Oscars Sunday

Mannequins

It’s Oscars Sunday, which doesn’t usually mean a whole lot to me. I’m not a person who goes out to watch every nominated movie (though I wonder if you folks who are have noticed that the Academy nominates a crap-ton more movies than it used to, and do you really not think that’s just to get your butt in the seat more often?). I do love the gala spectacle and the fashion, though, so I sit at the TV looking for best and worst dresses and suits.

This year, my husband and I did catch the program of Oscar-nominated animated shorts in our local movie theater, though. I have to say it was pretty disappointing.

The husband has written all about it in his column on Escape into Life, but here’s what I have to say. There were about eight or nine shorts in the program, and we were halfway through before I finally saw one that I could be happy to see win the Oscar. Then I realized it was a Pixar entry, and my happiness waned because, honestly, it’s just another sunny Sunday from Pixar (not that I couldn’t use a little more sun). Fabulous animation, adorable characters, quirky, funny—which for Pixar is just a commercially successful formula. I wish someone else had done it.

But yes, it could win an Oscar because it’s that good.

Then we sat through a couple more “meh” items and one utterly horrendous thing that required a narrator to tell you what was going on. That was followed by a beauty from Ireland, and then we were watching a French entrant, Hors piste, (the third French one on the program, if I recall correctly)—and suddenly half the theatre was laughing aloud, including us.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

I kid you not: this was the only piece on the program that drew a response from anyone in the theatre, and half the crowd was guffawing. And then we got home and discovered, as the husband began to write his column, that … wait for it … this short is not even on the list of Oscar nominees. WTAF?

So we will watch the envelope get opened tonight while we are rooting for a film that isn’t even nominated.

I just hope whoever’s reading the winner’s name will be wearing either a fabulous or utterly horrid outfit.

Grim or hopeful – it’s day by day

Depending who’s doing the counting, we had either one or two days of sunlight – any sunlight – in the month of January. It was pretty grim, and many of us got cranky as the month went on. The state of our nation and its politics can’t have helped. Many of us either sat glued to our news sources, unable to tear our attention away from an impeachment spectacle, or tried to ignore the whole thing. In the end, I doubt anyone’s opinion had changed on either side, and I for one was exhausted.

On Feb. 1, late in the day, the sun peaked out for about five minutes. My husband and I were walking our dogs, and I pulled out my camera. That’s the photo you see here, unretouched. Nature is glorious.

I wrote a poem in the midst of it, struggling against pessimism, flirting with hope. The act of writing is itself optimistic, I believe, and hope may triumph if I send it off to a journal in search of a home. We’ll see.

Published!

restaurant window looking out

Meanwhile, I’ve had a couple of other pieces published that I failed to note here. Way back in November, my poem Buoyant found a home in goodbaad poetry journal. It was just republished at Escape into Life this week, accompanied by an original illustration by my talented husband. I’m thrilled that it has some legs—especially given that legs feature prominently in it.

I’ve also had another poem accepted at Tiny Seed Literary Journal, where it’s due to be published in March. Stay tuned!

Also over at Escape, you can find my recent review of True Confessions 1965 to Now, a lovely collection of poetry by John Guzlowski. His poems are simultaneously plain-spoken and profound, painting the world in both its beauty and horror. A couple of the poems in the book were first published on Escape, so if you read the review you’ll find links to those pieces so you can sample the book before deciding to buy it. Also, here are two recent poems from his Twitter feed that I quite like:

Wintering into spring

Spring is coming. I know this because my front yard and at least one neighboring yard filled up this morning with a hungry flock of migratory robins and starlings. There were probably about 30 birds in all, voraciously grabbing up food of some sort from the ground. My bet is on juniper berries, given the tree they flocked under.

It’s too early for our summer robins to arrive yet, and I was surprised to find robins paired with starlings, so I went searching for info: Do robins, in fact, migrate with starlings? I learned that mixed flocks aren’t uncommon, at least among fruit-eating birds. I didn’t see starlings listed specifically as birds that migrate with robins, but they are migratory. It’s possible that our local starlings saw robins descend to the ground to dine and got attracted to a possible food source, but the fact that they all pretty much arrived and left together suggests to me they were a mixed flock.

So spring is coming. Hooray! I’m happy for the reminder because last weekend January turned to January for pretty much the first time. We got a downpour of rain followed by a driving snowstorm, and then a brilliantly clear blue day; blue sky in January is pretty much synonymous with a cold snap in Illinois, so we did a bit of shivering and made soup and put our sandwiches under the broiler for a couple of days.

It’s warmed up since then, but with the snow came a lovely visitation of snowmen all over the neighborhood. This guy was my favorite, very cheery and bright, but laced through with dead leaves because of the rain that came before the snow.

With a hint of spring in the air today (temperature only 35, but no wind, and … remember … robins!), those snowmen that have survived are much less distinct. One looked much more like a seated snow dog than a man. Today’s favorite … this little guy, nearly headless but so nicely scarved:

Reading for the season

I’m looking for a good almost-spring book. If you are, too, I have one good suggestion: The Hidden Life of Trees: What they Feel, How they Communicate, by Peter Wohlleben. I read it this winter, and it’s full of miraculous information about the life of forests, which seems just perfect for spring. For now, I’m reading my garden catalogs and plotting my seed order. It’s one of my favorite January-February pastimes, and I’m contemplating a raised vegetable bed this year, so the possibilities feel endless.

Robins and starlings: Fun links

They comes of age

There are many reasons why I like doing crossword puzzles in general and the New York Times crossword in particular. One is that I learn things.

How is it that I didn’t hear that the singular form of they was named Merriam-Webster’s word of the year for 2019 back when that happened in early December? This embarasses me as an editor, and especially as a former news editor – although perhaps that’s a partial excuse, since the AP Stylebook long ago (2017) started accepting a singular form of they.

Shame-faced though I be, I’m also delighted by they‘s selection. As an old fuddie-duddie (fun note: spellcheck wanted to make that fudge-duddie) I’ll confess that I was uncomfortable with the singular they for a long time, and it still doesn’t trip off my tongue. But I’m pleased that our culture is moving toward accepting people where they are, and there are lots of people for whom the gendered pronouns he and she are just uncomfortable. No one should have to be made uncomfortable by the language with which they and others talk about themselves. So hooray for they and its increasingly accepted singular meaning.

But how about that Post Office?

As pleased as I am by Merriam-Webster, I’m disappointed today by the U.S. Post, which returned one of my Christmas cards because it had the wrong address—even though the Post Office knew the forwarding address for the person I was trying to reach.

I understand that rules are rules, and I wouldn’t want the Post Office to have to promise to continue forwarding anyone’s mail for all eternity. But when the person has only moved across town, and postal workers can identify the correct forwarding address in order to provide it to me on the envelope, then couldn’t they just send the letter on to the correct destination, rather than return it to me halfway across the country?

  • It would be a better service to both me and the friend who will now wait an extra week for that late Christmas card.
  • It would have a smaller environmental footprint.

It’s really the second point that saddens me most. I’m trying to reduce my environmental footprint in a whole lot of ways, and it would have been nice if my government hadn’t worked at cross-purposes with me on this.

Ah, well. It’s but one small complaint among many I have with my current federal government, and I still prefer having government-run mail to having this service privatized. I’ll complain about Amtrak, too, all the while knowing that the problem is years and years of under-funding rather than any inherent devaluing of public transportation.

On a happier note…

Rather than end with a complaint, I’ll choose, as one of my friends consciously does every day, to close in gratitude.

My son texted last week with the surprise news that he has completed a master’s degree. This wasn’t in itself unexpected; he’s in a doctoral program, and the master’s is an expected way station. But he had thought he had more coursework to complete for it, and that turns out not to be the case. He’s attending a public university, and I’m grateful that it has the funding to provide his full-tuition funding along with a stipend for research work.

Again, hooray for public institutions. Speaking of which, my library had just the book I was looking for when I realized yesterday that I wanted it. I’m always grateful for public libraries. Also librarians.

History mystery seems to be my theme

Mystery books are a guilty pleasure of mine. On television, I confess that I’ll watch almost any mystery or police procedural, and my relationship with audiobooks is similar—I just need a plot-driven mystery to focus my attention so I don’t hate all the other drivers on my highway. But I’m a bit more discerning about what I read in print.

Post-war intrigue

I’ve just discovered a new-to-me series that I’m quite enjoying, written by Anna Lee Huber with a heroine named Verity Kent. There are three of these published so far, and I’ve devoured the first two (albeit in reverse order) since the start of 2020. They’re set in the period just after World War I, and our heroine is a former Secret Service agent cut loose from her public service to make way for men returning from the war. She’s smart, gutsy, and doesn’t take herself too seriously, and the books are full of rich historical detail and post-war political intrigue.

I’ve seen the series described in some places as historical romance, and alternatively as “cozy mystery,” and I don’t think either term is fair (and yes, you correctly detect my bias against both). These definitely are not romance novels; there are some romantic entanglements, but they’re neither the focus nor driving element of the books; they’re maybe a decoration. As for “cozy mystery,” these fit some elements of the definition—female, amateur heroine, not a lot of violence—but they’re more intense and have more depth than most of that sub-genre. (Also, I’ll admit that I just can’t accept putting these books into the same sub-genre as the television series “Murder, She Wrote.”)

We can quibble over the genre or sub-genre, but I’ll keep reading, regardless how they’re categorized.

A hangman’s daughter

Just today I finished The Play of Death, by Oliver Potzsch, which is an altogether different sort of mystery, although again historical, part of a series, and including at least one amateur female heroine. Set in 1670 in the German area near Oberammergau, it actually offers a family of reluctant detectives: a hangman, his two daughters, and the husband of one doctor.

Again, we have a very twisting plot with lots of surprises, in this case connected with the early years of the Oberammergau Passion play, which is still performed every decade. Unlike the Verity Kent series, this is a long book—almost 500 pages in the paperback English edition—but it reads quickly.

I liked this one partly because it deals with social themes that are relevant today: class-based inequities, for one, and xenophobia, for another. The author addresses this in the afterword:

A historical novel also doesn’t exist in a political vacuum. This book was written at a time of controlled right-wing demonstrations everywhere in Germany, and later during the conflict over the increasing number of refugees arriving before our very doors here in Europe. I’ve seen some dreadful comments on Facebook by people who have been indoctrinated by right-wing hate groups. … Perhaps interest in my novel will provide not just excitement and entertainment but an opportunity to rethink some of this.

We can hope.

Rituals of thanks

I’ve shouted “Thank you!” out the back door and put pie No. 2 in the oven. (Pie No. 1 happened last night.) Now is my moment for self-reflection. And on Thanksgiving day, that means remembering the many reasons I have to give thanks.

  • I’m most thankful, as always, for the continued safety and health of those I love. This includes the grown son living half a continent away, where I can no longer keep an eye on him but can still worry. In an increasingly scary world, my Thanksgiving prayer from a year ago still holds true.
  • It also includes the two dogs who are part of my family, including one diagnosed this year with chronic heart disease. That diagnosis accompanied a health crisis for her, but she’s responding well to medication and still quite capable of both frolic and fury. Her younger (12-year-old!) brother is graying but happy and healthy.

  • I’m thankful that my mother’s and grandmothers’ recipes and kitchen tools keep them close to me during holidays, and that I’m able now to pass these recipes on to my son, my nieces and my nephews.
  • I’m grateful to be among the privileged who have enough financial resources that I neither have to shop nor work on Thanksgiving, nor stand in line waiting for Black Friday deals.
  • I’m thankful to be off work this week and for the resurgence in creativity this vacation has brought me. Here’s what I did yesterday in between cooking obligations and reading:
  • I’m thankful for the many friends around me, who are my extended family and sustain me both at work and at home. I’m thankful to count my family members among my friends.
  • Not least, I give thanks for art and literature, which sustain our souls, and for the Muse of Poetry, who descended on me not much more than a year ago. She helps center me and makes my life richer.

What would Thanksgiving be without pie? Here’s the first of three we’re bringing to Thanksgiving dinner this year. All credit for the dough sculpting goes to my talented husband (whose writings and some of whose cartoons can be found here).

I’m constantly surprised by people who are impressed by the fact that I make pie crust from scratch. It’s not hard. Honestly. Here’s how.