As I followed the final scenes, I tried to analyze what turns on the tear faucet at certain movies. It must be that raw celluloid emotion falling off the screen as fast as the tears dribbling from my nose. We go for a diversion and pay to cry. Why is it sometimes easier to conceal tears in real life than in a darkened theater? Here the face is illuminated only by reflections from the screen, not by someone else’s eyes …
motionally exhausted yet refreshed, I was already thinking ahead, planning my escape as the show ended.
I hoped the credits would be ridiculously windy, long enough to sit through and regain my composure. By now, I cursed myself for not carrying any tissues and for wearing sleeves far too short to serve as handkerchiefs.
“How am I going to blow my nose before the flood carries it away?” I thought nervously.
It seemed almost everyone else had the same idea, lingering and pretending to stretch as the long credits inched their way before our bloodshot eyes. As wetness clouded and smeared my vision, I knew those of us wearing glasses had a greater challenge. Even when the lights came up, I couldn’t clean them too soon or I would have made a spectacle of myself. Praying the fog would evaporate in the air conditioning, I watched fuzzy people walk past us.
What theater were we in? Would we have to walk in a crowded lobby, red-eyed and sniffling? I remembered we were in the last one at the end, luckily right by the door.
Still sitting in silence, I was already planning my strategy as I rebrushed my fingers along a puffy cheek.
If my mother and I acted quickly, we could exit and scan the asphalt and sun-baked cars, pretending to be momentarily blinded by the bright light. That’s enough to make your eyes water. Then I would think of something funny and fast-forward past one of the most moving and emotional screen stories I had ever witnessed. That’s when I would finally clear my throat and announce, “Oh, I can’t wait until it comes out on video.”
It was time. We would have to leave. But first we’d have to face each other, admitting that we had succumbed to a heavy, yet healthy dose of cinema sentimentality.
Suddenly, that wasn’t so bad, shedding a few tears in front of my mother. It was just a silly old love story, but that’s the best kind, the one you should share with someone you love. I couldn’t have picked a better companion.
I felt something being pressed into my hand. A gift from a generous benefactor? A blessing from a great humanitarian?
No, just a clean dry tissue from Mom. Thank goodness, she still knows how to wipe my tears away.
(And what movie was it? "The Bridges of Madison County.")
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
It’s Okay to Cry with Your Mom at the Movies 2
It was just over that halfway point that I realized this film was not going to be just sappy. It was going to be sad, the kind of gut-wrenching, on-screen personal agony that sucks the tears out of even the hardiest audience members. Unfortunately, I was going to be one of them.
Please, I know how this is going to end, so let me get it out of my mind before the waterfall starts. Oh, no, too late. Who needs the current rating system? I want tissue ratings, 1T, 2T, 3T or BYOB (bring your own box) …
A person can only swallow hard so many times before the liquid starts leaking from the eyes and nose. A hand slyly tries to sneak up the side of the face to wipe away tears under the pretense of scratching. That wouldn’t be so bad, but when the nose starts running, a person has few options: sniffle, blow, or silently drown.
Suddenly, I wished I were anywhere but here. The unbearable afternoon humidity outside the air conditioned film sanctuary was almost inviting as the movie progressed, pulling me deeper and deeper into the emotional turmoil. I twisted my head slightly to either side, up and down, searching the bare walls for anything to focus on but the screen. But it was extremely difficult as the movie reached its climax and did its job, compelling me to watch.
Mercifully, someone broke the silence with sniffles. Breathing again, I knew this was my chance to conceal my own by prying my rubber soles off the sticky floor simultaneously. But I was distracted by a nearby wheezing. Did it come from a few rows ahead, directly behind or next to me? I knew I had heard that familiar sniffle before as my shoes peeled themselves from the remnants of movie-goers past.
More tomorrow …
Please, I know how this is going to end, so let me get it out of my mind before the waterfall starts. Oh, no, too late. Who needs the current rating system? I want tissue ratings, 1T, 2T, 3T or BYOB (bring your own box) …
A person can only swallow hard so many times before the liquid starts leaking from the eyes and nose. A hand slyly tries to sneak up the side of the face to wipe away tears under the pretense of scratching. That wouldn’t be so bad, but when the nose starts running, a person has few options: sniffle, blow, or silently drown.
Suddenly, I wished I were anywhere but here. The unbearable afternoon humidity outside the air conditioned film sanctuary was almost inviting as the movie progressed, pulling me deeper and deeper into the emotional turmoil. I twisted my head slightly to either side, up and down, searching the bare walls for anything to focus on but the screen. But it was extremely difficult as the movie reached its climax and did its job, compelling me to watch.
Mercifully, someone broke the silence with sniffles. Breathing again, I knew this was my chance to conceal my own by prying my rubber soles off the sticky floor simultaneously. But I was distracted by a nearby wheezing. Did it come from a few rows ahead, directly behind or next to me? I knew I had heard that familiar sniffle before as my shoes peeled themselves from the remnants of movie-goers past.
More tomorrow …
Thursday, February 26, 2009
It’s Okay to Cry with Your Mom at the Movies 1
Here's another essay I found from a decade ago …
I'd matured past the age of skinned knees and bruised egos. That’s when Mom could easily wipe away the tears.
Now I’m into sprained ankles and seeking sanity in the real world. Mom doesn’t see me cry much these days. That could be because we live a state apart.
Many grown children like me want to believe we are adult enough not to cry in front of our parents, unless something terrible has happened and crying is the only natural response.
We like to believe we control our emotions … most of the time. But some movies crumble the facade.
The film my mother and I wanted to see had been labeled a tear-jerker, but I felt brave that day. However, I was having my doubts as the theater complex came into view. I wished I hadn’t overstuffed my jeans’ pockets with a small billfold and a ring of keys, leaving no room for essentials like tissues.
I was beginning to tally the other coming attractions on a second hand when a hush signaled the opening scene of our feature presentation …
“It’s kind of dragging here, isn’t it?” Mom whispered, 45 minutes into the movie.
“No, this is the perfect build-up to make the inevitable believable. You have to understand the roots of the relationship before it can happen. Even in fiction or film, you have to believe it can happen. That’s what captures your emotion.”
That’s what I wanted to say, but only shrugged in response.
More tomorrow …
I'd matured past the age of skinned knees and bruised egos. That’s when Mom could easily wipe away the tears.
Now I’m into sprained ankles and seeking sanity in the real world. Mom doesn’t see me cry much these days. That could be because we live a state apart.
Many grown children like me want to believe we are adult enough not to cry in front of our parents, unless something terrible has happened and crying is the only natural response.
We like to believe we control our emotions … most of the time. But some movies crumble the facade.
The film my mother and I wanted to see had been labeled a tear-jerker, but I felt brave that day. However, I was having my doubts as the theater complex came into view. I wished I hadn’t overstuffed my jeans’ pockets with a small billfold and a ring of keys, leaving no room for essentials like tissues.
I was beginning to tally the other coming attractions on a second hand when a hush signaled the opening scene of our feature presentation …
“It’s kind of dragging here, isn’t it?” Mom whispered, 45 minutes into the movie.
“No, this is the perfect build-up to make the inevitable believable. You have to understand the roots of the relationship before it can happen. Even in fiction or film, you have to believe it can happen. That’s what captures your emotion.”
That’s what I wanted to say, but only shrugged in response.
More tomorrow …
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Meanest mom in the world #2
Ah, the rest of the …
Proclamation
I, Gordo, hereby proclaim I have the meanest mother in the world. Here are the reasons:
5. She makes me feed and take care of my pets. (She has enough trouble feeding and and taking care of me.)
6. She won’t let me spend hours watching television or playing computer games. (She’s sure aliens are sending rays through the TV and computer to control my mind.)
7. She won’t let me keep digging a big hole on the side of the house. (She knows she’ll be the first one who falls into it.)
8. She overwhelms me with love, hugs and kisses. (She knows I’m at the age where I act like that stuff is yucky — at least in front of other people.)
I attest to the above statements, proclaiming that my mother is indeed the meanest mother in the world.
And I'm still proud of that distinction to this very day!
Proclamation
I, Gordo, hereby proclaim I have the meanest mother in the world. Here are the reasons:
5. She makes me feed and take care of my pets. (She has enough trouble feeding and and taking care of me.)
6. She won’t let me spend hours watching television or playing computer games. (She’s sure aliens are sending rays through the TV and computer to control my mind.)
7. She won’t let me keep digging a big hole on the side of the house. (She knows she’ll be the first one who falls into it.)
8. She overwhelms me with love, hugs and kisses. (She knows I’m at the age where I act like that stuff is yucky — at least in front of other people.)
I attest to the above statements, proclaiming that my mother is indeed the meanest mother in the world.
And I'm still proud of that distinction to this very day!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Meanest mom in the world #1
As I mentioned the other day, my baby is 26, my only child, the source of the lovely shades of silver in my hair …
He and I are good friends, in addition to that mom-son stuff. However, I did test those boundaries more than a decade ago when I worked very hard to find ways to remind him I was his mom first, then a friend. In his frustration, I went ahead and composed something for him to sign … another example of just how wonderful a mom I was, I am, I will always be.
Proclamation
I, Gordo, hereby proclaim I have the meanest mother in the world. Here are the reasons for this proclamation:
1. She forces me to eat half-way healthy foods. (It’s part of a genetic defect in the motherly species.)
2. She makes me do my homework. (It precedes the lecture on “work hard and you’ll get far in this world.”)
3. She makes me do extra math. (It precedes the lecture on “have a little self-discipline and you’ll get far in this world.”)
4. She makes me take a shower and change clothes almost every day. (She can only hold her nose for so long.)
See the rest of the reasons tomorrow …
He and I are good friends, in addition to that mom-son stuff. However, I did test those boundaries more than a decade ago when I worked very hard to find ways to remind him I was his mom first, then a friend. In his frustration, I went ahead and composed something for him to sign … another example of just how wonderful a mom I was, I am, I will always be.
Proclamation
I, Gordo, hereby proclaim I have the meanest mother in the world. Here are the reasons for this proclamation:
1. She forces me to eat half-way healthy foods. (It’s part of a genetic defect in the motherly species.)
2. She makes me do my homework. (It precedes the lecture on “work hard and you’ll get far in this world.”)
3. She makes me do extra math. (It precedes the lecture on “have a little self-discipline and you’ll get far in this world.”)
4. She makes me take a shower and change clothes almost every day. (She can only hold her nose for so long.)
See the rest of the reasons tomorrow …
Monday, February 23, 2009
Happy birthday George #2
The rest of my conversation with George Washington …
“Listen, George, I agree with Ralph Waldo Emerson when he addressed the women’s rights convention in 1855 and told them, quote ‘women … more vulnerable, more infirm, more mortal than men … by this and their social influence, the civilizers of mankind’ unquote.”
“I see. So what are you women doing in these so-called modern times?”
“Oh, just about everything. Two have sat on the Supreme Court … Oh, George, pick up your wooden teeth. They just fell out. And a woman was even on the vice presidential position on a major ticket in the 1980s, and you should have seen Hillary and Sarah ready to duke it out last year to get into the White House. We’ve had women in the Senate and the House, and not cleaning them either. There are female governors, mayors. We’ve come a long way, baby!”
“Long way, baby?”
“Yes, one of those advertising slogans that defined a generation of women who said they were mad as hell and weren’t going to take anymore. And that was from a movie. Yep, we had women marching for equal rights, burning their bras —”
“Burning their what?”
“Unmentionables, George. We even had a theme song in the 70’s, ‘I am woman, hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore.’ We’ve made lots of strides, but you founding fathers sure didn’t make it easy for us.”
“Is there nothing women do now that they did 200 years ago?”
“Some of it even better, George. Join me for some cherry pie and I’ll tell you all about it …”
“Listen, George, I agree with Ralph Waldo Emerson when he addressed the women’s rights convention in 1855 and told them, quote ‘women … more vulnerable, more infirm, more mortal than men … by this and their social influence, the civilizers of mankind’ unquote.”
“I see. So what are you women doing in these so-called modern times?”
“Oh, just about everything. Two have sat on the Supreme Court … Oh, George, pick up your wooden teeth. They just fell out. And a woman was even on the vice presidential position on a major ticket in the 1980s, and you should have seen Hillary and Sarah ready to duke it out last year to get into the White House. We’ve had women in the Senate and the House, and not cleaning them either. There are female governors, mayors. We’ve come a long way, baby!”
“Long way, baby?”
“Yes, one of those advertising slogans that defined a generation of women who said they were mad as hell and weren’t going to take anymore. And that was from a movie. Yep, we had women marching for equal rights, burning their bras —”
“Burning their what?”
“Unmentionables, George. We even had a theme song in the 70’s, ‘I am woman, hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore.’ We’ve made lots of strides, but you founding fathers sure didn’t make it easy for us.”
“Is there nothing women do now that they did 200 years ago?”
“Some of it even better, George. Join me for some cherry pie and I’ll tell you all about it …”
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Happy birthday George #1
During research, I’ve been frustrated and fascinated by the history of women in America. I better understand what my poor foremothers had to endure.
And if I had the chance, I’d have a talk with the father of our country, George Washington, about it.
When he arrives, I’m sure he’ll ask, “So what has happened to the United States since I died in 1799?”
“Have a seat and let me catch you up on all the news. Want a Pepsi? Oh, I’m sorry, tea was about your speed. You know, George, you did a lot of great things for our country, but you made one big mistake.”
“What was that?”
“You should have had Abigail Adams as your vice president.”
“A woman?”
“Yes, a woman, and a darn smart one, too. During the birth of our nation, she warned her husband John to quote ‘not put such unlimited power into the hands of the husbands’ unquote. But did he listen? No. And we had to wait almost 150 years for the right to vote.”
“Women vote? But how is that possible, that isn’t a woman’s place.”
“Well, it is now. In your time, it was assumed by most people that women were naturally subordinate to men in intellect as well as bodily strength. But old Abigail had the right idea when she said women have different capabilities and spheres, but they’re not inferior to men.”
“What an outrageous thought!”
To be continued …
And if I had the chance, I’d have a talk with the father of our country, George Washington, about it.
When he arrives, I’m sure he’ll ask, “So what has happened to the United States since I died in 1799?”
“Have a seat and let me catch you up on all the news. Want a Pepsi? Oh, I’m sorry, tea was about your speed. You know, George, you did a lot of great things for our country, but you made one big mistake.”
“What was that?”
“You should have had Abigail Adams as your vice president.”
“A woman?”
“Yes, a woman, and a darn smart one, too. During the birth of our nation, she warned her husband John to quote ‘not put such unlimited power into the hands of the husbands’ unquote. But did he listen? No. And we had to wait almost 150 years for the right to vote.”
“Women vote? But how is that possible, that isn’t a woman’s place.”
“Well, it is now. In your time, it was assumed by most people that women were naturally subordinate to men in intellect as well as bodily strength. But old Abigail had the right idea when she said women have different capabilities and spheres, but they’re not inferior to men.”
“What an outrageous thought!”
To be continued …
Saturday, February 21, 2009
I saved lives
This coming July marks my husband's and my 30th wedding anniversary and 35 years since we first met. I'm probably thinking summer because I'm tired of the cold. And I'll complain in July because I'll be too dang hot.
Somehow we've survived and actually like each other in addition to that love thing. We've never seriously considered divorce … and besides, I would have misplaced that documentation long ago in my obsessive over-accumulation of paperwork. That's my weakness. Had to have at least one vice since I don't smoke or drink alcohol or coffee. No wonder I burned out in the newspaper field years ago.
Despite the clutter, I have crafted my own little working world within our simple home the past 17 years. Despite the piles of paper it takes for all my books, the two cats running amok, my scatterbrained approach to organization, a kitchen that's been in a state of remodeling for about four years, my odd hours and sooooooo much more, my husband says I give him stability.
Stability. Imagine that. I'm flattered.
He explained that he would have become a mercenary if he hadn’t met and married me.
So, you nasty people out in the world had better thank me. I saved your lives!
Somehow we've survived and actually like each other in addition to that love thing. We've never seriously considered divorce … and besides, I would have misplaced that documentation long ago in my obsessive over-accumulation of paperwork. That's my weakness. Had to have at least one vice since I don't smoke or drink alcohol or coffee. No wonder I burned out in the newspaper field years ago.
Despite the clutter, I have crafted my own little working world within our simple home the past 17 years. Despite the piles of paper it takes for all my books, the two cats running amok, my scatterbrained approach to organization, a kitchen that's been in a state of remodeling for about four years, my odd hours and sooooooo much more, my husband says I give him stability.
Stability. Imagine that. I'm flattered.
He explained that he would have become a mercenary if he hadn’t met and married me.
So, you nasty people out in the world had better thank me. I saved your lives!
Friday, February 20, 2009
Teach your children well
My 26-year-old son stopped by the other day to give me a hug, tell me he loves me, and to use my washer and dryer. At least I taught him how to do his own laundry many years ago …
MOM!
Look at the bedroom clock
I can’t find a matching sock;
I’ll really be late for school
And going barefoot isn’t cool.
MOM!
Is this sock yours or mine?
It’s the only one I could find.
The dryer is hungry today,
Eating everything in its way.
MOM!
I’ve searched all over the floor
And I can’t push open the door.
Laundry baskets are everywhere,
At least I have clean underwear.
MOM!
My school picture is today
And I can’t wear yucky gray;
This outfit will never match,
Please wash another batch.
MOM!
I found this under my bed,
It used to be bright red.
Now my best white shirt is pink
And my jeans are starting to shrink.
MOM!
What do you mean I have to sort?
That’s harder than a school report.
Do I use hot, warm or cold,
I have to know before I’m old.
MOM!
How much soap does it take?
As much flour as to bake?
Will five cups be enough
To clean all this dirty stuff?
MOM!
Why must I do as I’m told?
All these clothes I have to fold?
Let me hide them in the drawer
And we won’t worry anymore.
MOM!
Hangers are so much fun
You have to have more than one
To twist and turn all around,
Look at all these great toys I found!
MOM!
When I’m grown up, big and tall,
Don’t be surprised if I should call,
Asking what to do with my clothes
Because only a mother knows.
MOM!
Look at the bedroom clock
I can’t find a matching sock;
I’ll really be late for school
And going barefoot isn’t cool.
MOM!
Is this sock yours or mine?
It’s the only one I could find.
The dryer is hungry today,
Eating everything in its way.
MOM!
I’ve searched all over the floor
And I can’t push open the door.
Laundry baskets are everywhere,
At least I have clean underwear.
MOM!
My school picture is today
And I can’t wear yucky gray;
This outfit will never match,
Please wash another batch.
MOM!
I found this under my bed,
It used to be bright red.
Now my best white shirt is pink
And my jeans are starting to shrink.
MOM!
What do you mean I have to sort?
That’s harder than a school report.
Do I use hot, warm or cold,
I have to know before I’m old.
MOM!
How much soap does it take?
As much flour as to bake?
Will five cups be enough
To clean all this dirty stuff?
MOM!
Why must I do as I’m told?
All these clothes I have to fold?
Let me hide them in the drawer
And we won’t worry anymore.
MOM!
Hangers are so much fun
You have to have more than one
To twist and turn all around,
Look at all these great toys I found!
MOM!
When I’m grown up, big and tall,
Don’t be surprised if I should call,
Asking what to do with my clothes
Because only a mother knows.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Romance isn't dead #2
Memories of romance 10 years ago …
One night, my hubby and I found ourselves driving around trying to decide where to go to dinner. I wasn’t all that hungry and he couldn’t decide what he wanted either. Cruising in my purple pickup truck, we watched the fall darkness descend as we journeyed the countryside.
Though not frustrated, I gave up on his ability to make decisions this late on a Friday night. I pulled into a small grocery store halfway in the middle of nowhere. My plan was simple. We’d get something from the deli and take it home.
As we walked to the front door in the warm night air, our hands slipped together as we cruised the produce aisle. We checked out the soda flavors cooling in the refrigerator case. We sniffed the lingering scents of the morning bakery rush. And we stopped at the freezer section. Wow. Things had changed a lot since the days of root beer and fries.
With our arms full, we checked out and got back into the truck. I started unwrapping everything and he asked what I was doing.
Something we hadn’t done in a long time.
Under the parking lot light, we made sandwiches and listened to oldies that were oldies when we young. We laughed and gave up trying to snuggle. Bucket seats just aren’t conducive to that sort of behavior. But we talked about what was and what was to be.
This moment assured me that I had made the right decision 24 years ago when I agreed to go out on a date with that senior with the mesmerizing eyes and muscular forearms. I was positive I had made the right decision to meet him at the altar more than 19 years ago. I was positive I had made the right decision to stop at the deli.
Laughing like the 16 and 17 year olds we were once in body and continue to be at heart, we knew the romance had never really died. It may have taken naps through the years, but those only served to refresh us for a night like this.
A night when we forgot the world around us, the responsibilities awaiting us, the 16-year-old son who had better not be having the fun we were having.
Yes, we gave into our passions.
We whipped out a pair of plastic spoons and shared a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Low fat, of course. Who says romance is dead?
One night, my hubby and I found ourselves driving around trying to decide where to go to dinner. I wasn’t all that hungry and he couldn’t decide what he wanted either. Cruising in my purple pickup truck, we watched the fall darkness descend as we journeyed the countryside.
Though not frustrated, I gave up on his ability to make decisions this late on a Friday night. I pulled into a small grocery store halfway in the middle of nowhere. My plan was simple. We’d get something from the deli and take it home.
As we walked to the front door in the warm night air, our hands slipped together as we cruised the produce aisle. We checked out the soda flavors cooling in the refrigerator case. We sniffed the lingering scents of the morning bakery rush. And we stopped at the freezer section. Wow. Things had changed a lot since the days of root beer and fries.
With our arms full, we checked out and got back into the truck. I started unwrapping everything and he asked what I was doing.
Something we hadn’t done in a long time.
Under the parking lot light, we made sandwiches and listened to oldies that were oldies when we young. We laughed and gave up trying to snuggle. Bucket seats just aren’t conducive to that sort of behavior. But we talked about what was and what was to be.
This moment assured me that I had made the right decision 24 years ago when I agreed to go out on a date with that senior with the mesmerizing eyes and muscular forearms. I was positive I had made the right decision to meet him at the altar more than 19 years ago. I was positive I had made the right decision to stop at the deli.
Laughing like the 16 and 17 year olds we were once in body and continue to be at heart, we knew the romance had never really died. It may have taken naps through the years, but those only served to refresh us for a night like this.
A night when we forgot the world around us, the responsibilities awaiting us, the 16-year-old son who had better not be having the fun we were having.
Yes, we gave into our passions.
We whipped out a pair of plastic spoons and shared a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Low fat, of course. Who says romance is dead?
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