Monthly Archives: August 2009

Another Sunday at the Movies


With Dee safely pawned off at her bff’s house Saturday for an overnight (I will miss that about summer. We’ve had a Dee-free weekend just about every other and at the price of hosting bff on the opposite weekends which is still a definite win-win in terms of child occupying), Rob and I spent the day pondering the “movie” side of dinner and a movie date night. 

Rob wants to see the new Tarantino flick but it doesn’t open until next weekend and so I googled the offerings and did a bit of review reading and came up fairly empty. It’s not that bad reviews put me off. I don’t pay much attention to what a critic thinks. I read reviews to get a feel for the story-line and to find links to trailers. The bottom line is always this:

Is a story interesting enough to justify the time spent elbowing with the masses?

Most of the time, the answer is “no” because unless a movie is a must see – like the recent Star Trek for example – we aren’t in any hurry. The majority of films are out on dvd within four to six months and our public library does a wonderful job of keeping current on titles. Trekking to the theatre to queue up with teenagers and young adults who have little concept of personal space or tmi conversations, which they carry on at deafening levels that make me glad when I run across groups of young people who text each other even when shoulder to shoulder, just isn’t an experience I need and I know Rob has little patience with humanity anyway, so why? 

Movies can be savored from the comfyness of the sofa, snuggled with husband, pillows and under blankets. The living room is a lot closer to the true amenities of life and what it lacks in screen size is more than made up for by a clean bathroom and a kitchen with a wider – healthier – variety of snack options.

After ruling out the theatre and taking in dinner at the local Chinese option, Rob and I decided to splurge and rent dvd’s. Our selection for last evening was the Nick Cage flick, Knowing. The trailer blaring from a tv screen in the store lured us into it. Trailers are deceptive but nothing else was really screaming out “pick me” and it had an intriguing premise.

A time capsule buried fifty years earlier is unearthed and reveals a sheet of paper covered in numbers that turns out to be the date, location and death totals for nearly every major disaster between 1959 and 2009. And there are just three dates left. Cue the spooky music.

Unfortunately many things work against such a promising start.

  • Nick Cage is a one facial expression actor.
  • The film can’t decide if it wants to be a horror, action or alien encounter movie.
  • It veers wildly back and forth between actual science and Rapture inspired religious mumbo-jumbo.
  • And did I mention that Nick Cage really sucks the air out of every scene?

Of course widowhood reared its head. Cage’s character is a widower who drinks himself to sleep every night while staring morosely at the unopened birthday gift his wife died before having the chance to give him the year before, and there is cgi galore. The end is part Michael Bay/part Spielberg AI. And there are two adorable children. Something for everyone and therein lay the problem. No focus. Story drifted and then would scream off in an almost opposite direction.

I hate it when good story ideas are treated so badly. Some people should not be allowed to make movies.

Family Matters


Mom called me Thursday afternoon. Because it was the tenth anniversary of my marriage to my late husband, I thought for a brief second she may have remembered. But the phone call was about her. Another streak unbroken.

“DNOS sold your father’s car,” she informed me. “And I am pissed.”

The car, if you remember, was a huge bone of contention in the days following Dad’s death last October. My brother, CB, was desperate for Mom to sign it over to him because he didn’t have a reliable vehicle back in Nevada and the truth was that without dependable wheels, he was never going to find work. But DNOS would not hear of it. CB behaved poorly during Dad’s last days and even worse in the aftermath. They don’t get along anyway, but DNOS was Dad’s favorite. She was the one who shouldered the load during his illness. She thought that CB should have manned up and acted his age instead of mining his childhood grievances. He was miffed that no one would at least allow him the right to have issues with the way he was parented. They are both a little right and a little wrong.

In the end, I sided with DNOS. I am the swing vote. I swung incorrectly in this instance. DNOS sold the car in the spring – without a word to Mom – because she wanted the money to pay for repairs to her jeep. Mom had signed the title over to her but on the condition that the car would be available for Nephew1 when he turned sixteen next year. DNOS did not mention the sale of the car until Mom showed up at her house yesterday and asked where it was.

It isn’t a huge deal really. Nephew1 will undoubtedly nag Mom into buying him a beater anyway and my cousin’s husband runs an autobody shop where such vehicles show up regularly. The issue is the money. DNOS, apparently, helped herself to grocery gift cards that Mom had in the house while Mom was visiting us in July. About $400 dollars worth of script which DNOS claims was just $200 and that she “borrowed” to give to BabySis who was broke and begging while Mom was gone.

DNOS has repaid the $200 she claims she borrowed for BabySis, but the kicker is that BabySis had no idea what Mom was talking about when Mom brought it up to her over the past weekend. BabySis was begging again for cash to buy cigarrettes (how does one find the balls to ask for ciggie money from a woman whose husband died from lung cancer?) and Mom reminded her of the $200.

“DNOS never gave me any gift cards.”

Here’s the bottom line. DNOS was Dad’s favorite and she used him like a private credit union, borrowing and repaying in amounts and on terms that only the two of them knew. Dad is dead. DNOS’s spending habits live on.

Mom had a conversation with DNOS about everything. What did she say?

“Don’t tell Annie.”

As if. I am most likely to hear from our mother when things are awry.

I told her what I thought she should do. Whether she will do it or not is debatable. I didn’t even entertain the thought of calling my sister. I like my sister. I like her husband and her son. And I know, more than anyone I think, just how taxing the caregiving she did for Dad was and how much heavier the burden was because I upped and remarried and left the country. I don’t feel like causing a rift between us because Mom has been unclear about her new position on handouts to her children and grandchildren. I handed Mom my two cents, Canadian, and she will do what she will do. I did tell her this,

“I could go all drama about the unfairness where money has always been concerned in our family and remind you of the differing standards you and Dad had for each of us kids, and how DNOS, and me especially, where always left to fend for ourselves even in times of crisis, but I won’t. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what do you want to do with your money and what is your criteria for lending money and giving away possessions now.”

And It’s Friday


I have been feeling a tad charred around my creative edges for a few weeks. I realized that I write everyday and have done so for over two years now. It may not seem like much to anyone right now, but I don’t think I have ever worked this hard at anything in my life. And so, I decided to step back, think and plan. What comes next? That is the question foremost in my mind and on more fronts than just the writing.

As Suzy would say, it’s time for a bit of 10-10-10. I’ve pondered asking her for a bit of an assist, but she has had her hands full this summer as her husband was quite ill for a time. I don’t like to presume on friendships anyway, but I am less likely to ask for help when someone is dealing with things more important than simply career and life goals. More on my plans next week.

So I settled into the mommy life this last week with swim lessons and dog sitting for Edee. The latter of which brought an epiphany. I am not cut from pet owner cloth regardless of how sweet the pet might be.

 I began purging for the hamlet-wide garage sale at the end of the month and found, to my dismay, we still own far too many things we don’t use. This does not bode well for us when Rob’s transfer number eventually comes up in the coming year. We have to be able to travel lighter for the foreseeable future and we are fat.

I jumped another widow hurdle with what would have been the tenth anniversary of my marriage to Will. It was made more difficult by the sense of obligation and my lack of enthusiasm for such obligations and by the fact that I feel inferior because of it. Dee has been especially chatty about her father these days and the older girls have planned a commemorative picnic for next week to honor Shelley’s passing, and I am left feeling terrible because I am okay with not doing these things: talking about the past, creating shrines, “celebrating” anniversaries. My mom is planning a birthday party for Dad at the end of the month. August is a month of birthdays in my family. More family members had August birthdays than any other month and there was always a get-together. 

Anyway Rob and I talked about it and agreed that the past simply is and that it’s unproductive to feel obligated to it unless we derive some sort of comfort from it. I find grief exhausting enough when it is roused from its slumber by random circumstance without purposely poking at it like a child with a stick.

I also had sibling issues and updates. When I told Rob about them his comment was,

“I should have vetted your family more thoroughly.”

But that is a two way street.

I wrote a few 50 Something pieces although I am still unsure about my involvement there and the mom0sphere in general. They are both good pieces. The one on health care is my favorite.

And finally, I need to acknowledge the Lovely Blog award I received from Silverstar. I am rarely honored  with such things. I am not edgy like my friend Lora who gets the coolest awards and I am not charming enough to inspire cuddly awards, nor am I brave enough to ask and receive. I toil away in anonymity with just my few dear, gentle readers for company.

Thank you, Silverstarlovelyblog15.