Movies:  The Scent of Green Papaya

Omigod.  You have to see this one.  Visually stunning.

And they’re not kidding when they say that dialogue is almost unnecessary.

This one is on the Must Buy for the Collection list.  Save it for times when you want something richly textured and lushly quiet; it’s like treating yourself to a truly incredible piece of exotic candy.

Hubby Movie Meter:  He fell asleep.  He does this nearly every time I put on a subtitled film after 9:00 pm.   His loss; it’s incredibly beautiful.

(I don’t remember who recommended this one, but thank you, thank you, thank you!)

7:32:36 PM    comment []

A random Saturday

It’s a rather odd day here, things are a bit out of sorts.

I got to read uninterrupted for two hours this morning, for example.  That never happens.  Ever.

Or at least not in the last ten years since I had kids.

I’ve cleaned out the refrigerator, done the dishes, read all my usual blogs, and it’s not quite twelve-thirty.  That’s quite odd, actually.  I wouldn’t expect to make that much progress before two o’clock any given Saturday.  And I’d actually made pancakes for breakfast, too.

The house is quiet, all the windows shut against a rather chilly breeze.  It should be noisier in here since the kids are both indoors; they’re warming up after playing outside for the last couple of hours in the early autumn air.  There are little shards of leaves marking a trail from the door by which they entered, all the way through the house to their bedrooms.  Evidence of vacuuming ahead.

We have no plans of any sort for the weekend.  Things are a bit aimless and adrift.  My only two goals today are cutting the lawn and slow-roasting spareribs sometime this afternoon.  Not exactly saving-the-world kind of objectives.  My husband left the house to go to an auction, on a mission to find a chipper-shredder-vacuum for the lawn at my behest.  (I asked for the equipment, not for him to take off all afternoon, let’s make that clear.)  His absence contributes to this blanket of quiet; he’s not here in the den puttering, not there in the garage or basement tinkering.

Now that I’ve finished my indoor chores, turned the last page of my book, have no interruptions, I’m left alone with my widely divergent thoughts.

My son, this morning, sitting on the couch curled up in a ball, grazes non-stop on cereal bars and pancakes and crackers.  I am struck by the oddly larval quality of his person, his legs both roundly cherub-like when coiled and yet lean for a child his age.  His eating is caterpillar-like, gnawing away a substantial amount of food in smallish bites, storing the food somewhere for a growth spurt that is surely coming.  When he uncoils his person off the couch, he will still look childish.  That will change all too quickly one day; I see the other person he will become peering through his eyes as he looks into mine, asking, What?  What?  I know he wonders why I watch him so at quiet times like this; he asks aloud why I’m watching him so intently.  It’s hard to tell him that it’s all I have, all I will ever really have of him, these random moments unscheduled when I can capture his essence, when he so rarely sits still.

The clock catches my eye; they’re wrapping up now, I’m sure. 

A phone call last night caught us off guard; my husband didn’t recognize my sitter-friend’s voice.  My daughter and husband stand staring, waiting for some sign of recognition or understanding as I communicate my surprise.  She’s called to tell me that a parent -- whose son had been at her daycare with my daughter -- passed away suddenly this week, dropped dead of a heart attack.  She was in shock, unbelieving that an active man with a ten-year-old boy could be gone without any warning.  I try to console her, calm her shaky nerves.

My daughter telegraphs her understanding; somebody she doesn’t know well has died, she tells her father.  They wait for me to finish on the phone to explain who, what and when; the wake is tomorrow, Saturday morning, the funeral following at two in the afternoon.  He was only 51 years old. 

It’s nearly one o’clock as I finish writing this; the funeral will begin shortly.

Did he have a random Saturday last week, to just sit and watch his son?  A day with nothing important on the schedule, just aimless time to soak up being there at that moment?

I hope so.

1:11:28 PM    comment []