Rest in True, Mad, Deep Peace, Alan Rickman

Dearest Colonel Jamie Snape Brandon,

I couldn't resist rerunning this post from 2007 about the day I discovered that little gem you were in, Truly, Madly, Deeply. Don't be annoyed, okay? As I told Miss Dashwood, I had to be given an occupation, or I knew I would run mad.

Love,
The whole world

~~~~~

(originally ran on June 17, 2007): 

More Truly, More Madly  



This is the image that should have been chosen for Truly, Madly, Deeply instead of the silliness that was inexplicably used on the video and dvd covers.

Ana, in the comments on my earlier post, asked for more information, saying that she was highly skeptical of this film and its maker, as she was decidedly not a fan of The English Patient (which I never had much desire to see and so can't really comment about.) I've not seen Anthony Minghella's "bigger" movies and initially, I didn't even realize that this one was done by the same director.

The premise of this film has no doubt kept many potential viewers away (not to mention the bad video cover art, which seems to want us thinking this movie will be full of zany fun. Uh-uh.)

The premise: Nina (Juliet Stevenson) has lost her beloved, Jamie (Alan Rickman) and she's slowly been swallowed up by her grief. But then, one day, Jamie comes back. From the dead.

"Oh, n-o-o-o," Atticus moaned, "It's like that Patrick Swayze movie!" and he immediately lost interest (and who could blame him? And how many others have thought the same thing? I now blame Patrick Swayze for the fact that I did not get to experience Truly, Madly, Deeply much, much earlier in life.)

And, just in case you're wondering, yes, Atticus did watch it with me last night (I first watched it the night before, when he was out of town) and yes, he liked it. Very much. Not quite the head-over-heels reaction I had, but ultimately he was charmed. I can always tell he's enjoying a movie if he actually pauses it when he has to leave the room. If he casually mumbles, "No, that's okay, leave it running," I know I've got a thumbs-down on my hands.

Truly, Madly, Deeply was Minghella's very first film, and the story behind it (included on the dvd's special features) is interesting. He says it grew out of "an act of cowardice" -- he accepted the job of making this movie for the BBC as a way of experimenting with directing on a small scale, with a project he thought no one would really see should he happen to fail miserably. It was shot in 28 days, mostly on first takes.

What is it about this movie that made me fall in love with it?

Just about everything, actually.

I'll admit to being a pushover for a movie that uses Bach and a cello so beautifully. Clearly, it had me with the opening scenes.

But, there's also Juliet Stevenson's acting, which is exquisite. There's the pointed look at grief and loss, and the genuine, searing pain of it all. There's wit and a sense of humor and unexpected lines that make you laugh out loud with their sharp revelation of character. And, there is the utterly affecting portrayal of a very real love between a man and a woman, complete with in-jokes and goofiness.

I was going to try to write the definitive review of this new favorite, but then while Googling, I stumbled on this review, at a site I'm sure I would otherwise never have found. It's a near-perfect look at the movie, and I realized there was no point in my efforts at capturing my reactions. This woman has said just about everything I would have said (I have only minor quibbles) -- almost every favorite line of mine, every brilliant touch -- I might just love this review as much as I love Truly, Madly, Deeply. Thank you, whoever you are. (But, reader beware: lots of plot spoilers in this thorough look at the film.)

Here is a clip of Alan Rickman and Juliet Stevenson doing The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore.
I love Nina's giddy joy here as she revels in Jamie, who has just returned. And, as the above referenced reviewer has noted, it's going to take at least a week to get this song out of my head. Even Ramona is singing it.

Now. Go rent the movie.

More truly, more madly

This is the image that should have been chosen for Truly, Madly, Deeply instead of the silliness that was inexplicably used on the video and dvd covers.

Ana, in the comments on my earlier post, asked for more information, saying that she was highly skeptical of this film and its maker, as she was decidedly not a fan of The English Patient (which I never had much desire to see and so can't really comment about.) I've not seen Anthony Minghella's "bigger" movies and initially, I didn't even realize that this one was done by the same director.

The premise of this film has no doubt kept many potential viewers away (not to mention the bad video cover art, which seems to want us thinking this movie will be full of zany fun. Uh-uh.)

The premise: Nina (Juliet Stevenson) has lost her beloved, Jamie (Alan Rickman) and she's slowly been swallowed up by her grief. But then, one day, Jamie comes back. From the dead.

"Oh, n-o-o-o," Atticus moaned, "It's like that Patrick Swayze movie!" and he immediately lost interest (and who could blame him? And how many others have thought the same thing? I now blame Patrick Swayze for the fact that I did not get to experience Truly, Madly, Deeply much, much earlier in life.)

And, just in case you're wondering, yes, Atticus did watch it with me last night (I first watched it the night before, when he was out of town) and yes, he liked it. Very much. Not quite the head-over-heels reaction I had, but ultimately he was charmed. I can always tell he's enjoying a movie if he actually pauses it when he has to leave the room. If he casually mumbles, "No, that's okay, leave it running," I know I've got a thumbs-down on my hands.

Truly, Madly, Deeply was Minghella's very first film, and the story behind it (included on the dvd's special features) is interesting. He says it grew out of "an act of cowardice" -- he accepted the job of making this movie for the BBC as a way of experimenting with directing on a small scale, with a project he thought no one would really see should he happen to fail miserably. It was shot in 28 days, mostly on first takes.

What is it about this movie that made me fall in love with it?

Just about everything, actually.

I'll admit to being a pushover for a movie that uses Bach and a cello so beautifully. Clearly, it had me with the opening scenes.

But, there's also Juliet Stevenson's acting, which is exquisite. There's the pointed look at grief and loss, and the genuine, searing pain of it all. There's wit and a sense of humor and unexpected lines that make you laugh out loud with their sharp revelation of character. And, there is the utterly affecting portrayal of a very real love between a man and a woman, complete with in-jokes and goofiness.

I was going to try to write the definitive review of this new favorite, but then while Googling, I stumbled on this review, at a site I'm sure I would otherwise never have found. It's a near-perfect look at the movie, and I realized there was no point in my efforts at capturing my reactions. This woman has said just about everything I would have said (I have only minor quibbles) -- almost every favorite line of mine, every brilliant touch -- I might just love this review as much as I love Truly, Madly, Deeply. Thank you, whoever you are. (But, reader beware: lots of plot spoilers in this thorough look at the film.)

I'll leave you with the following glorious, ironic scene. I love Nina's giddy joy here as she revels in Jamie, who has just returned. And, as the above referenced reviewer has noted, it's going to take at least a week to get this song out of my head. Even Ramona is singing it.

Here is a clip of Alan Rickman and Juliet Stevenson doing The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore.

Now. Go rent the movie.

6/23/07: edited to add this link, for the above referenced review. For some reason, the site I linked to seems to have disappeared from the face of cyberspace. People, people ... please feel free to tell me that I have a faulty link ....

Poetry Friday: Pablo Neruda and Truly, Madly Deeply

The girls and I just finished reading Red Glass, by Laura Resau (more on that in another post) in which Pablo Neruda is mentioned as a favorite poet.

We read a little bit of Neruda last year at Jama Rattigan's Alphabet Soup, but I think I first heard him in Truly, Madly, Deeply  (my reactions to that film are here and here) a few years ago.

So.  As I sat down this morning to post a little bit about Neruda, I realized that I didn't really want to talk about Neruda at all. What I really wanted to do was revisit Truly, Madly, Deeply. Again. People seem to either love or despise this movie, and my feet are firmly planted in the love camp. So, I suppose this is really a "Movie Friday" post, but I know that the Poetry Friday crowd is forgiving of such mental meandering, so I'll not worry about it a bit. 

Go here to listen to Alan Rickman and Juliet Stevenson limping exquisitely through an  excerpt from Neruda's La Muerta.
~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Great Kid Books.

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Where has this movie been all my life?

I truly, madly, deeply loved Truly, Madly, Deeply. I realize I'm about sixteen years late to the fan club (but then, that's my modus operandi.)

Ignore the awful DVD cover.

Savor the quirky, sweet, funny, romantic, gut-wrenching, lovely details of this film.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Last month, Ramona had her seventh birthday.  We were luxuriating in a fully equipped cabin camping at the time, however, so the birthday party didn't happen until this weekend:

* Six deliriously happy little girls
* Unspeakable amounts of chocolate and sugar and artificial dyes
* Balloons and presents and streamers
* My much-needed nap after everyone went home (yes, I needed a nap even with Amazing Betsy jumping in and acting like the best Kindergarten teacher you could imagine. It seems like just a breath ago that Betsy turned seven ... now there is nothing seven about her. Sigh.) 

And now, Ramona is officially, truly, madly, deeply seven.

Here she is, working on party invitations: 

*****

School planning continues. My head is spinning -- I have two teenagers and a second grader. When did that happen? Somewhere between camping and unspeakable amounts of chocolate.

And speaking of truly, madly, deeply that's how much I love Teaching Textbooks.  And no, I am not fickle.  I am simply spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of math books available ... the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat (cue the calculator smashing into the wall.)

No Teaching Textbooks for Ramona, though. I'm more informal in second grade, though she's requested a workbook with a princess on it. I can handle that.

*****

Work, work, work ... write, write, write ....

I have an article about novenas in the September/October issue of OSV's The Catholic Answer.  My article is not available online (though other great stuff is, so be sure to visit the link) unless you're a subscriber. So subscribe already!

*****

Stuff we're reading and about which I'll write more soon:

Chocolate Unwrapped: The Surprising Health Benefits of America's Favorite Passion (thanks, Lissa)

The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals(thanks, Maria)

The City of Emberseries.

*****

I have a new virtual coffee cup up there. Do you like it?

*****

My time is up.

Poetry Friday and Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Eeeek! Has it really been a month since I posted?

Summertime and the livin' is easy? Or summertime and we're-so-busy-I-don't-have-time-to-post?

That depends on the week.

Ramona did two theater camps in June, so those weeks flew by. Atticus bought our thespian some lovely flowers, and they lasted for ages:

What is the purple flower? Some kind of ornamental cabbage?

~~~~~~~~~~

Ramona and I experimented with baking vegan chocolate chip cookies and we discovered that aqua faba (translation: chickpea liquid) is an excellent substitute for eggs. (These were as good or better than my usual recipe.) Yum.

Speaking of all things vegan, how did Omaha get so lucky as to be the landing spot for Isa Chandra Moskowitz's incredible vegan restaurant, Modern Love? Atticus and I recently tried it for the first time and the food was crazy-good. I could eat their gnocchi carbonara all day, every day.

~~~~~~~~~~

In pet news, we decided to try a thunder shirt for our poor, anxious doggo:

"Okay, it's kind of helping. Do you have it in another color?"

And we're all truly, madly, deeply happy that fireworks season has passed.

~~~~~~~~~~

We did an overnight at our favorite state park. I like to call this kind of getaway "camping" because the trip requires that I pack insect repellent, no make-up, and we must all be on constant alert for ticks. Combine these factors and I can pretend, in casual conversation with other midwesterners, that I enjoy camping. But in reality, I am deeply appreciative of cabins that are equipped with air conditioning and coffee makers. 

~~~~~~~~~~

And now, for the point of this post -- Poetry Friday! 

I shared this poem a few years back, along with a story about the swallows that nest on our front and back porches. We love them, despite the mess they create. They've made their peace with us (almost no divebombing to speak of these days) and we happily accept their messes in exchange for the joy they provide.

Happy midsummer, and here's to further mash-ups of easy livin' and too-busyness!

~~~~~~~~~~

Swallows
by Leonora Speyer

They dip their wings in the sunset,
They dash against the air
As if to break themselves upon its stillness:
In every movement, too swift to count,
Is a revelry of indecision,
A furtive delight in trees they do not desire
And in grasses that shall not know their weight.

They hover and lean toward the meadow
With little edged cries;
And then,
As if frightened at the earth’s nearness,
They seek the high austerity of evening sky
And swirl into its depth.

(This poem is in the public domain.)

~~~~~~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Poetry for Children. 

Recent (Eclectic) Reading

The latest stack of stuff on my bedside table (or piled in the living room, or on Kindle, or wherever....)

~~~~~

The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

This is a charming little novel that my friend, D., recommended. It's about a brilliant scientist who appears to have Asperger's syndrome (read here and here for more from the author about how he approached that and why.) He embarks on a project to find a wife who is perfect for him, convinced he can do so using a perfectly designed questionnaire. The fact that Don Tillman doesn't know he is a fine candidate for a diagnosis of Asperger's (not even after he delivers a lecture on the subject) makes for first person narration that is touching, amusing and insightful. Parts of the story veered into territory I'd not predicted, and I'm happy to report I was happy with the book's twists and turns, both expected and unexpected.

Angels and Saints: A Biblical Guide to Friendship with God's Holy Ones by Scott Hahn

I received a review copy of Scott Hahn's latest from Image Books. It's a beautiful book that is a reminder that we are really -- truly, madly, deeply --  surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who care about us, and that our relationships with them are personal and peculiar, unique and intimate. Just like family should be, no?

Best part? The story about Assisi.

That's what it's all about.

(Image has a blog tour going on this week -- some of the hosts are doing giveaways, so be sure to check out the line-up.)

Delancey: A Man, a Woman, a Restaurant, a Marriage by Molly Wizenberg

My friend D. recommends the best stuff. She's the one who introduced me to A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table (which introduced me to THE CHOCOLATE CAKE) and my love for that book led me to order my own Mother's Day present read this one, too.

Delancey is a memoir recounting the creation and opening of a pizza dream -- namely, Wizenberg's husband's restaurant. Initially, it was to be his restaurant, but it inevitably and painfully became a joint effort. The book delves -- but does not delve too deeply -- into the friction that the business generated in Brandon and Molly's marriage. But to be honest? I'm kind of glad it didn't delve any deeper. The points were made -- subtly and gently but honestly -- that marriage can be hard, that enormous changes early in a marriage (such as opening the type of business that has a frighteningly high failure rate) can be terrifying and stressful. I've read a couple of reviews of the book that criticize Wizenberg for not going into more detail ("Marriage is in the title! We're entitled to the dirt!") but I say hurray for Molly for not putting brutal honesty above her most important relationship. There is plenty of humility and personal revelation but I don't need every detail. (Memoirs are funny and tricky, I think. When I consider writing a memoir -- about my conversion, what Atticus and I have gone through ... I usually just ... shudder. Too many hurtful, painful things in the past. Anyway....)

I loved reading about the process of opening the restaurant. It fascinated me -- Brandon's obsessive investigation into pizza, his road trips to test pie here and there and everywhere. I loved that when he and Molly first dated, he took her to his favorite pizza place and confided that he'd once taken a date there and decided he could never have a relationship with that woman because she'd hated the place, she just didn't get him. (I find that incredibly cute.) Molly, however, got it.

I was also interested in seeing an intriguing and kind of sad dynamic at work: two people who love to cook, had loved cooking together at home, open a restaurant and find that they have lost (because they are too consumed by the business, and by cooking at work!) one of the things they've shared and cherished, one of the things that brought them together. I'm not sure that was (or ever will be, as long as they remain restaurateurs) resolved, but it must be working out, as Delancey is still thriving in Seattle.

But that's just sort of the way life works, isn't it? None of us seem to end up becoming the thing we once thought we'd be.

Which leads me to my next recent read....

Jennifer Fulwiler's Something Other Than God: How I Passionately Sought Happiness and Accidentally Found It 

Yeah, I can relate.

Grew up atheist? Check.
Circuitously ended up on a quest for the truth about existence? Check.
Horrified to find that quest pointing to Christianity? Check.
Quoting C.S. Lewis? Check.
Even more horrified to find the quest dragging one in the direction of Catholicism? A hundred-thousand checks.

I had to laugh at the opening -- so great, because I, too, had an altar call-ish sort of experience in childhood (Jen's was at summer camp, mine involved a friend in seventh grade repeatedly dropping notes in my locker that read, "Jesus Loves You!" I was annoyed -- with my friend and with Jesus.) The parallels outwardly end there, as we had vastly different experiences before conversion, but many inward parallels remain and had me nodding my head: endless questions, intellectual struggles, wrestling with doctrine, embarrassment at the possible outcome of the hunt, dismay (for better or for worse) at explanations and answers about the Catholic faith and all of its implications. And finally? Assent and sweet relief.

If you've ever read Jen's blog, you know that her book went through several incarnations before this -- its final, poignant, lovely, and funny form -- and I think it's clear that she found the story arc of her life.


And finally...

Focus: The Hidden Driver of Excellence by Daniel Goleman


I'm only halfway through this one and I'm having troubling staying focused on it. I keep getting distrac

Nah, not really.


I love reading about how our minds work, and the many, many things that interest me about this book will probably require a separate post.

Poetry Friday: first green flare

Yesterday's page from "A Year of Tiny Pleasures" calendar. 

I can't stop thinking about spring poems and feeling spring-y.

Spring is gloriously, finally, truly-madly-deeply here. We can get outside, walk, breathe, not freeze, feel a breeze, believe in promises again.

Enjoy the promise of this lovely little piece by Sidney Wade, and then visit the Poetry Friday round-up at Carol Varsalona's Beyond LiteracyLink.


first green flare
by Sidney Wade

makes
the air

quiver
and dart

the throat
ache

(Read the rest here, at Poets.org)

Poetry Friday: Mary Oliver's "Song for Autumn"

I can't get off this autumn poetry kick. But why would I want to? Autumn is truly, madly, deeply one of my favorite times of the year.

This poem, by Mary Oliver, has me thinking about what else the leaves might be dreaming of, the trees longing for, and what other whisperings are being exchanged, just out of earshot?

Click through to read "Song for Autumn."

And then be sure to check out all the Poetry Friday goodness at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

Such is life

Update:

I had so many repair-type-people running in and out of here yesterday that I felt like Nina in Truly, Madly, Deeply (imagine Alan Rickman's voice pronouncing, ''This is a terrible flat ... terrible ... really, Nina, you're hopeless.")

The plumber will be back today. For most of the day, I believe. Feel sorry for me.

We have internet again, though the cable guy must come back again and replace our "obsolete" box. Who knew?

I dropped my cell phone on the concrete floor in the garage and it fell apart. Turns out those things can take a lot of abuse.

While we were blanching and cold-shocking and cutting the corn off many cobs, we had a contractor walking through the house, assessing a window situation. I waved my knife at him (in a friendly way, you know) and left the rest to Atticus.

And, by the way, why is pulling the husks off of corn called "shucking" instead of "husking"? And why is pulling it off the stalk called husking? I've lived in Nebraska for all but 11 years of my life, and I still don't think I'm "from" here. There are certain things about Nebraska that I will never get.

The kids are still great, with one minor blip: Ramona threw up yesterday and I thought we were going to add "stomach flu" to an already vibrant mix of events, because, doesn't stomach flu always accompany plumbing problems? But, God took pity on me, and we now think that poor Ramona's problem was just the heat. She perked up last night, and now seems fine.

Since I'm not going anywhere (other than into my basement to ask the plumber, "How's it going?") I hope to catch up with some posts later today.

Mini-Retirement

(From a few years back, which explains why Atticus isn't really out buying donuts at 11 p.m., and why it isn't really Poetry Friday today. But the explanation of mini-retirement is still accurate. I love you, Atticus!)

Summer with Atticus goes something like this:

1. We experience a period of what my friend Sally calls "mini retirement." Sally's married to a teacher. She knows what it's like to suddenly have her husband around the house more often than usual. And how it feels to be extremely grateful for the privilege while simultaneously struggling to reorder a routine. She knows what it's like to tell herself to just shut up about where he tends to leave the salt shaker.

2. Adjustment period ends quickly. Everyone is happy.  Who cares where the salt shaker is?

3. Atticus takes over meal planning and cooking for a couple of months.

4. If I were the kind of person who jumps up and down and claps, I would do so at this point. You know how I feel about cooking. I'm figuratively jumping up and down right now.

5. Atticus is, at this very moment, out buying donuts from the new donut shop in town for the girls.  They've been wanting to try it. I keep saying, "Oh, yeah.  We need to do that. We'll get there soon ...." whereas Atticus actually goes out and buys the donuts.

6. He selects this moving piece from Robert Frost for Poetry Friday:

Two Look at Two
by Robert Frost

Love and forgetting might have carried them
A little further up the mountain side
With night so near, but not much further up.
They must have halted soon in any case
With thoughts of a path back, how rough it was
With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;
When they were halted by a tumbled wall
With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,
Spending what onward impulse they still had
In One last look the way they must not go,
On up the failing path, where, if a stone
Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;
No footstep moved it. 'This is all,' they sighed,
Good-night to woods.' But not so; there was more.
A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall, as near the wall as they.
She saw them in their field, they her in hers.
The difficulty of seeing what stood still,
Like some up-ended boulder split in two,
Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there.
She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.

(Read the whole poem here.)

I do love Robert Frost (as evidenced by the number of times he's been invited over for Poetry Friday.) 

I do love summer.

And I do truly, madly, deeply love that man I call Atticus.

Poetry Friday ... Summer with Atticus

 Summer with Atticus goes something like this:


1. We experience a period of what my friend Sally calls "mini retirement." Sally's married to a teacher. She knows what it's like to suddenly have her husband around the house more often than usual. And how it feels to be extremely grateful for the privilege while simultaneously struggling to reorder a routine. She knows what it's like to tell herself to just shut up about where he tends to leave the salt shaker.

2. Adjustment period ends quickly. Everyone is happy.  Who cares where the salt shaker is?

3. Atticus takes over meal planning and cooking for a couple of months.

4. If I were the kind of person who jumps up and down and claps, I would do so at this point. You know how I feel about cooking. I'm figuratively jumping up and down right now.

5. Atticus is, at this very moment, out buying donuts from the new donut shop in town for the girls.  They've been wanting to try it. I keep saying, "Oh, yeah.  We need to do that. We'll get there soon ...." whereas Atticus actually goes out and buys the donuts.

6. He selects this moving piece from Robert Frost for Poetry Friday:

Two Look at Two
by Robert Frost

Love and forgetting might have carried them
A little further up the mountain side
With night so near, but not much further up.
They must have halted soon in any case
With thoughts of a path back, how rough it was
With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;
When they were halted by a tumbled wall
With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,
Spending what onward impulse they still had
In One last look the way they must not go,
On up the failing path, where, if a stone
Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;
No footstep moved it. 'This is all,' they sighed,
Good-night to woods.' But not so; there was more.
A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall, as near the wall as they.
She saw them in their field, they her in hers.
The difficulty of seeing what stood still,
Like some up-ended boulder split in two,
Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there.
She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.

(Read the whole poem here.)

I do love Robert Frost (as evidenced by the number of times he's been invited over for Poetry Friday.) 

I do love summer.

And I do truly, madly, deeply love that man I call Atticus.

You'll find the Poetry Friday round up at The Art of Irreverence.

Poetry Friday: Alan Rickman, Juliet Stevenson, and Pablo Neruda's "The Dead Woman"

Don't judge me. 

Yes, it's still about Alan Rickman today. 

Go here to listen to Alan Rickman and Juliet Stevenson (from Truly, Madly, Deeply) translating and reciting Pablo Neruda's "The Dead Woman."

~~~~~

The round up today is at Keri Recommends.