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gfrancieIt was warm, and bright. Even a light cotton sheet across my body was too warm this morning when I woke up. Everyone seemed cranky from the start, but the family did their best to appear cheerful.
Often times if one lets the crankiness of the heat get to them, they become like Lizzie Bordens family. And we know how well that turned out.
I kept doing laundry to occupy myself and checked on animals. Later on today, I went with my family on meaningless errands and we stopped at some family friends. My mother was showing off a hurdy-gurdy. her and Dahti were playing with that. I ended up mincing a whole head of garlic for Dahti. She was making spaghetti sauce, and she said she wasn't any good at mincing garlic. I volunteered casually and found myself mincing clove after clove. It scent filled the room and my fingers became sticky and sweet with the essence of the garlic. Yet it was done. I threw it into the large pot along with the olive oil and began to stir it a bit.
We stopped at the feed store and I took a rather nice view of the well formed young man carrying around sacks. He had lovely tanned arms, a puca-shell necklace, a wife-beater and a perfectly bored expression.
Summer is lovely.
Tonight I went to see the movie, The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya sisterhood. I went with my mother and sister, a movie for the estrogen set. I believe there were only two or three males in the theater. It made me think of the time I went with my mother to the Horse Whisperer. So much estrogen in the room I thought the present men would spout breasts just by association.
The movie was interesting. I didn't think think I would like it all that much. It seemed like something for the batik-middle-aged women reclaiming her power via Oprah's newest guru set.
It was often serious, a bit slow-moving and definitely honest. Some of the southern accents were just a tad over the top. It wasn't Fried Green Tomatoes,but I did like some moments of it. It brought up that often re-hashed and painful subject of Mothers and their Daughters.
My mother said she felt like a bad mother after seeing the film, so my sister and I had to reassure her she was not the worst mother in the world. I believe that title is reserved for Joan Crawford. My sister found it a bit intense at moments. But she is twelve. I expect that, especially from her.
Strangely enough I related more to the mother, because of that intense hold on ones pride and not wanting to lose face entirely, and that absolute insecurity that barely lies beneath the surface of charm and grace.
Ack no more navel-gazing.
Let's make some jam.
Often times if one lets the crankiness of the heat get to them, they become like Lizzie Bordens family. And we know how well that turned out.
I kept doing laundry to occupy myself and checked on animals. Later on today, I went with my family on meaningless errands and we stopped at some family friends. My mother was showing off a hurdy-gurdy. her and Dahti were playing with that. I ended up mincing a whole head of garlic for Dahti. She was making spaghetti sauce, and she said she wasn't any good at mincing garlic. I volunteered casually and found myself mincing clove after clove. It scent filled the room and my fingers became sticky and sweet with the essence of the garlic. Yet it was done. I threw it into the large pot along with the olive oil and began to stir it a bit.
We stopped at the feed store and I took a rather nice view of the well formed young man carrying around sacks. He had lovely tanned arms, a puca-shell necklace, a wife-beater and a perfectly bored expression.
Summer is lovely.
Tonight I went to see the movie, The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya sisterhood. I went with my mother and sister, a movie for the estrogen set. I believe there were only two or three males in the theater. It made me think of the time I went with my mother to the Horse Whisperer. So much estrogen in the room I thought the present men would spout breasts just by association.
The movie was interesting. I didn't think think I would like it all that much. It seemed like something for the batik-middle-aged women reclaiming her power via Oprah's newest guru set.
It was often serious, a bit slow-moving and definitely honest. Some of the southern accents were just a tad over the top. It wasn't Fried Green Tomatoes,but I did like some moments of it. It brought up that often re-hashed and painful subject of Mothers and their Daughters.
My mother said she felt like a bad mother after seeing the film, so my sister and I had to reassure her she was not the worst mother in the world. I believe that title is reserved for Joan Crawford. My sister found it a bit intense at moments. But she is twelve. I expect that, especially from her.
Strangely enough I related more to the mother, because of that intense hold on ones pride and not wanting to lose face entirely, and that absolute insecurity that barely lies beneath the surface of charm and grace.
Ack no more navel-gazing.
Let's make some jam.
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no subject
Date: 2002-07-11 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-07-11 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-07-11 12:59 am (UTC)The accents were okay. It reminded me of a Birmingham accent. Being from the South, the accents didn't offend me quite as much as the accents used in "The Big Easy."
I likes the comical aspects of the movie as well. It reminded me of my 2 friends that live in Baton Rouge.
no subject
Date: 2002-07-11 01:17 am (UTC)I read the first book, and I knew it had those dread *whispers* catholics. *laughs wildly*
and it reminded me of a couple of my friends who are from the south. Especially in Lousiana and Alabama...those accents are a riot.
no subject
Date: 2002-07-11 10:00 pm (UTC)and thats why i will never bother to see it.
(im good at judging things i know nothing about)
on the other hand... bridget joneses diary was actually pretty good, so maybe...