brought to tears from … jewelry?

Yep. I can now say I have cried at a piece of jewelry not given to me by a loved one. Or even mine, boo hoo.

One of my favorite mixed media artists, Deryn Mentock — she does primarily jewelry — has created an absolutely gorgeous necklace, inspired by the biblical story of Mary, sister of Martha, breaking open an alabaster jar of perfume and anointing Jesus’ feet with it. I love the way she describes the significance of the biblical story and the various elements she used to create the piece. You could just feel how she poured her whole heart into that piece. What can I say? It just got me. Looking at her stunning piece, I felt like I could literally see that story unfolding and I just teared up. I did.

So go check out this necklace — and her whole site, actually. Wonderful work, lovely spirit. I know I’m gushing like a giddy schoolgirl or potential stalker or something, but …. never mind all that! Go see. It’s beautiful. Someone needs to snatch that piece up.

“it’s a wonderful life” still

I wrote this a couple of Christmases ago, but darned if I ain’t watching It’s A Wonderful Life again — right now — and darned if I don’t feel exactly the same way I did then. I mean, it’s so predictable: I will be sobbing within the first ten minutes of this movie.

It’s that scene. The Young George/Mr. Gower scene. As I get older, it’s the grace — the utter grace of Young George in that scene that rips right through me and turns me inside out. And I don’t mean physical grace or social grace. I mean grace grace. Spiritual grace. Divine grace. Gower is drunk, abusive, completely shattered by grief and taking it out on George, who, at every turn, every turn, says things like, “It’s not your fault,” “I know you’re unhappy,” “I know you’re upset.” He’s being completely savaged, but, in the midst of everything, with his ear bleeding from Mr. Gower’s wild blows, he still offers understanding, he still chooses love. The whole scene is a complete miracle to me. Every year, ten minutes in, and I am torn to bits.

Anyhoo. Here’s what I wrote about that scene two years ago:

You know, I watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” the other night and I am always ripped apart by this scene between young George and Mr. Gower, only about 10 minutes into the movie. Mr. Gower has just received a telegram notifying him of his son’s death. George has seen the telegram, too, and that Mr. Gower has been drinking heavily. Gower gives George the task to deliver some medicine, but he’s so drunk and despairing, he doesn’t realize he put poison in the capsules instead of medicine. George knows, though, has seen the telegram, and runs to his dad for advice on what to do. Dad, of course, is in the middle of a brouhaha with Mr. Potter and can’t help George, so George is left to decide for himself what to do with the poisoned pills. He doesn’t deliver them, but heads back to the drugstore — and Mr. Gower.

Every year when I watch this scene, I end up sobbing. The scene, to me, is raw and real and powerful and I love how neither actor — Robert Anderson as young George and H. B. Warner as Mr. Gower — holds back anything. I mean, that kid playing George looks about 12 or 13 to me. Such an awkward age. I’ve taught drama to that age group and most boys that age, even boys with interest in performing, just stumble about, self-conscious, unable to control their changing voices, their clumsy bodies, and uncomfortable with any raw emotion — other than rage. Rage they could do okay, in a “Look! I am SO raging!” kind of way.

But this beautiful kid — literally, physically beautiful kid — Robert Anderson — who I know from nothing else other than this movie — is completely unafraid to go there. He has to be terrified. He has to be beaten. He has to cry. He has to cower. He has to beg. And he has to come out on top, really. Win the moment because it’s life or death. All in this one short scene. And he does it. And you never for a moment think he’s a wuss — which is what my male students’ objection to playing a scene like this would have been. He’s a young man in this scene and he’s totally willing to be ripped apart for a cause bigger than himself. I just always find myself amazed by him in this scene — and the scene previous, where he’s deflecting Violet’s flirtation — “Help me down, Georgie?” (as she’s perched up on stool, ordering candy, batting her eyes at him). “Help ya DOWN??” Hahahahaha. Like, he’s so not going there with her silliness. Are ya nuts, Violet? He seems to know what he is and what he’s not. At least at this point in the film. Even now, he won’t sell out his core or suffer fools and this young actor just GETS that. In a totally unself-conscious way. He’s a hero of the best kind — a hero who doesn’t know he’s being a hero. Oh, and the moment when Gower realizes what he’s done and literally crushes George to him and George is still crying out about his ear, all afraid? Heartstopping. I love that. He’s still a terrified kid, trying to protect himself, and yet completely sacrificing himself, too. And that Mr. Gower has really smacked him around; there’s blood coming from George’s ear. It’s horrifying, the violence, the helplessness of George in that moment. All he has is his words, his pleas. Can he get through to Gower with just his words?

The scene is physically painful to watch, actually. Like you’re watching an actual beating of an actual kid by an actual hideous drunk. But that’s its brilliance; its greatness. No one holds back. Every year I think about what it must have been like to be Robert Anderson, a kid of that weird, awkward age thumbing through his script and finding THAT scene. A scene requiring that of him. A scene that says — without ever really saying it — “You have to basically be naked here. You must be okay with that. You must do it.” Wow. And he does it. I love that kid.

The scene is one of my favorites in the entire movie. Here’s the excerpt from the screenplay.

BACK TO DRUGSTORE

INT. BACK ROOM – GOWER’S DRUGSTORE – DAY

CLOSE SHOT

Gower talking on the telephone. George stands in the doorway.

GOWER (drunkenly)
Why, that medicine should have been there an hour ago. It’ll be over in five minutes, Mrs. Blaine.

He hangs up the phone and turns to George
.

GOWER
Where’s Mrs. Blaine’s box of capsules?

He grabs George by the shirt and drags him into the back room.

GEORGE
Capsules …

GOWER (shaking him)
Did you hear what I said?

GEORGE (frightened)
Yes, sir, I…

Gower starts hitting George about the head with his open hands. George tries to protect himself as best he can.

GOWER
What kind of tricks are you playing, anyway? Why didn’t you deliver them right away? Don’t you know that boy’s very sick?

GEORGE (in tears)
You’re hurting my sore ear.

INT. FRONT ROOM DRUGSTORE – DAY

CLOSE SHOT

Mary is still seated at the soda fountain. Each time she hears George being slapped, she winces.

INT. BACK ROOM DRUGSTORE – DAY

CLOSE SHOT – GEORGE AND GOWER

GOWER
You lazy loafer!

GEORGE (sobbing)
Mr. Gower, you don’t know what you’re doing. You put something
wrong in those capsules. I know you’re unhappy. You got that
telegram, and you’re upset. You put something bad in those capsules. It
wasn’t your fault, Mr. Gower . . .

George pulls the little box out of his pocket. Gower savagely
rips it away from him, breathing heavily, staring at the boy
venomously.

GEORGE
Just look and see what you did. Look at the bottle you took the
powder from. It’s poison! I tell you, it’s poison! I know you
feel bad . . . and .. .

George falters off, cupping his aching ear with a hand. Gower looks at the large brown bottle which has not been replaced on the shelf. He tears open the package, shakes the powder out of one of the capsules, cautiously tastes it, then abruptly throws the whole mess to the table and turns to look at George again. The boy is whimpering, hurt, frightened. Gower steps toward him.

GEORGE
Don’t hurt my sore ear again.

But this time Gower sweeps the boy to him in a hug and, sobbing
hoarsely, crushes the boy in his embrace. George is crying too.

GOWER
No . . . No . . . No. . .

GEORGE
Don’t hurt my ear again!

GOWER (sobbing)
Oh, George, George . . .

GEORGE
Mr. Gower, I won’t ever tell anyone. I know what you’re feeling.
I won’t ever tell a soul. Hope to die, I won’t.

GOWER
Oh, George.

I swear. I think It’s A Wonderful Life must be the decent-est movie ever made.

20 favorite actresses

I’m borrowing this from Sheila and adding my own caveat, just to keep my choices down. It’s really, uhm, “20 Favorite Actresses Born After 1930.”

Here are just some loves of mine ….. some with comments, some without:

dench.jpg

winslet_1.jpg
Win the Oscar, already. I can’t take the suspense.

jmoore.jpg

thompson.jpg

frances2.jpg
I worship her.

amy-adams.jpg
She is charming, from another era almost.

streep.jpg
Goddess.

reese_witherspoon_2a.jpg
From The Man in the Moon until now. Love her.

keaton1.jpg

evanrachelwood.jpg
There is something about this girl. (Forget that she’s dating Marilyn Mason.) I loved her most recently in Across the Universe. Truth be told, I’m a little obsessed with that movie.

hayek.jpg
I always root for her. Loved her in Frida. And, please, look at her.

dunst.jpg
She was in Bring It On, the best movie ever. Anyone got a problem with that?

mirren3.JPG
Okay. So it’s a little racy, but, damn, Helen Mirren. Plus … damn.

watts.jpg

blethyn.jpg

binoche.jpg
She is so soft and luminous. Sometimes I think she’s not real.

cusack.jpg
I wish this picture were bigger. I love everything about her. Her goofy face, her big- boned figure, how she makes every moment of every role count.

martin.jpg
Anna Maxwell Martin. Oh, my. Fell in LOVE with her in the BBC Masterpiece Theatre version of Bleak House.

sarandon.jpg

leigh.jpg
Well. This ones goes back a long way.

undaunted in forcing this topic upon you

Yes. The whole steno language dealio. I remain undaunted in my sadism. YOU WILL BE INTERESTED, DAMMIT!! Hahahaha. I’m lame.

But sarahk left a great question in the comments here and I believe it to be SO IMPORTANT that I’m posting her question and my answer here. READ IT AND BE AMAAZED!! Something to talk about at the Christmas table, pippa, when the crickets start cricking.

So sarahk queried:

Maybe this is a dumb question, but it’s a serious one: why don’t stenographers just use typewriters?

sarahk — That’s not a dumb question; it’s an excellent question! I love that you asked it. I love it if anyone asks about it because I am a dork.

To answer you: Mainly because you just can’t go fast enough. I mean, how fast can a person type? 100 wpm, 120 wpm? Court reporters need to be able to write at speeds over 200 wpm, so they use the machine. Typewriters/computers work by striking one key at a time, as we all know. Steno machines work by striking multiple keys simultaneously — I always call them “chords” because I play the piano and I think it’s a pretty good analogy. I could write an entire word in one stroke. Sometimes I could write several words in one stroke if there’s an abbreviation for that particular phrase of words. So that’s why. Believe it or not, the way the machine is designed — letter placement based on most frequently occurring letters, etc. — facilitates speed.

Thank you for your question, sarahk; bless you for your interest.

I should give away a prize if someone actually mentions this at their Christmas dinner table:

~ Did you know, gammie, that court reporters strike chords of words and write over 200 wpm and that AOU is Long U in steno theory? Did you, gammie? Gammie? GAMMIE!! OH, MY GOD!! SOMEONE CALL 911!!

~ Way to go, dillwad! YOU JUST BORED GAMMIE TO DEATH!!!

UPDATE: Scroll added because I refer to it in my answer to Brian’s question in the comments.

jet crash update

Oh, the sorrow continues. I’m watching the local news right now. The victims are a 35-year-old mom (I didn’t catch her name), her 15-month-old daughter Grace, her 2-month-old daughter Rachel, and her 60-year-old mother. They’re interviewing the man who just lost his whole family in an instant. So so sad. He’s shaking. Literally, shaking. Ah, my heart goes out to him. He doesn’t blame the pilot, he says, the pilot did the best he could.

A military aviation expert is interviewed, defending the pilot. Good. The pilot had taken off from an aircraft carrier off the coast. He lost an engine — and ultimately both engines. To answer the criticism that he should have gone back to the carrier, the expert said that he couldn’t land on the carrier with less than 80% power. It could have been fatal to the entire ship. Well, what about heading to North Island Navy Base (on Coronado Island, where Air Force One always lands), the man was asked. That’s no good, he says, because he’d have to fly over downtown in a compromised jet. So he headed inland for Miramar Marine Corps Air Station. That was the best possible option, but there’s nowhere from the coast to Miramar where he would NOT have been flying over some homes. He could only attempt to mitigate damages as best he could.

So, yeah, anyone wanting to give the pilot grief needs to stop. He’s going to be dealing with enough. He ejected from his plane at the absolute last second, apparently, and got to witness his jet hitting those homes. Can you imagine? He’s going to have enough to deal with. He did his best.

Please pray for the pilot and that poor man who lost his home and family.

to the searcher ….

… looking for “Long U, machine steno.” I’m always happy to help. I love posting these because they are so random and so obscure and everybody else HATES them. Hahahahaha. Sorry, everybody else. I thought you knew I was a sadist.

Here I go, dispensing free information, helpful sadist that I am.

Okay, searcher. Long U in machine steno is stroked:

AOU

There you go. Long U.

Featured in words such as:

cute: KAOUT

suit: SAOUT

brute: PWRAOUT

This is assuming, of course, that someone has told you that “PW” is initial “B” which I’m now really questioning since it would appear that no one has bothered to tell you how to write the basic vowel sounds. Too bad I’m not your teacher. Seriously, searcher. You have no idea how badly you need me. Anyhoo. Please proceed apace with your studies. I’m here should you need me.

You will.

P.S., searcher: I’m now starting to worry that no one has even told you what letters the keys are and seeing as how they’re blank, it could be a rather demoralizing way to start your schooling. So here’s a chart to help you with Long U, et al:

stenochart.jpg

Please don’t cry. You will learn to smile again. Some day.

to answer lisa’s question

Here.

Lisa — Are you talking about the plane crash?! Yeah, I’m fine. But damn. Military jet (F-18) crashed about 3 hours ago, oh, about 5 miles from me, into a residential neighborhood. As of now, 2 civilians confirmed dead, 2 missing. Pilot ejected onto baseball field of nearby high school. Guess he was headed for Miramar Air Station — and missed by a few miles. Several houses were decimated though. Lord. So so scary. I hate this stuff. HATE it.

Thank you for asking, though.

Unless you were asking about my general mental/emotional well-being based on the fact that I doodled a beanie angel and posted it with Christmas carol lyrics, well, then, I leave it to everyone else to judge on that score. Physically, though, I am fine.

doodle: beanie angel

sc0015bfe7_2.jpg

Hark the beanie angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled”
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim:
“Christ is born in Bethlehem”
Hark! The beanie angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”

Try those lyrics out at church this year.

C’mon. S’fun.

S’not blasphemous.

two phone calls

Yesterday, 4:45 p.m.

ring ring ring …..

~ Hello?

~ This is The Banshee. May I speak to Uncle Beloved, please?

~ Oh, sweetie, he’s not here right now.

A pause, where I could feel a small ripple, a slight crumpling, on the other end of the line.

~ But if you let me talk to your mommy, I’ll give her a number where you can reach him, okay?

~ Okay, Tee Tee. Talk to my mom. Bye.

Yesterday, 5 p.m.

ring ring ring …..

~ Hello?

~ Uncle Beloved, this is The Banshee.

~ Oh, HI!

~ I’m gonna sing you a song, okay?

~ You’re gonna sing me a song? That’s GREAT!

~ Yes. I’m ready to start, okay?

~ Great! I’m listening.

A loud dramatic rendition of Happy Birthday follows.

~ Okay. I’m done now.

~ Wow, thanks! That was awesome!

~ ‘Bye, Uncle Beloved.

~ Oh. Uhm, bye!

Hahahahaha. She strutted her moment on the stage and was completely done with it. She kills me.

cleanse the palate

To erase any distress caused from certain revelations in the post below, I offer the trump card of greater distress to cleanse the palate. And as penance. Let’s not forget penance.

Please absorb this image of Robin Williams crying, one can only assume, over his superfluously hairy arms:

crying9williams.JPG
Shiver.