All posts by AmeliaJake

is this showing

Over a decade in the past in Kendallville

HERE IS AN ARTICLE I WROTE ABOUT GOING TO A MOVIE AT THE STRAND WITH MY GRANDSON published in Kendallville Mall.

The name of the movie was “Secondhand Lions.” And “we two” were in the audience, each with a large cola in the drink holder and a large bucket of popcorn between us.

I am the elder of this two-person club, by a good 44 years. I am the grandma. Specifically, I am the grandma who likes good books and good movies and has always been drawn to stories where characters try to pull themselves up to what is right.

I am the grandma with scenes in her head: Humphrey Bogart in the rain in Casablanca telling Ingrid Bergman about how if the plane leaves without her she’ll regret it – maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of her life.

I remember Gregory Peck leaving the courtroom in “To Kill a Mockingbird.” I can see David Niven’s quiet determined bravery in “55 Days in Peking.”

But let us not think of me – this grandma – as a gentle soul of soft voice and compassionate character.

No, I am also the grandma who looks at a refrigerator door standing open and yells, “The next person who doesn’t shut this door is going to . . . “ Well, let’s not go into what exactly it is that I yell; let us settle on the notion that I can be pretty inventive.

I am the grandma who looks over her glasses and inquires, “Now exactly how long have you known about this project . . . that is due tomorrow?”

Now the younger partner on this “we two” team is 10, soon to be 11 . . . and he is Cameron, the grandson. He likes video games and action movies and is constantly badgering me for permission to build up forts and such in a computer game called “Stronghold” which is installed on MY computer.

However, he is also the boy who gets up before school to turn on the Animal Planet Channel or the History Channel. And once, he and I stayed up way past our bedtimes to watch “Attila the Hun.”

So when I saw Cory Renkenberger, manager of the Strand in the Do-It-Center and he said “Secondhand Lions” was coming the following week, it got my attention. I remembered the magazine reviews I’d read and I thought that any movie where Michael Caine and Robert Duvall star as two old eccentrics who spent 40 years of derring-do in Africa and are now hosting a great-nephew for a summer should be pretty good.

Actually, maybe too good to see alone . . . and maybe too good to see with a brood. So the idea came to me of “we two” – Cameron and I.

We went on a school night – homework done first – and were first in the theater. And this takes us back to the beginning . . . in the theater with the drinks and popcorn.

While waiting for the movie to start, we munched our way about three-quarters of the way down the popcorn container. Cameron looked at me and said, “Why, Grandma, I think you’ve outdone yourself.”

I got us a refill.

The lights went down . . . the movie came on. We watched through the exciting parts, the funny parts, the sad parts and the part where Robert Duvall gives a portion of his “how to be a man” speech.

He told the boy there are just some things you ought to believe in – honor and courage and virtue . . . some things you just need to believe are true – such as people being basically good.

I didn’t look over at the boy sitting next to me, but I thought of him – of us sitting there together in a small town theater . . . and I remembered another movie I had seen over a decade ago –“Shadowlands”

That movie was based on aspects of C.S. Lewis’ life. Anthony Hopkins played the title role and he spoke of feeling happiness lay in what was over the crest of a hill, around the bend of a road. Then later in the movie he reconsiders and talks about happiness being “here and now and that’s enough.”

I feel the pull of the crest of a hill, the bend in a road . . . but in that theater, in this little town, the here and now of “we two” was enough.

Put in perspective in Kendallville, Indiana

Right now I live in a small town in a nondescript state in the Midwest – nothing exotic or romantic about Indiana . . . no Big Sky country, no mountains, etc. At times I have sighed about that. And in this small town in this blah state, I have been feeling a bit down this holiday season.

Then, just a little while ago, I received news that a four-year-old little girl in my very extended family has a mass in her stomach and it is cancer. I remember when my sons were four – blond hair, baby teeth, pajamas with feet in them. I don’t even want to walk up close to imagining how I would have felt at such news. Walking around the periphery in my mind leaves me dumbfoundedly numb. What awful news to receive.

This is, of course, the kind of news that will make one feel down in the holiday season, and it sure makes my piques and frustrations seem embarrassingly minute. But, human nature being what it is, I’m certain I will again lose my perspective and be whining. It’s kind of sad to realize that.

Frank Sinatra and Joe Biden

I see on the news page that today would have been Sinatra’s 100th birthday. I think he was a cad. I once looked at a house and announced I would never buy it because it was full of
Sinatra albums. Totally cleaned out and repainted, I would always be aware that Sinatra had been supreme in that house. Lauren Bacall did not have a good opinion of him – and she actually knew him and dated him.

We all know AmeliaJake can’t stand Joe Biden – thinks he’s an absolute bozo. And now the word is out about Frank Sinatra. In fact, I simply cannot bear to spend any more time thinking of that man.

The road taken

This morning I wondered if I should post some thoughts or go clean my granddaughter’s room because I couldn’t stand it anymore. Well, I went up there and THREE hours later emerged from a partly cleaned room. I had my frowny face on. Now I am on a crusade, which is not to be confused with a jihad.

I decided I’d better get to the pharmacy and pick up my statin before I lost my stasis. (Yeah, that was a stretchy word play, but the heck with it. It helped; not as much as swearing, but it did help.

I saw this at Wal-Mart when I went to get package tape:
tasty boys

I found it amusing, and, on reflection, given the way today’s path took me, maybe this might be a useful thing to learn – or I could buy an army of little ninja gingerbread men

Bing Crosby and I are just dreaming about Christmas

I’m sitting here and Bing’s dead, but it works via technology. That’s the good part of the morning; the unfortunate part involved a mildew/mold with bleach pump spray bottle malfunctioning and backfiring, sending its back plug flying heaven knows where and cleaner onto my shirt.

I immediately started to spot. My shirt (most of it) is burgundy and it looks as if an animal with rose paws jumped on me and ran around. Not to be outdone by fate, I broke off the entire lid and poured the stuff into the tub, making a dilute solution. I did post a note to people that it wasn’t a bubble bath waiting for them, although I think the smell might alert them. It ain’t little old lady lavender.

I told Bing about it, but this technology thing is a one-way deal and he is still happily singing about Christmas in Killarney and Mele Kalikimaka, which is how they say Merry Christmas “where the palm trees sway.”

Followed my inclinations

Yesterday, I was quite adamant about not doing chores and I kept to my desire. I did none. To heck with the guilt trip thing. I built a fire downstairs and watched two movies: Dirty Harry and L.A. Confidential. I’m a classy chick, no? Yes, you’re right: NO. we roasted hot dogs over the fire, with a discussion on whether to put the catsup on the bun and then add the hot dog or do it in reverse. I prefer the former.

There was also some confusion for one of the viewers that can be summarized with the repeated voiced question: Just who are the bad and good guys? With a fire and hot dogs, it was not something I was concerned about – Russell Crowe didn’t get killed and that was good enough for moi.

Second thoughts before dawn

As I pulled out of the driveway this morning at approximately 5:50 in the dark morning, I braced myself and looked at the lights, which last night I referred to as “slugs”, and I thought they looked much crisper and not tending to blend together, forming a glowing slime trail.

I don’t know if it was because I was slightly farther away or because the light bulbs had to adapt to the cold temperature. That last idea has no basis in any scientific education, but, what the heck?

I had made a slight adjustment last evening, but I hadn’t expected it to make much of a difference. Apparently, this change in detail was worthwhile. You see, before the lines of lights looked like Arabic writing and I had some apprehension it might be saying something provocative. I’m not going to apologize for the topical reference; it just popped into my head and like too many things that enter my head that way, it has popped out of my mouth – well, in this case, off my fingers.

I have chores to do; I do not want to do them. NOT ONE OF THEM. I tried to put them in context of making things nice for the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, not to mention Santa, Scrooge and any visiting reindeer, but it didn’t work. I didn’t get motivated. Now, if I had a legion of elves running around with dust cloths, brooms, nice smelling polish and a cheerful attitude about cleaning bathrooms, maybe I could get more into the spirit. You know, we’d have plates of little sandwiches and a cheese ball and crackers and sparkling water and upbeat Christmas music on the CD player, and I think then I could get in the mood as supervisor of the little guys.

I might even vacuum, hopefully not sucking up any elf hats.

Hmmm, I might be in the mood to start a fire, watch a movie and, uh, let clutter find its way into the aforementioned fire. I can see myself playing around with this idea.

Lights and bushes

I put out 450 lights on the front bushes but I think they look odd. When I did it before, the effect was of dancing fireflies. Tonight, it looks as if someone has taken a white marker on a photoshop scribble. I knew there would be a random aspect to the display since I pull down branches and then let them lift the lights up high, but this looks like totally out of balance. I don’t know if I can adjust them too much because it was difficult to just get them up. I might wind up having to just pull the plug. Not only is the path erratic, but the lights don’t look like fireflies; they look like glowing slugs.

You don’t want to see a picture. Really, you don’t.

So AmeliaJake

Recently someone used the phrase “so you” in referring to something I had written; actually, I hear that a lot about what I do, say and write. I never gave it much thought; after all, isn’t everyone “so themselves.” Maybe; I suppose so. However, perhaps a large number of people are a quietly blending in type, not being quirky themselves. Dare I say they are “normal?” And where does that leave me? No, I don’t want to know at this late stage in my life.

What Jack Nicholson said in A Few Good Men probably fits me: Truth? AmeliaJake, you can’t handle the truth. I can only peek at it every now and then, such as acknowledging that I went into the Dollar Tree in Kendallville and bought candy cane antlers and a red blinking nose and put them on and took pictures and sent them to Der Bingle and LZP.

antlers2
nose2

LZP texted it back that the antlers suited me and when I mentioned the red nose, he replied, “Why did I already know that?” I think that translates as “so you”. WordPress is having problems uploading the pictures and maybe that should tell me something.

While I am waiting to try to upload again, I might as well mention that I also bought some ribbon, and gold, red and green bells and made a headband which I then put on and did a video of headshaking. I’m not going to try to upload that one – the old AJ jowls sort of jiggled while the bells rang.