Umbrellas on the Subway

It’s not that I can’t take sad movies, or even sad scenes in movies. What I can’t take, though, to take a phrase from A Christmas Story (aka, “The Shoot Your Eye Out Movie” in my family unit) is: “Sometimes, at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at it's zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us.” [Thank you, IMDb].

THAT’s the kind of sadness, albeit applied to less comedic movies than the aforementioned Christmas flick, I can’t bear.

I find those situations, where people are guilelessly happy, when they’re on top of the world…and get slammed hard-Hard-HARD so painful, so awful, I can’t watch. Or I try not to, anyway.

A good example is from Brokeback Mountain – it’s the scene where Jack Twist is driving at breakneck speed from Texas to Wyoming because he’s received a post card from Ennis, a postcard telling Jack he’s getting a divorce. Jack can’t stop smiling, he’s singing “King of the Road,” he really FEELS like the king of the road on this particular trip northward because he believes (misunderstands) that finally, he and Ennis can have their “ little cow and calf operation,” finally have that “sweet life” that he desired so. When he arrives at Ennis’s place, it becomes clear that he’s wrong, that Ennis has no such plans, and he gets emotionally socked in the gut – it’s as if all the light exits his eyes.

When I get to that part in the movie anymore, I skip the DVD forward, I just can’t bear to feel-with-him through that scene.

I’d mentioned the 1961 B&W movie Goodbye Again in a recent post. There’s a scene in there that I can’t bear, either. I haven’t started skipping through that part yet, but at some point, I will.

The young Phillip (25 years old) is taking Paula (age 40) out to the finest restaurant in Paris – he’s celebrating because, though his boss and co-conspirator of a mother have “decided” that he should return to NY because of his relationship with an older woman, he instead executed a sort of declaration of independence so he can remain in Paris and be with Paula (because he really, really does love her). He takes Paula out on the dance floor after ordering caviar and a magnum of champagne and he is happy, happy. But Phillip doesn’t realize that his Paula sees her former lover across the room, a man she still hasn’t gotten out of her heart.

He dances on, oblivious that the former lover is gradually dancing toward them. With his back to the goings-on of the former lover, Phillip doesn’t see that the man reaches out and takes Paula’s hand and that, in that moment, Paula mentally and emotionally leaves him and returns to her former lover.

Paula makes an excuse to leave the dance floor and it’s only as he’s returning to their table at the restaurant that Phillip looks back, then swings for a double-take, stares hard at the former lover and drops his head downward. He knows that Paula has seen him because of her hurried request to return to the dinner table. He knows that he’s lost her.

OH!!!! I can’t bear that scene, I tear up every time I see it.

ER and I have a phrase for events like this…or at least, I do…it’s called “leaving your umbrella on the subway.” It comes from a time ER and I were in DC and it was so, so hot…and there’s just no heat like DC in the summer. I can’t take heat or sun even in moderate doses, and I was desperate enough for some relief that I bought an umbrella. Not just any old umbrella, but a thirty-dollar umbrella from the Discovery Channel store in Union Station. It was what was available; it was so hot, I probably would have paid 50 bucks for an umbrella.

I’d used it once, I think. We went to Crystal City from Union Station and only after I’d exited the subway and the cars took off did I realize that I’d left my umbrella on the subway.

I had the same what-a-great-day-what-a-wonderful-world happiness early in the day on February 18, 2001, having bought a NASCAR cake and really put on the dog in terms of "yay, it's the Daytona 500 day" snacks. Yes, I had that same sort of happiness on the day Dale Earnhardt died. And that alone might be why I can’t bear to watch people leave their umbrellas on the subway.

Ardeen

My niece Arden has been on the brain today. T-R-O-U-B-L-E is another way of spelling her name, not unlike her aunt was when she was a child. For this reason, I think I understand her better than even my sister does. Oh, if you don't believe she's trouble, take a look at this shot of her:
Right.

You've probably seen pix on my old blog of her and her sister, but one of the things I love about Arden is that, for a photographer, she's fabulous. She knows how to "work it" for a camera and also how to do so without going overboard. I could shoot her all day long and never get tired.

Bird, YankeeBeau and I will be joining Miss Arden, her sister and her mom and dad at the beach on the Outer Banks one month from today. (And ER thinks the only big deal about today is his birthday...no, it's the one-month countdown to a week at the beach!!!). I am taking a good friend with me, as ER didn't want to go to the beach with us. It will be a stellar, fun time, and one thing I'm looking forward to is that this year, not only does my sister want me to photograph the girls, I'm going to do the whole family this year (and we'll probably see those pix on our photo Christmas cards this year)...so it's more than worth lugging all of my REAL camera stuff to the OBX.

Oh, and the headline up there refers to a mistake someone made when Arden was born -- they got her name wrong and called her "Ardeen" (rhymes with Nadine) instead of Arden. ER and I still call her that, though usually not to her face (she has little recollection of those days just past her birth and would just give us the Arden-evil-eye if we called her that to her face).

I love my trouble with a capital T niece! Because I'm her trouble with a capital-T aunt.

Bienvenidos! Estados Unidos says Howdy (hope I got all that right)

I'm writing a post at the moment to make sure I don't go in and kill me a fax machine or something. Dang, one thing after the other today. I'll live. Sure beats where I used to be.

If it weren't for the fact that I got my hair cut this noon-hour, the day would be a write-off. It was a nice break in the day.

However, I listened to Lou Dobbs this morning, in his usual rant, and this occurred to me as the easiest solution to the immigration problem...what do you think? We do one of two things:

1. Make Mexico a protectorate of the United States like we do Puerto Rico; or

2. We turn Mexico into a new state, either called "Old Mexico," as everyone in Texas calls it, or we call it South Texas.

Then no one is illegal. We just make 'em part of the U.S. The border issue is solved. The national guard can go home. The fences and tunnels will be moot.

I grant you, it doesn't come out even to have 51 stars on the flag. But we could paste one on.

And all the "states" in Mexico become large "counties."

Anyone for this option?