefinitely.
This week, he was moved out of the ICU and is on a trach that enables him to talk. Meetings with a psychiatrist have begun anew.
Please continue to pray for his physical healing, and especially for emotional & spiritual healing and renewal. His wife and daughters are devastated emotionally and also covet your prayers as they cope with the long-term ramifications of his mental illness.
9.29.2005
Despair...and grace
Tuesday, one of my close family members took a shotgun to his head...and survived. I'm still somewhat in shock, but beginning to grieve. It's outrageous. Crushing.
He's got a very significant injury to his face, but not to his brain. His wife found him two hours after the incident, significantly bleeding but amazingly still conscious. He was Med-evac-ed to a large regional hospital Tuesday night and is currently in the ICU, heavily sedated and on a ventilator.
I can't fathom how he is still alive. I also can't even begin to fathom a good outcome from this. Even an emotionally stong person can fall into deep depression from a facial disfigurment, but someone suicidally depressed? How much more despair can he take? He's currently a pastor without a church, and despite being in psychiatric care for some time, obviously has not been improving.
The first round of surgeries to rebuild his shattered jaw and cheekbone are scheduled for tomorrow. Please pray for the family. He and his wife have two daughters in their 20s, the older is rooted in a church family, the younger is spiritually seeking. Pray for us all as a family, especially my widowed mother, who's been very hard hit by this.
He's broken, but he's alive. I don't understand, but I believe God has more in store for him.
Show us your way through the dark valley, O God.
Tuesday, one of my close family members took a shotgun to his head...and survived. I'm still somewhat in shock, but beginning to grieve. It's outrageous. Crushing.
He's got a very significant injury to his face, but not to his brain. His wife found him two hours after the incident, significantly bleeding but amazingly still conscious. He was Med-evac-ed to a large regional hospital Tuesday night and is currently in the ICU, heavily sedated and on a ventilator.
I can't fathom how he is still alive. I also can't even begin to fathom a good outcome from this. Even an emotionally stong person can fall into deep depression from a facial disfigurment, but someone suicidally depressed? How much more despair can he take? He's currently a pastor without a church, and despite being in psychiatric care for some time, obviously has not been improving.
The first round of surgeries to rebuild his shattered jaw and cheekbone are scheduled for tomorrow. Please pray for the family. He and his wife have two daughters in their 20s, the older is rooted in a church family, the younger is spiritually seeking. Pray for us all as a family, especially my widowed mother, who's been very hard hit by this.
He's broken, but he's alive. I don't understand, but I believe God has more in store for him.
Show us your way through the dark valley, O God.
9.26.2005
Limited atonement gone awry?
Claire and I were working on a note to Grandma (my mother) today, and she asked why her grandmother is in Texas instead of Florida right now. I explained that she's working in the office of a Christian radio network that broadcasts into Mexico so that Mexican people can learn about Jesus.
"I don't want that," Claire said.
"You don't want people in Mexico to hear about Jesus?"
"No. He's MY Jesus."
"But Jesus loves them and he wants them to love him back."
"I don't want to share. They can go away."
Claire says this sort of thing about everything she likes, from strawberries to her dollhouse. I explained that Jesus isn't like Cheerios that can run out if you give some away. She softened her stance when she began to understand, and decided that it was in fact a good thing for people in Mexico to love Jesus back.
I'm still not quite sure what to make of this strange conversation. Should we be working harder to nurture her missionary spirit? Perhaps. I may be making more of it than what it is--a typical 3-year-old's jealous guarding of what is beloved. It sure beats indifference to our Savior and Lord.
Claire and I were working on a note to Grandma (my mother) today, and she asked why her grandmother is in Texas instead of Florida right now. I explained that she's working in the office of a Christian radio network that broadcasts into Mexico so that Mexican people can learn about Jesus.
"I don't want that," Claire said.
"You don't want people in Mexico to hear about Jesus?"
"No. He's MY Jesus."
"But Jesus loves them and he wants them to love him back."
"I don't want to share. They can go away."
Claire says this sort of thing about everything she likes, from strawberries to her dollhouse. I explained that Jesus isn't like Cheerios that can run out if you give some away. She softened her stance when she began to understand, and decided that it was in fact a good thing for people in Mexico to love Jesus back.
I'm still not quite sure what to make of this strange conversation. Should we be working harder to nurture her missionary spirit? Perhaps. I may be making more of it than what it is--a typical 3-year-old's jealous guarding of what is beloved. It sure beats indifference to our Savior and Lord.
9.18.2005
Lookee
I'd complained to Joel that my blog design looked awfully dated, since we haven't freshened the look in more than three years. I was tired of the dark, somewhat busy background and all the boxes.
Silly me. He just went and redid the thing without any help from me at all. He can never resist dabbling in design.
So what do you think? It's for posterity, so be honest.
(If you missed The Princess Bride reference, go watch the film again first, then comment.)
I'd complained to Joel that my blog design looked awfully dated, since we haven't freshened the look in more than three years. I was tired of the dark, somewhat busy background and all the boxes.
Silly me. He just went and redid the thing without any help from me at all. He can never resist dabbling in design.
So what do you think? It's for posterity, so be honest.
(If you missed The Princess Bride reference, go watch the film again first, then comment.)
9.16.2005
Howatching
As ragweed season drags on, making my lungs unhappier by the day, I've been forced to rest more. What a great consolation reading is in my leaden-lunged state.
Perusing my shelves, I decided it was time to give Susan Howatch's The Rich Are Different a whirl. In the spring I tried another of her pre-Christian books, Penmarric, but found it a bit creepy. I guess one should expect that of a Gothic-style family saga. The Rich Are Different (TRAD) has a sequel called The Sins of the Fathers, which gives an indication of Howatch's growing interest in spiritual things. I'm amazed how often religious topics are touched upon in TRAD, published in 1977 and exploring a man's rise to riches on Wall Street in the teens and twenties.
It's quite fun as an aspiring writer to explore the maturation of another writer's craft. Howatch's characterizations get better and better over the course of her career. I think even she struggled with writing in first person. It can be hard to get inside the head of a person who's really unlike you, but the struggle can be worth it because that character's perspective can be crucial. In TRAD, Howatch provides a rather weak section narrated by a conventional society wife, Sylvia Van Zale, who's wealthy husband cheats on her perpetually. The woman also suffers a long string of miscarriages. Howatch doesn't quite get Sylvia, or doesn't know how to get inside her emotional world. She's just not compelling or believable. By contrast, Howatch does an astonishingly good job with an unloved wife, Rosalind Darrow, in The Wonder Worker. Though I can't quite like Rosalind, I can understand her and sympathize. That's good writing.
I'm about halfway through TRAD, a 658-page tome. I'm curious to see how much more Howatch incorporates Christian ideas and themes. And I'm encouraged that even this writer I admire so much took time to reach her current excellence and improved over time. There's hope even for me.
As ragweed season drags on, making my lungs unhappier by the day, I've been forced to rest more. What a great consolation reading is in my leaden-lunged state.
Perusing my shelves, I decided it was time to give Susan Howatch's The Rich Are Different a whirl. In the spring I tried another of her pre-Christian books, Penmarric, but found it a bit creepy. I guess one should expect that of a Gothic-style family saga. The Rich Are Different (TRAD) has a sequel called The Sins of the Fathers, which gives an indication of Howatch's growing interest in spiritual things. I'm amazed how often religious topics are touched upon in TRAD, published in 1977 and exploring a man's rise to riches on Wall Street in the teens and twenties.
It's quite fun as an aspiring writer to explore the maturation of another writer's craft. Howatch's characterizations get better and better over the course of her career. I think even she struggled with writing in first person. It can be hard to get inside the head of a person who's really unlike you, but the struggle can be worth it because that character's perspective can be crucial. In TRAD, Howatch provides a rather weak section narrated by a conventional society wife, Sylvia Van Zale, who's wealthy husband cheats on her perpetually. The woman also suffers a long string of miscarriages. Howatch doesn't quite get Sylvia, or doesn't know how to get inside her emotional world. She's just not compelling or believable. By contrast, Howatch does an astonishingly good job with an unloved wife, Rosalind Darrow, in The Wonder Worker. Though I can't quite like Rosalind, I can understand her and sympathize. That's good writing.
I'm about halfway through TRAD, a 658-page tome. I'm curious to see how much more Howatch incorporates Christian ideas and themes. And I'm encouraged that even this writer I admire so much took time to reach her current excellence and improved over time. There's hope even for me.
9.13.2005
Imagine!
Last week I picked up a little gem of a book from the library called The Gift by John Prater, a picture book with no text at all. The illustrations depict a brother and sister who receive two kid-sized chairs in a large box. They decide the box is far more interesting than the chairs. They climb in the box, close their eyes, concentrate really hard, and find that the box can fly! They sail over their British city and have a number of adventures in their magic box before deciding to return home.
Claire, of course, wanted her own magic box. Hand-me-down clothes from Claire's cousin arrive the next day, providing not only a big box for adventures, but also a pair of "ruby slippers"--red shoes covered with red glitter, probably from an Oz Halloween costume.
Perfectly equipped, Claire loads up Raggedy Ann and Winnie the Pooh and dons her magic shoes.
"When you're ready to come home," I instuct Claire, "just tap together your shoes and say 'There's no place like home'."
She nods solemnly and hops aboard her magic box. Moments later, as I gather laundry, Claire calls from her room, "Mommy! I'm 'maginationing I'm going to find a pirate ship under the ocean!"
Great days of adventure lie ahead.
Last week I picked up a little gem of a book from the library called The Gift by John Prater, a picture book with no text at all. The illustrations depict a brother and sister who receive two kid-sized chairs in a large box. They decide the box is far more interesting than the chairs. They climb in the box, close their eyes, concentrate really hard, and find that the box can fly! They sail over their British city and have a number of adventures in their magic box before deciding to return home.
Claire, of course, wanted her own magic box. Hand-me-down clothes from Claire's cousin arrive the next day, providing not only a big box for adventures, but also a pair of "ruby slippers"--red shoes covered with red glitter, probably from an Oz Halloween costume.
Perfectly equipped, Claire loads up Raggedy Ann and Winnie the Pooh and dons her magic shoes.
"When you're ready to come home," I instuct Claire, "just tap together your shoes and say 'There's no place like home'."
She nods solemnly and hops aboard her magic box. Moments later, as I gather laundry, Claire calls from her room, "Mommy! I'm 'maginationing I'm going to find a pirate ship under the ocean!"
Great days of adventure lie ahead.
9.08.2005
Fuelish worries
This news item worried me probably more than it should:
Natural gas prices could increase as much as 71 percent in part of the United States this fall, raising the prospect of higher home heating costs this winter, the Energy Department reports.
I remember the energy crisis of the late 70's-early 80's very well, and the memories are not especially happy. We were living in a house with all-electric heat, which at the time was the most expensive and least efficient. My parents turned down the heat to 50 degrees and made use of alternate forms of fuel to warm us. Our home had a Franklin stove in the rec room, which got put to use quite a lot. I remember Dad spending a few weekends splitting logs until his hands blistered. Electric blankets were key for sleeping. My folks also invested in two kerosene heaters. I remember an elaborate ritual for dressing on winter mornings--wake, run out to the heater in the kitchen to warm up, dash back to the bedroom and hastily grab clothes, drape clothes near heater to warm while eating breakfast, dress next to heater being careful not to catch clothes on fire. Though the kerosene heaters were fairly efficient, they burned somewhat dirty, leaving a sooty residue on nearby furniture and ceilings throughout the house. Whenever I'm tempted to romanticize previous centuries, I just remember those frigid, sooty years and thank God for clean central heat.
If the news predictions are true, this winter will bring killer heating costs. Wrapping ducts, caulking cracks and shrink-wrapping windows helped a little last year, but we're going to need to do more to not end up in the poor house this winter. I'm thinking electric space heaters may be best when electricity is cheaper than natural gas. They're a fairly safe alternative with a small child in the house, now that cool-touch fan models are available pretty cheap.
This news item worried me probably more than it should:
Natural gas prices could increase as much as 71 percent in part of the United States this fall, raising the prospect of higher home heating costs this winter, the Energy Department reports.
I remember the energy crisis of the late 70's-early 80's very well, and the memories are not especially happy. We were living in a house with all-electric heat, which at the time was the most expensive and least efficient. My parents turned down the heat to 50 degrees and made use of alternate forms of fuel to warm us. Our home had a Franklin stove in the rec room, which got put to use quite a lot. I remember Dad spending a few weekends splitting logs until his hands blistered. Electric blankets were key for sleeping. My folks also invested in two kerosene heaters. I remember an elaborate ritual for dressing on winter mornings--wake, run out to the heater in the kitchen to warm up, dash back to the bedroom and hastily grab clothes, drape clothes near heater to warm while eating breakfast, dress next to heater being careful not to catch clothes on fire. Though the kerosene heaters were fairly efficient, they burned somewhat dirty, leaving a sooty residue on nearby furniture and ceilings throughout the house. Whenever I'm tempted to romanticize previous centuries, I just remember those frigid, sooty years and thank God for clean central heat.
If the news predictions are true, this winter will bring killer heating costs. Wrapping ducts, caulking cracks and shrink-wrapping windows helped a little last year, but we're going to need to do more to not end up in the poor house this winter. I'm thinking electric space heaters may be best when electricity is cheaper than natural gas. They're a fairly safe alternative with a small child in the house, now that cool-touch fan models are available pretty cheap.
9.03.2005
Best children's books
I've had a fun afternoon compiling a listmania list of some of Claire's favorite books from the past few months. It was difficult to limit it to just 25 books! We're now in the habit of visiting the library every week and picking up 7 or more new titles every visit. Some weeks we pick up old favorites. Most titles on the list have come for a visit more than once (unless we own them). I was surprised to see that most of Claire's favorites are for kids in the 4-8 age group. Stuff for younger kids seem to bore my three-year-old pretty quickly. She likes a balance of illustration and text.
I've had a fun afternoon compiling a listmania list of some of Claire's favorite books from the past few months. It was difficult to limit it to just 25 books! We're now in the habit of visiting the library every week and picking up 7 or more new titles every visit. Some weeks we pick up old favorites. Most titles on the list have come for a visit more than once (unless we own them). I was surprised to see that most of Claire's favorites are for kids in the 4-8 age group. Stuff for younger kids seem to bore my three-year-old pretty quickly. She likes a balance of illustration and text.
9.02.2005
My summer vacation
I hope all my blogosphere friends have not written me off as a complete lost cause. I have had a great summer. May was pretty crazy with lots of houseguests. In June I potty trained Claire (be thankful I spared you the blow-by-blow of this rather gross process). I also received a challenge to return to my first love--fiction writing. A close friend gave a tantilizing assignment: in six weeks, produce the beginnings of something fictional for her to read.
I was frankly terrified to even begin the process. I haven't written fiction in about eight years. As of today, I've generated over 30 pages of material, some quite good, some salvagable, and some total garbage. The two most important parts are done--a pretty good draft of the first chapter and a large pile of plot point notecards written and organized to give skeletal structure to what I write. Yes, you heard me right, "first chapter." I've started on a novel, Lord help me. The protagonists are a 15-year-old girl and her 40-something mother who have recently lost Dad/husband who held the family together. The estranged daughter and mother will need to learn to cope without him--and figure out how to be a family of two.
I've also done some short family trips over the summer to the shore and an amusement park, which Joel already blogged about. Since he has the FTP capability and knowledge, it's not really possible for me to "scoop" him on family news. Begging is my only means of getting to share photos. That's the naked truth.
No news on a sibling for Claire. We're entering month 23 of trying. Doctors haven't found any medical problems to treat, so we stopped the invasive testing back in spring. For now we're waiting on the Lord and asking for prayers. Every day I feel more confident in God's great sense of timing because my suddenly sassy 3-year-old takes more energy than I ever dreamed possible. A 4-year or more age gap is looking pretty appealing right now.
I hope all my blogosphere friends have not written me off as a complete lost cause. I have had a great summer. May was pretty crazy with lots of houseguests. In June I potty trained Claire (be thankful I spared you the blow-by-blow of this rather gross process). I also received a challenge to return to my first love--fiction writing. A close friend gave a tantilizing assignment: in six weeks, produce the beginnings of something fictional for her to read.
I was frankly terrified to even begin the process. I haven't written fiction in about eight years. As of today, I've generated over 30 pages of material, some quite good, some salvagable, and some total garbage. The two most important parts are done--a pretty good draft of the first chapter and a large pile of plot point notecards written and organized to give skeletal structure to what I write. Yes, you heard me right, "first chapter." I've started on a novel, Lord help me. The protagonists are a 15-year-old girl and her 40-something mother who have recently lost Dad/husband who held the family together. The estranged daughter and mother will need to learn to cope without him--and figure out how to be a family of two.
I've also done some short family trips over the summer to the shore and an amusement park, which Joel already blogged about. Since he has the FTP capability and knowledge, it's not really possible for me to "scoop" him on family news. Begging is my only means of getting to share photos. That's the naked truth.
No news on a sibling for Claire. We're entering month 23 of trying. Doctors haven't found any medical problems to treat, so we stopped the invasive testing back in spring. For now we're waiting on the Lord and asking for prayers. Every day I feel more confident in God's great sense of timing because my suddenly sassy 3-year-old takes more energy than I ever dreamed possible. A 4-year or more age gap is looking pretty appealing right now.
5.20.2005
Time flies
Our dear boy Berek arrives this evening. It's hard to believe, but his semester of living with us ended almost two years ago to the day.
I've lost almost 15 pounds since then, and my stress level is exponentially lower. I doubt he'll notice that as much as the changes in Claire. When he left, she looked like this:
She had eight teeth and couldn't walk or talk. She ate baby food from jars and drank formula. Wait till he sees her curls bounce as she runs down the stairs, gives him a toothy smile and exclaims "konnichiha!"
Our dear boy Berek arrives this evening. It's hard to believe, but his semester of living with us ended almost two years ago to the day.
I've lost almost 15 pounds since then, and my stress level is exponentially lower. I doubt he'll notice that as much as the changes in Claire. When he left, she looked like this:
She had eight teeth and couldn't walk or talk. She ate baby food from jars and drank formula. Wait till he sees her curls bounce as she runs down the stairs, gives him a toothy smile and exclaims "konnichiha!"
5.16.2005
Bad case of...?
What on earth has happened to my poor child's hands?
I think it is a bad case of the naughties. This is what happens when visiting Grandma takes Claire's room and Claire gets to go camping.
So here goes Claire, zipped into her Winnie the Pooh tent for a nap in the office. Does she sleep? Oh, eventually. But first she must explore.
What's this in mommy's desk drawer? Mmmm, chewy little plastic capsules. Oops, those go to mommy's calligraphy pen and happen to be filled with ink.
So some time later, when mommy wakes up her small girl to come for supper, she finds a child who looks like this:
Said child cries when she's sternly asked "What on earth have you gotten into?" She cries harder when I see that her face and legs are also variegated blue, green, red, and call daddy to bring the camera quick.
"Claire! You've been very naughty!" says Joel sternly, supressing a giggle. "What should we do about this?" he asks me.
"I don't think a time out would really do." I tell him. "It seems to me she's been punished enough."
I'm sure she'll think so. Despite today's long bath and thorough scrubbing, she'll have to suffer through the several days of splotchy, colorful skin before the ink completely fades.
What on earth has happened to my poor child's hands?
I think it is a bad case of the naughties. This is what happens when visiting Grandma takes Claire's room and Claire gets to go camping.
So here goes Claire, zipped into her Winnie the Pooh tent for a nap in the office. Does she sleep? Oh, eventually. But first she must explore.
What's this in mommy's desk drawer? Mmmm, chewy little plastic capsules. Oops, those go to mommy's calligraphy pen and happen to be filled with ink.
So some time later, when mommy wakes up her small girl to come for supper, she finds a child who looks like this:
Said child cries when she's sternly asked "What on earth have you gotten into?" She cries harder when I see that her face and legs are also variegated blue, green, red, and call daddy to bring the camera quick.
"Claire! You've been very naughty!" says Joel sternly, supressing a giggle. "What should we do about this?" he asks me.
"I don't think a time out would really do." I tell him. "It seems to me she's been punished enough."
I'm sure she'll think so. Despite today's long bath and thorough scrubbing, she'll have to suffer through the several days of splotchy, colorful skin before the ink completely fades.
4.28.2005
Close to you...
In a fit of nostalgia, Joel recently pulled out a Carpenters CD. In an instant, I'm wisked away to my lanky, child self. I'm wearing headphones, floating a few inches above a too-large, lavender dentist chair in a nitrous oxide haze. The Carpenters' mellow crooning makes grusome reality split off, transporting me to a warm, sunny land where I swim though the air, flying with the bluebirds and butterflies.
"Sing, Sing a Song" brings back the spooky way my childhood dentist would sneak that huge novacaine needle past my line of sight, shake my cheek while rotating the needle for too long. "Yesterday Once More," tastes of that sickening, somewhat metalic spreading numbness as the novacaine begins to take effect. "We've Only Just Begun" reminds me of my tired jaw, aching from the dentist levering himself to pry out a particularly stubborn tooth. Stangely, I'm "On Top of the World" while biting down on a big wad of cotton stuffed into the now-empty socket. They can take my teeth, but not my spirit.
If it weren't for nitrous oxide and the Carpenters on the headphones, I don't know how I would have survived years of "pre-orthodontia" extractions. I've lost 13 teeth to professional extractions, including some baby teeth, 4 wisdom teeth and my lower 6-year molars.
My poor kid is doomed to terrible teeth, though perhaps not the big teeth/small jaw issue that plagued me. I've got the perfect soundtrack, however, when treatment begins.
In a fit of nostalgia, Joel recently pulled out a Carpenters CD. In an instant, I'm wisked away to my lanky, child self. I'm wearing headphones, floating a few inches above a too-large, lavender dentist chair in a nitrous oxide haze. The Carpenters' mellow crooning makes grusome reality split off, transporting me to a warm, sunny land where I swim though the air, flying with the bluebirds and butterflies.
"Sing, Sing a Song" brings back the spooky way my childhood dentist would sneak that huge novacaine needle past my line of sight, shake my cheek while rotating the needle for too long. "Yesterday Once More," tastes of that sickening, somewhat metalic spreading numbness as the novacaine begins to take effect. "We've Only Just Begun" reminds me of my tired jaw, aching from the dentist levering himself to pry out a particularly stubborn tooth. Stangely, I'm "On Top of the World" while biting down on a big wad of cotton stuffed into the now-empty socket. They can take my teeth, but not my spirit.
If it weren't for nitrous oxide and the Carpenters on the headphones, I don't know how I would have survived years of "pre-orthodontia" extractions. I've lost 13 teeth to professional extractions, including some baby teeth, 4 wisdom teeth and my lower 6-year molars.
My poor kid is doomed to terrible teeth, though perhaps not the big teeth/small jaw issue that plagued me. I've got the perfect soundtrack, however, when treatment begins.
4.15.2005
Giving up
At what point do you feel it's okay to give up on a book that just isn't grabbing you? One of my friends has an age based rule. Teens and twenties need to give a book 100 pages to hook them, she says, while those over 30 should be able to tell within 50 pages if a tome is indeed a waste of time.
I fear I may have given up too much of my time struggling with a book called The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. The author's name itself sounds like a snarky nerd joke--perhaps that should have been a clue. The dust jacket description, however, made it sound fun:
"In Jasper Fforde's Great Britain, circa 1985, time travel is routine, cloning is a reality (dodos are the resurrected pet of choice), and literature is taken very, very seriously. England is a virtual police state where an aunt can get lost (literally) in a Wordsworth poem and forging Byronic verse is a punishable offense. All this is business as usual for Thursday Next, renowned Special Operative in literary detection. But when someone begins kidnapping characters from works of literature and plucks Jane Eyre from the pages of Brontë's novel, Thursday is faced with the challenge of her career."
Perhaps I've been spoiled by J.K. Rowling, but his attempts at world building are clunky and self-conscious, not fun and flowing like Rowlings'. He also does not even remotely write a convincing female narrative voice.
Hmm, if I'd read what I just wrote in an amazon review, I never would have borrowed this book in the first place. That's arguement enough. Life's too short to waste on books that don't make you feel more alive.
At what point do you feel it's okay to give up on a book that just isn't grabbing you? One of my friends has an age based rule. Teens and twenties need to give a book 100 pages to hook them, she says, while those over 30 should be able to tell within 50 pages if a tome is indeed a waste of time.
I fear I may have given up too much of my time struggling with a book called The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. The author's name itself sounds like a snarky nerd joke--perhaps that should have been a clue. The dust jacket description, however, made it sound fun:
"In Jasper Fforde's Great Britain, circa 1985, time travel is routine, cloning is a reality (dodos are the resurrected pet of choice), and literature is taken very, very seriously. England is a virtual police state where an aunt can get lost (literally) in a Wordsworth poem and forging Byronic verse is a punishable offense. All this is business as usual for Thursday Next, renowned Special Operative in literary detection. But when someone begins kidnapping characters from works of literature and plucks Jane Eyre from the pages of Brontë's novel, Thursday is faced with the challenge of her career."
Perhaps I've been spoiled by J.K. Rowling, but his attempts at world building are clunky and self-conscious, not fun and flowing like Rowlings'. He also does not even remotely write a convincing female narrative voice.
Hmm, if I'd read what I just wrote in an amazon review, I never would have borrowed this book in the first place. That's arguement enough. Life's too short to waste on books that don't make you feel more alive.
3.31.2005
More on Gaskell
Wives and Daughters is a fascinating character study in the effects of different parenting. The heroine, Molly, loses her mother at a young age, yet matures into a loyal, soft-hearted girl. Her foil and stepsister, Cynthia, loses her father at a young age. Yet Cynthia matures into a woman who is unable to feel deeply or make meaningful connections with people.
One would expect the motherless girl to fare worse, but Molly is more fully human. Gaskell’s point is that a child needs loving care, regardless of the sex of the parent who gives it.
Cynthia’s living mother treats her as a burden from the beginning of widowhood, sending Cynthia off to boarding school at age 4. Every school vacation, Cynthia is left in the care of strangers while her mother travels with the great families that employ her as governess.
The net effect of this continued neglect is a vanity and manipulativeness, someone who cannot ever turn off the charm for fear of rejection. Yet Cynthia is apt to reject others, three suitors in all in the course of the novel. She admits that she’s not really capable of love or deep feeling for others. Today I think Cynthia would be said to suffer from an attachment disorder.
Molly, on the other hand, is blessed to be educated at home by a loving governess. She lives in a community where the women watch out for her, take an interest in her growth, strive to keep up a relationship with her. Though her father is a busy country doctor in the age of nothing but house calls, he works to be as available as he can. Theirs is a relationship of nurture and friendship. Gaskell paints their intimacy by showing father and daughter kneeling at the fireside, making toasted cheese sandwiches and amiably talking about the day’s events.
When Molly’s father marries Cynthia’s mother, thinking it will help is “poor motherless girl,” Gaskell makes it clear that it’s far too late for Molly to be helped by a stepmother. Her good character is well formed by age 17, as is Cynthia’s weak character. A great tension of the story is whether either girl will be swayed by the new family circumstances so late in “childhood.”
Wives and Daughters is a fascinating character study in the effects of different parenting. The heroine, Molly, loses her mother at a young age, yet matures into a loyal, soft-hearted girl. Her foil and stepsister, Cynthia, loses her father at a young age. Yet Cynthia matures into a woman who is unable to feel deeply or make meaningful connections with people.
One would expect the motherless girl to fare worse, but Molly is more fully human. Gaskell’s point is that a child needs loving care, regardless of the sex of the parent who gives it.
Cynthia’s living mother treats her as a burden from the beginning of widowhood, sending Cynthia off to boarding school at age 4. Every school vacation, Cynthia is left in the care of strangers while her mother travels with the great families that employ her as governess.
The net effect of this continued neglect is a vanity and manipulativeness, someone who cannot ever turn off the charm for fear of rejection. Yet Cynthia is apt to reject others, three suitors in all in the course of the novel. She admits that she’s not really capable of love or deep feeling for others. Today I think Cynthia would be said to suffer from an attachment disorder.
Molly, on the other hand, is blessed to be educated at home by a loving governess. She lives in a community where the women watch out for her, take an interest in her growth, strive to keep up a relationship with her. Though her father is a busy country doctor in the age of nothing but house calls, he works to be as available as he can. Theirs is a relationship of nurture and friendship. Gaskell paints their intimacy by showing father and daughter kneeling at the fireside, making toasted cheese sandwiches and amiably talking about the day’s events.
When Molly’s father marries Cynthia’s mother, thinking it will help is “poor motherless girl,” Gaskell makes it clear that it’s far too late for Molly to be helped by a stepmother. Her good character is well formed by age 17, as is Cynthia’s weak character. A great tension of the story is whether either girl will be swayed by the new family circumstances so late in “childhood.”
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