As you can see from my recent posting schedule, the Holiday season has gotten the best of me. Don’t expect much else to happen here between now and the New Year, either. Hubby is home for a full 5 days! Yahoo! (well… after 5 days I might just be ready to strangle him… but we’ll see…. LOL)
So, in the hopes of nailing out at least one quick post… here I go….and the topic is: Movies we love to hate.
There are two classics that I just finished re-watching (for about the 50th time!), and I love to hate them both. I’d love your take on it.
The first movie I love to hate is the Music Man (either the original one or the newer one with Matthew Broderick). OK… so I love the music. I love the costumes. I love the catch-phrases that get stuck in your head (WATCH your phraseology! Yeegads!). I love the men who sound like trains, and the women who sound like chickens. So, what bugs me about this movie? I’ll tell you. It is the main character. Yes… I know.. he changes at the end and love triumphs over all, but I can’t get past how sleazy he is. Normally, in most movies, the good guy is good and the bad guy is bad, and at the end the good guy always wins. But here, the good guy spends the majority of the movie being bad. Really bad. Taking advantage of a whole town, bringing joy and hope to everyone, knowing that he will just dash their dreams in the end. That bugs me. He shouldn’t be the one to win in the end. What penalty did he have to pay for all the horrible swindles he ran? He didn’t. He just found love, and the children miraculously learned to play. Grrrrrrr. See why that bugs me? He didn’t have to do penance for his misdeeds. Everything just worked out and he won. But… I do love to hate the movie.. so I continue to watch it.
The other movie I love to hate is My Fair Lady. Actually, it is only the last three minutes of the movie that make me want to hurl something large at the television. I love the rest of the movie. I mean I absolutely ADORE the rest of the movie. Better not talk to me while I’m watching My Fair Lady… cause if I miss anything…. I’ll be huntin’ your butt down! LOL. Then, the last few minutes happen, and I remember all over again why this movie sends me over the edge. Henry Higgins got off easy. WHY didn’t Eliza stand her ground? Make him beg? Make him treat her like a human, instead of some science experiment or servant? She caved…. and I hate that. When she walks out of his home, you cheer! Good for you, Eliza! You show him! Stand up for yourself. Henry Higgins needed to change his ways and beg Eliza to come back. But no…. alas, that was not to be.
How about you? Do you have a different take on these two movies? What movies do you love to hate?
[tags] movies we love to hate, my fair lady, the music man, classic movies[/tags]
[dels] movies we love to hate, my fair lady, the music man, classic movies[/dels]
Time for another Flash Fiction entry. I had so much fun on the last go-round, that I simply had to sign up for the Holiday Flash Fiction Carnival at Absolute Write. My entry comes in at just under 800 words. I would love to get your feedback on it. What works for you? What doesn’t?
Be sure to visit the rest of the participants over at Bunny Girl’s blog. The deadline is December 21. Even if you aren’t an Absolute Write member (WHY aren’t you!!), you can still join in the fun! This carnival is open to anyone. Just write up your marvelous flash fiction, post it, and send a link over to Bunny Girl.
I will update this post with a list of participants once the deadline has passed.
And now.. please enjoy my flash fiction.
The Christmas Gift
The dark room blinked in time with the flashing lights on the tree. Randy peeked in and gently cleared his throat.
“Sheila, it’s time for bed honey. Come and keep me warm.”
“Not tonight, Randy. Please, I can’t bear it.”
He knelt down and wrapped his arms around her small frame. “There is no pressure. Just come and let me hold you.”
“No. It’s too much. Just go to bed and leave me alone.”
Randy stopped at the doorway. “We’ll never get pregnant if we stop trying.”
Sheila wiped a tear from her cheek. “We’ll never get pregnant, period. I’m too broken. Now go on to bed and let me be.”
When Randy had gone, Sheila curled into a ball on the sofa and cried herself to sleep.
It was the tinkling of a bell that woke her. As she rose through the layers of sleep towards consciousness, she became aware of a crisp clean scent. It smelled of freshly fallen snow mixed with an earthy huskiness of rich soil. She opened her eyes, and nearly screamed. She was face to face with the jolly fat man himself.
“Santa?”
The man smiled, and Sheila expected a booming “Ho Ho Ho” to explode from his mouth. He remained silent, watching to see what Sheila would do.
“Aren’t I a little old to be getting a visit from Santa?”
He chuckled at this. “Of course not. I only come when I am truly needed. You, my dear, are in trouble.”
Sheila rolled her eyes and nearly spat at the man in red. “Oh, great. So this Christmas I not only get my period again, but I also get a lump of coal. Just perfect. Leave it in my stocking. It’s the big one with the Christ child embroidered on the front.”
His eyes twinkled merrily, and this time a soft “ho, ho” did escape his lips. “How do those silly rumors begin? Do you really think I would leave coal for troublesome children? Where’s the lesson in that? They would only learn resentment and bitterness. I bring joy, not sadness.”
Sheila sat down heavily. “So what do you bring to all those bad little boys and girls?”
Santa’s mustache twitched as he grinned. “To the good children, I bring what they want. To the bad children, I bring what they need. To you, I bring one single gift.” He brought his arm from behind his back with an extravagant flourish. Resting on his beefy hand was a box. There was no bow, no colorful wrapping, just a simple brown box with a lift-off lid.
“In this box is exactly what you need. You may open it now, or wait for tomorrow.”
Sheila reached for the box and pulled at the lid. The box top held firm and wouldn’t budge. “It doesn’t open.”
The big man leaned forward, staring into Sheila’s eyes. “It does open, but you must guess what is inside first. What could be in that box? What do you need most? Speak the words then open the box.”
Sheila’s cheeks flushed with pleasure as she thought of all the things that could be in the box. What did she need more than anything? “A baby”, she said finally.
She gripped the box top and pulled. The lid stayed firmly in place.
“Money for fertility treatments?” The lid remained solidly on the box.
“A woman who will be a surrogate?” Nothing.
“A foster child I can adopt?” No.
Sheila heard Randy snoring softly in the other room. Her mind turned outward to other possibilities.
“Dinner with my husband?” No.
“A marriage counselor?”
“Eternal love?”
“Peace on earth?”
The box top was unmoved. Sheila began laughing as she dreamed up more outlandish gifts.
“Brand new clothes?”
“A shiny new car?”
“A unicorn?”
Finally, she set the box aside. “I can’t think of anything I need.”
Santa smiled and kissed her cheek. “Then I hope you get exactly what you want. Merry Christmas.” In a twinkling, he was gone and Sheila was alone with the box and the blinking Christmas lights.
“I hope you get exactly what you want.” She repeated his words aloud.
“I hope you get exactly… I hope you get… I hope…” Then Sheila knew what was in the box.
“Hope. This box contains hope. The only thing I need.” She removed the lid easily and peered inside.
Nestled in a bed of red satin was a tiny silver sleigh-bell. She gently took the bell from the box and jingled it. The crisp clear sound brought joy to her heart. She carefully hung it on the tree and smiled.
“Merry Christmas to you, Santa. Thank you.”
She crawled into bed and wrapped her arms around her sleeping husband.
[tags] flash fiction, holiday flash fiction, absolute write flash fiction, flash fiction carnival, kathleen frassrand[/tags]
[dels]flash fiction, holiday flash fiction, absolute write flash fiction, flash fiction carnival, kathleen frassrand[/dels]
There are times in my life when I handle situations superbly. I nail it. I’ve got the right answer and I’m not afraid to use it. Then.. there are times when I think I’ve handled a situation properly… only to find out later that I am in the running for the Mother of the Year Award (said with tongue firmly in cheek).
This is most definitely the second situation:
My 7-year-old daughter is the sensitive and careful type. She thinks long and hard about what she says… determined not to hurt anyone’s feelings. She is also inquisitive (as are most 7 year olds) and I have always supported and encouraged her questions. I help her dig out answers and apply the knowledge to her life.
About a month ago, she began asking about dwarfs (or little people.. don’t know what is politically correct now…). What is a mom to do? Of course I tried to explain genetic mutations (unsuccessfully). I tried explaining that they were just like us, only looked a bit different. I tried appealing to her sense of empathy and began a discussion on how difficult certain aspects of life must be for dwarfs. All of this simply led to more questions.
So.. I did what any good-intentioned mother does. I programmed my TIVO to record a National Geographic program on dwarfs. Last night, we sat down and watched it as a family. My daughter was fascinated (though the medical parts were over her head). Of course, I initiated a family discussion as soon as the program ended.
Turns out she finally “got it”, and all her questions were answered. She thanked me for finding the program and watching it with her (!). She talked briefly about how difficult things were for little people living in a world built for full-size. She even mentioned that she was glad they were just as smart and caring as we are.
Beaming, I kissed her cheek. I was puffed up and proud. I definitely nailed that one! Score one for Mommy. I had broken down barriers in my child. Another lesson on open-mindedness was successfully completed.
Then… my pesky little girl stood up, got down on her knees and knee-walked out of the room. At the doorway, she turned back…
“Hey mom.. look at me.. I’m a dwarf!”… followed by maniacal laughing.
I deflated. I shook my head and groaned. Then I went to look for a spot on a shelf for my Mother of the Year Award. Sometimes you just can’t win.
[dels]dwarfism, explaining dwarfism to children, mother of the year award[/dels]
[tags]dwarfism, explaining dwarfism to children, mother of the year award[/tags]
Do you believe in synchronicity? Coincidence? Perfect Timing? Messages from angels? Intervening forces on our lives? Do you attach significance to the occurrences, or just shrug them off and forget.
In my life, I try to pay attention to synchronicity. I believe there is always a message buried in the strangeness. There is something I need to hear or see; a thought I need to contemplate, or a task I need to accomplish. Sometimes it takes years before I see the intended message, sometimes it is completely and instantly obvious.
I’d like to give you an example of how synchronicity works in my life. This, by far, is my favorite example. It is a case of being shown exactly what I needed to see at that moment in time.
One of my favorite authors is Paulo Coelho. I was introduced to his work with the The Alchemist. It is a fable type story that is relevant and spiritual and inspiring, all at the same time (think of a cross between the Celestine Prophecy and the Prophet by Kahlil Gibran) I fell instantly in love with this book. It is so meaningful, so deep yet simply written. It spoke to my soul. Somehow, in my mind, I decided that any man who could write such a powerfully simple book must be an amazing human being. I became obsessed with all things Paulo Coelho. The man could do no wrong. I put him on a pedestal and sang his praises to all.
I immediately purchased another of his books - The Valkyries. I dove right in, ready to be wowed again. This book was a complete departure from what I had read before. This book was more auto-biographical in nature. It told of the journey taken by Paulo and his wife to America to find and speak with his angel. In this book, Paulo was an ass. A first class jerk. He treated his wife like garbage. I found myself rooting for the wife to tell him to stick-it and leave his sorry butt in the desert.
I hated the book. I forced myself to turn each page, hoping the story would get better. The last pages of the book answered all of my questions. I finally understood, truly and completely, why I hated this book and why I needed the message this book sent.
Here is the paragraph that turned my world inside out (I edited out some sentences that weren’t needed for you to understand the paragraph):
That’s what infatuation is: the creation of an image of someone, without advising that someone as to what the image is. …
But some day, when the familiarity revealed the true identity of both, they would discover that behind the Magus and the Valkyrie there was a man and a woman. Each possessing powers, perhaps, each with some precious knowledge, maybe, but — they couldn’t ignore the fact — each basically a man and a woman. Each with the agony and the ecstasy, the strength and the weakness of every other human being.
And when either of them demonstrated how they really were, the other would want to flee — because it would mean the end of the world they had created.
The truth of this paragraph was striking. I’d done just that to dear Paulo Coelho. I had created an image of him that was not accurate. I’d fallen in love with him, in a sense. I’d ignored the fact that he was just a man, with flaws and faults. When he showed me that my image of him was false, I did indeed want to flee. I wanted to throw the book across the room and curse him. Instead, he showed me exactly what I was doing. It was a message I desperately needed to hear, and it came at the moment when I was most open to it. Needless to say, this message applied to my entire life. I didn’t just create this image of Paulo.. I’d done it over and over with friends, family, and lovers. Each time people shattered my “image” of them, I fled.
I’m a better person for the message that Paulo Coelho gave me that day. And I thank whatever force caused me to pick up that particular book when I needed it most.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on synchronicity. Please… share a comment.