Sometimes, Lucy asks to take pictures together. Here is one of a couple hundred.I can't sleep. You might be wondering why I am trying to sleep so early on a Saturday night. (Not nearly as early as the time stamp says, though.) Just tired, I guess. I had a moderately late night last night and got up sort of early to go to yoga.
Now I've decided to write down the things that have been occupying my thoughts as I lay here in bed.
1- Our bed linens need to be changed. They no longer smell good. Let me just say here that I don't think that it should have to come down to the smell test. I just noticed.
2-I feel lucky to have the example and influence of dedicated friends and family. Brian and I are approaching our tenth wedding anniversary. Our marriage isn't perfect; but it's darn good for us. We have gone through some hard spots and have emerged not only intact, but much, much stronger, and with a deeper appreciation for each other and for our relationship. This is something that my parents modeled (and Brian's too)--a dedication to marriage that doesn't end just because hard times come about.
I feel lucky to have such good friends. By that I mean that, not only am grateful that I have friends who are good people, but also that there is a consistency there, even if we don't talk to each other every day, or even every month.
3-I have gotten unexpectedly emotional watching movies lately. Two examples: "August Rush," and "Horton Hears a Who." On the plane home (er, to LA, technically) from Costa Rica, they played "August Rush," a sappy, predictable movie which I had wanted to see for a while. I found it disappointing because, from the start, the dialogue was cheesy and the storyline asked the audience for an enormous "suspension of disbelief"--the kind you notice again and again. I had been hoping for a better movie. Well, this didn't stop me from getting seriously emotional while watching (in the middle seat between my husband and a random man from the Eastern Block). Seriously--about two minutes into the movie, I was exercising my anti-weep and sob containment systems to the point of near failure. My tear restrictors were defective throughout the movie. In "August Rush," I think it was the desperation and hope in the characters that touched me. An orphaned boy who, against all odds, takes on the cruel world in search of his anguished, pure-hearted parents who have been longing for each other for years and years? It turns out that I have a very low crying threshold for movies about orphaned kids and their anguished, pure-hearted parents.
This afternoon, Lucy and I went to see "Horton Hears a Who," and I was caught completely off guard when, about three quarters of the way through the movie, I had to put considerable energy into hiding the fact that I was finding it deeply moving. If I had seen that movie at home, I would have had a box of Kleenex with me on the couch, letting. it. out. Somehow, I was ashamed at the thought that my mother-in-law would see my low threshold for cinematic (cartoon!) drama. In "Horton Hears a Who," I started getting weepy when the Who's in Whoville were trying to make themselves heard. I guess I have a weak spot for community spirit and the undertaking of the proverbial lost cause. All those Who's, singing together, finally believing in the giant elephant in the sky that held their world, a speck of dust, on a clover bloom, then the second rally where each Who finds an individual way to contribute to the effort, some playing gigantic tom-toms, some squeezing tubular accordians, and the silent, misunderstood, lonely son of the mayor disclosing his passion and hidden gifts for the good of his world? Stick a fork in me.
There you have it. Now you know some of what keeps me up at night.
