The Lion is Still King

A rainy weekday night, all activities cancelled, the kids and I went to see The Lion King with popcorn for dinner. We were the only four people in the theatre, our own private showing.  After giggles and wonder, it became a sing-along, a competition of who knew the most lines throughout this classic film with lessons for people of all ages.

I remember first watching The Lion King (on VHS no less) shortly after Tara was born, as she lay sleeping in my arms, home alone.  I knew nothing about the movie and –spoiler alert!!–I was stunned when Mufasa was killed during the stampede.  Now, this is a Disney film, so I should have known a parent would die, but thankfully we had the non-surprising redemption by the end.  I cried, I cried during and after the movie.

This was Tara’s movie of choice for several years.  I honestly think I watched or listened to The Lion King over 100 times. We fast-forwarded  when Scar recruited the hyenas with his Nazi-esque song, toddler terrifying.  It’s even scarier on the big screen, but thankfully all of my kids beyond that today.  We recently found the stuffed Simba and Nala from when Tara was younger, a few of the myriad of The Lion King memorabilia we owned.  We all love the Broadway show of The Lion King too.  So in the spirit of the original film.

Five days after the movie refrains of “Hakuna Matada” and “I Just Can’t Wait to be King” are sung, hummed, laughed en masse or in private. It’s truly time for my kids to take their place in the Great Circle of Life.  C

A Challenge

Sadly, after a round of writing on vacation, there has been another drought.  Too busy with the end of summer, prepping for school, kids’ soccer, work, car break downs, last minute plans.  Little time for writing or pictures or relaxing as anticipation for school next week is underway.

A little diversion, last night a group of moms and daughters all saw “The Help.”  The moms had all read the book, which I loved, and none of the girls had, but we all enjoyed the movie. Take your daughters, show them the Civil Rights movement in the 60′s, with impeccable sets, homes of the rich-poor-and in between, simple clothing, all through a cloud of smoke.

I call this movie a Changer.  Can it change us for the better?  Skeeter writing a book about The Help during the tumultuous civil rights era in Mississippi was so courageous, so funny, so inspiring. A town full of bigots, some of which probably still remain in many places, ready to pounce on her.  They could have taken her life as they did so many others for going to school, riding a bus, walking on the wrong street, just breathing.

What have we done with our lives?  Do we stand up for our beliefs?  Do we believe in tolerance, acceptance of others? How can we impact our small world?  Can we stand up to the adult bullies in our midst? How can we teach our children to be brave, sponges for learning, to stand up for right if we do not show by example?

What will you do differently today?  How will you react tomorrow, after seeing “The Help” to make the people around you accept that though people  may have different skin tones, come from different financial situations, have different sexual orientations, different goals in life, people want to Be.  and not just seen as “different” for accepting their past, their skins, their goals, their loves. C

Just another wedding

Did you don a crazy hat with your bunny slippers, drink tea in the dark at 4 am, wish you were in London, and watch the royal wedding at 4 am?  I didn’t .  Did you watch with bated breath to see their first kiss on the balcony, above throngs of people at Buckingham Palace?  I saw the kiss (es), but I was not waiting with bated breath.

We have no royalty in the US, though there are certainly people who revere certain actors, singers, reality “stars” and musicians as royalty.  We do not have the history of kings and queens and incest and shenanigans to become the next on throne and murdering of wives to marry another and another and another and changing the face of a country’s religion simply to marry yet another, that naughty Henry.

But, the thought that we can fall in love and become a princess is still astonishing.  Down to the horse drawn carriages, military marches, spectacle, a country closed for a day,  a formal church wedding for the world to view, seats filled with many people whom you do not know.

Kate Middleton was glorious and glowing in her beautiful gown and simple veil, hair flowing.  Prince Edward nattily dressed,  all smiles.  But, once the dancing is finished, the honeymoon is over, they begin their married life together. They will have to answer questions we non-royalty have to answer like how to share their funds, who will cook the meals (not them), which side of the bed to sleep on, who will clean the loo (not them), whether to buy a puppy or pony, what car to buy, can we afford a house (of course), what color to paint the walls.

I watched the Princess Diana and Charles wedding in high school.  That shy girl, her puffy sleeves and extremely long train what I remember most, along with her uncertain wave.  Her princess days did not last long, like so many marriages today, but she was not beheaded or sent to a nunnery like the princesses of old. She certainly battled her own demons, yet was so loved by the people for doing all her charity work. A mysterious death, and now a young prince sadly has his wedding day without his mommy at his side.

And Princess Sarah, not even invited to the royal wedding today, goes from married royalty to Weight Watchers schlepper, author, schemer, and  royalty lightening rod.

So, Kate and Edward, congratulations on your marriage. May you have the strength, the love, the ability to remain and loving, successful, giving couple for many years.  C

Hair–the Tale

Sex, drugs, more sex, dancing, singing, more sex, nudity, and war, war, war.  Wow–what an incredible revival of Hair I saw today, its final Chicago show.  The cast was vibrant, each character alive on stage, whether a lead or part of the tribe.

Intoxicatingly funny, then drawing you in with fear of the draft , we were brought quickly back to the 1960′s reality.  I was obsessed with the movie Hair in high school, learning every word of the songs, dancing with the record again and again.  However, this was the first time I have seen the show live on stage.  What a different experience.   I was amazed how many of the characters and songs I remembered in their entirety, how many were popular on the radio.

Watching the show as an adult gave me a completely different perspective from watching the movie in high school. The hippies excellent messages of peace and freedom and  anti-war and love perhaps lost in their drugs and search for freedom and drop out culture.  Sadly, we are still fighting in wars on foreign soil, losing men and women each day.  Today, however, our soldiers choose to fight, they are not drafted into service. And they are not spit upon when they return home, but held up amongst the people in their families, their town.

Compassionate and effusive, irreverent but relevant, sexual but not exploitative, Hair was an  escape, an educator, a liberator, a story told of joy and fear and hope and loss.  Freedom.  and not.  Awesome.  C

Movies Worth a View

Three movies in the theater in one week–an unexpected luxury!   I recently saw The Fighter and The King’s Speech–about two completely divergent families in different countries, classes, clothes, countenance, language, and periods of history but with similar themes of  family expectations vs. achieving individual goals, second sons languishing in their elder’s rotten shadows, and the protagonists overcoming extreme obstacles to succeed.

From hardscrabble Lowell MA to the upper echelons of England, in neither film were there flashy effects, over generated computer creations, time-wasting jokes, or aliens.  Both dramas were based on true stories, with the ability to draw me into a recent historical time period with excellent costumes and sets, extremely strong ensemble casts of unusual characters, appropriate (and inappropriate) language spotted with unanticipated humor, and attention-keeping story lines.

Already winning a multitude of awards, I expect Academy Award nominations for actors in both films, especially Collin Firth and a supporting nod for Geoffrey Rush in The King’s Speech and supporting nods for Christian Bale and Melissa Leo in The Fighter.   Two movies worth seeing in the theater, and my surprising choice of The Fighter for the better of the two. While the growth in Mark Wahlberg was impressive with Amy Adam at his side, Christian Bale was over-the-top in a believable way. A fantastic way to spend a couple hours lost in someone else’s lives, both tense and inspiring.

The third film does NOT deserve any mention with the excellent ones above.  Gulliver’s Travels definitely did NOT live up to my Jack-Black expectations.  Enough said about wasting a couple hours in the theater (son’s choice).  C

New Book Choice

I  become bored in most romantic-comedies because they follow the same path, trying to hide behind different jobs, fancy locations and funky friends–the same ups and downs with a twist.  And sitcoms, launghs but many the same.  And books-I don’t want to know they end in the first third of the story.

How refreshing, how unexpected to read “The Lace Reader” by Brunonia Barry.  American history, magic, dreams ,mystery, secrets, great character development, turns when you think you can follow the path, destinations unexpected, all set up Salem, MA part of our country’s notorious past comes to life.

I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t give away its secrets. I am happy someone chose this for our book club, since I don’t think I would have chosen it from the cover. I may add more to this post after our meeting next week, but I highly recommend this book. There are no expectations. And I cannot wait for her next book.  I am envious of her talents and creativity. C

An Afternoon Excursion

On a welcoming blue sky day, I argue there is no prettier city than Chicago.  It was incredible today, walking down Michigan Ave today after meetings, headed to the Art Institute.  Vats overflowing with fresh flowers, autumn ready gardens, throngs of tourists and locals, segway tours, cameras pointed up-down-around.

The destination was the photography exhibit of Henri Cartier-Bresson.  Incredible, iconic, historian, traveller, this Frenchman showed the world everyday life in countries around the world: Ghandi’s funeral, behind the Iron Curtain, New York, Paris, Italy, Indonesia, Shaghai, any traveller’s dream and his sometimes nightmare.  His hand-held camera captured the sexy body parts, the horrors and reality of war, the poignant portraits,  the beautiful-the plain-the bosses-the servants-the workers-the drinkers-the watchers-the forgotten.

It was an incredible show.  If it comes your way, plan to spend at least an hour learning, laughing, loathing. his appreciation for the frame, the math, the juxtaposition of lives, the darkness, the light, you will remember it.

My sister and I also took our first walk into the newer modern wing of the Art Institute.  Jaw-dropping architecture showing off our wonderful skyline, a plethora of natural light so reminiscent of the Musee O’rsay in Paris (a former train station), the incredible colors popped from the canvases.  Other than guards, we were the only visitors in several galleries–so quiet, so vibrant, so inspiring.  Wow, we kept saying.

light and space in the modern wing

I don’t understand all the modern art–some seem so simple, so juvenile–but I reveled in much of it.  I recognized many of the works from their old locations in the Museum, but seeing them all together was breathtaking.  Picasso, Matisse, Klee (one of my favorites), Magritte, Pollock, so many others.  One room had fascinating architectural drawings, even a sampling of modern-designed fabrics–perfect for my home.

mini Picasso sculpture with the real Skyline in the modern wing

Too many times an art exhibit comes to this breathtaking city, a musical I want to see, a new restaurant and my schedule is too busy to fit it in, or it escapes my mind until too late.  Today reminded me to take a break, to explore what is offered.  It is worth the afternoon.  The inspiration is worth it.  And the escape.  C

Concert Memories a Generation Apart

Mom and Jean, a nostalgic thank you for taking me to my first concert–Andy Gibb and the Alessi Brothers at Chicagofest, the pre-cursor to Taste of Chicago.  It was unassigned seating, so we arrived to the open air pavilion early.  We snagged the front row seats, and waited in the sun, the heat, the concrete for our first concert.  The moms wandered around the other music stages, leaving us three girls alone for several hours.  What intoxication, our freedom! What brave ones, our moms, in the time long before cell phones.  The only touchy moment I remember was running to the bathroom lines–in our bare feet, gross–seeing the moms and HOPING they would not notice our lack of footwear.  They didn’t.

I remember loving the concert, standing right in front of Andy Gibb.  No lasers, no dancers, no  video.  Just pop music with a cute singer and band behind him. Big brother Barry Gibb was standing in the wings, acknowledging our calls with a wave.

I was mentally reminiscing about this concert as we went to our first family stadium concert, to see Lifehouse and Daughtry this past week.  We have been to outdoor venues for concerts, but this was a true rock/pop concert with heavy rock and ballads from Daughtry, bit more pop from Lifehouse, with many songs that all three kids knew.

I loved watching how excited the girls were: standing up to dance when everyone around us was sitting, singing, buying the ubiquitous tee-shirts, taking photos.  Ronan–who hates fireworks–seemed to like the heart-pounding music, liked watching the few graphic changes that Daughtry had, was inspired by the lasers and lighting, intrigued by the drummers.

Having been already been to Alicia Keys this year with one daughter who won tickets, I wonder why the crowds start yelling when the lead singers say “Hello, Chicago!” or “I love to be here in Chicago.”  Do the fans interpret them to be saying “Hello Cindy!” or “I love to be here Pete!”, being acknowledged by the famous and semi-famous singers?  Every time a band says it, there is a groundswell of cheering.  I don’t quite understand it.   And maybe that is why there is such a big press outcry when a famous singer says the wrong city.  People then feel invisible, forgotten.  Like someone walking up to me at a party and saying “Good to see you, Sally” when that isn’t my name.

Thankfully, Daughtry and Jason–lead singer from Lifehouse–said the correct city!, played to the audience, telling stories about their past and songs which always makes me appreciate the music more,  walked through the crowds and seemed to appreciate their fans.  Our kids loved their first stadium show, and I know they hope we go again soon.  Although with seats closer to the stage. C

Who’s Your Hilly?

That was one key question asked during book club discussion of The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  An engrossing book about the civil rights’ movement in the south, we all thoroughly enjoyed it.  And from what I heard, people saw others on their vacations reading the same tome.  I never thought about it, how the many people of the times had black help in their homes, talking as if they couldn’t hear, devising ridiculous “separate bathrooms” in the garage so they would not have to share, prejudices alive.

And who is Hilly?  She is the Queen Bee of Mean, the sorority queen of times past, the cliche character who unfortunately does not change or learn or overcome, but we all hope will get her comeuppance.   Every neighborhood has one, every group had one–though maybe not so bold, every school from elementary on up.  And I think the question will remain “Who’s your Hilly?”

Thankfully, I think any Hilly’s once in our book club have silently–or semi-loudly–removed themselves from our midst, and our group remains chatty, fun, exploratory, and yearning to broaden our thoughts and voice our opinions.

So, who’s your Hilly?  I hope I am never known as the Hilly of any group!  C

Peeping In

Last Friday Bob and I had a three hour window between dropping kids off and picking up others from parties.  We headed out for an early anniversary dinner, then came home to start a film.  I chose “Zack and Miri Make a Porno” which I had just rented, since I knew it was completely kid-inappropriate and we had an empty house.  The film began raunchy yet funny, and though we watched the whole thing, I became semi-bored as it turned repetitive and predictable. A little disappointing, based on the reviews I had initially seen (and I usually like Seth Rogan’s films).

Two nights later, while watching the Bears game, I took the puppy Cali out to do her business.  As  I walked on our side yard  by our neighbor’s driveway, I realized that in the dark anyone there has a clear shot to seeing what we are watching on TV. How could I not have noticed that before?  We don’t have window coverings on our kitchen windows, so there is no way to block the view.

So, were the neighbors–or their daughters–in the driveway on Friday night?  It was before ten and they have 3 teenage girls, so most likely someone was out there.   Did they happen to glance in our window?  Did they think we were watching porn on an early evening, instead of watching a film about making a porn movie (with a few porn stars who dropped their clothes easily)?  Were they curious and watched longer?  Or did no one notice?

It gave me a great laugh on a Sunday night, just wondering.  More amusing than some parts of ” Zack and Miri”  (re-titled now that it is available in the library).  C