It’s the apparently never-ending awards season. Certainly there are the CMAs, the Grammys, the Nickelodeon Children’s Choice, and the Critics Awards, all of which I let pass. However, when it comes to the Emmys, the SAG awards, and the Oscars, I pay attention. I may not watch all of the show, but I do pay attention. I was heartened to see that this year’s Golden Globes represented a solid attempt to redeem itself for past sins. My biggest complaint is that now with streaming, there are fewer programs and fewer movies that I get to see because I don’t subscribe. Granted, all of these shows sound really interesting, but subscribing means that I need WIFI and I need enough of a budget to afford not only the internet connections but the subscriptions themselves. I don’t recall any of these services offering an AARP discount. Moreover, I have other things to do besides sit on my duff and watch the tube. Nevertheless, I have managed to get a few things on DVD from the library. This weekend I’ll let it snow and spend some time with the films that are included in the latest Oscar buzz. Would that other shows like Ted Lasso had been put on disk for those of us whose only resource is the public library.

Ah, the library. I am not at all certain what I would do without the library. I just watched Spielberg’s re-do of West Side Story (courtesy of the local library) and thoroughly enjoyed it. I think I need to watch it again to catch the details I missed. I didn’t at all mind the switch-up of some of the songs. It all made sense–maybe better sense to me in this new iteration. Considering the backstory of Rita Moreno’s character, Somewhere was even more poignant. It refers to a much longer-lasting problem in the history of “the other” making their way in America.

The Hubs has a consistent complaint every time a new re-do comes out: “Cannot Hollywood come up with something new? Why do the deciders decide that remakes are the way to go?” At that point I simply shut up. Yes, I objected to the Ocean’s 11 remake with George Clooney and company. Was not the original Rat Pack version enough? Then to go forward to do more Ocean spin-offs? Really? On one hand, the interaction between the characters and the problems they have to solve is interesting, but really? How many do we need? The fun is in watching the actors have fun working together. I confess that I am thoroughly tired of Taken sequels. I don’t understand how an aging, highly talented, charismatic actor like Liam Neeson spends his time with action/adventure cartoonish fighting flicks that are simply one redone script after another. Honestly, how much battering can one human take and still get up for more? I think it’s a real waste of talent. He could be more particular.

Consider, then, the remakes of other films. Most notably, I think the color remake of Psycho was not a smart idea. Psycho, released in 1960, has as part of its legend, the idea that Hitchcock filmed it in black and white was solely because the shower scene would have been too gruesome in color. The larger story was that Hitchcock was in a budget crunch with the studio and in order to get the film produced, he suggested that it be filmed in black and white, which was far less expensive than color. I could find no reason why Universal thought this was a good idea. The word on the street was that Gus Van Sant thought that since Hitchcock did the film in black and white and then forbid colorization, making a shot-for-shot remake would both get around the injunction on colorization and give him the chance to utilize modern movie-making technology to generate–what? more cash? In the end, the whole thing was a box office flop. Been there, done that.

Too often the sequels are a disappointment as well. Godfather III–maybe we could have done without Godfather III.

On the other hand, there is the long story arc in the Marvel franchise that, in my opinion, rivals the Ring Cycle by Richard Wagner. Wagner’s work consists of four operas totaling 20 hours on stage. It takes the better part of a week at the Bayreuth festival to see the whole thing at the rate of one opera a night. (Undergraduate music majors, on the other hand, have been known to gather for a Wagner marathon, playing the whole cycle in 24 hours, sustained by popcorn, pizza and beer. It’s a rite of passage.) Watching all the Avengers movies that lead to Infinity War and Endgame would mean a similar titanic viewing experience.

So why is it that I do not object to the Avenger franchise but decry the Taken movies? I suspect it might be that the former builds into a consistent story arc, movies that lead one into another via references in the last two movies. Does that make sense? For example, we have Tony Stark who relates a dream to Pepper Potts, a dream of a child, a little girl named Morgan. It isn’t until Endgame that, yes, there is a little girl named Morgan in the family Stark. I suspect that keeping track of all the small continuity pieces is a monumental task. Perhaps it’s that continuity that I find compelling. There are good stories out there. I would like to see more of those rather than the next iteration of the same-old-same-old.

Is anyone out there listening?

It’s 2023 already and time to look back to the books of 2022. It always seems difficult to decide which books should be entered in a report from the book log. There are so many. Nevertheless, little by little I get to share what I think are the good reads. Perhaps it may be that those I have included are those that have stayed with me well after I have put them into the return slot at the library.

First, I went back in time to read Isaac Asimov’s The Gods Themselves, published in 1972. Earth is recovering from an ecological disaster and in the process, scientists come across a new element, plutonium 186, which does not exist on our planet. How did it get here? In the process of enduring the disaster, we had learned to communicate with an alien civilization in a parallel universe. Eventually we learn that it was the aliens who planted plutonium 186 on our planet, knowing that it was an unparalleled source of energy whose use would provide Earth’s population with the energy we need without polluting the planet. Plutonium 186 is a double-edged sword that will eventually not only destroy the Earth, but the universe with it. The title comes from a quotation from Schiller’s play, The Maid of Orleans: “Against stupidity, the gods themselves contend in vain.,” a line often quoted often by my late Hubs in the face of, yes, stupidity. It was an interesting, quick read that earned the Hugo and Nebula awards in its time.

Moving right along, consider Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane. This is a fairly short novel that has all of the Gaiman-esque threads of mystery and imagination. A middle-aged man returns to his childhood home for a funeral and finds himself remembering (reliving?) the events of his childhood. This was among my favorites of 2022. When a book haunts me, staying with me for weeks at a time and then occasionally returning long after I have finished it, I consider it something special. It’s the atmosphere that Gaiman creates as much as the narrative that has been so powerful, like a melody that has become an earworm. May you have a similar experience, dear reader, with this little book.

Occasionally I pay attention to the lists of bestsellers online. Not all of them are interesting, but then there is the occasional gem. Bonnie Garmus’ Lessons in Chemistry is one of those. I suspect I was put off by its girly-girl cover, but then another examination of the synopsis on the inside tabs of the cover was intriguing. Our protagonist, Elizabeth Zott is not your average woman. . .but then, few of us are all that average. A research chemist living in the dark ages of 1952, Zott has to struggle for legitimacy in a world dominated by men. On a quest for beakers, she meets the brilliant Nobel-prize nominated grudge holding man who falls in love with her mind–seemingly instantly. The characters are well drawn, Ms. Zott is wonderful, never giving quarter to those who would seek to put her into a box. YEs, she endures what many of us have, including (trigger warning:) a sexual assault I found this a thoroughly enjoyable read–one of those I was in a hurry to get home to finish when here at the library. I’ve recommended this one to several friends and now, dear reader, to you. It was simply fun.

Another of those “I’m not convinced I want to read this, but. . .” novels was Aimie K. Runyan’s The School for German Brides: A Novel of World War II. I don’t even remember where I got this title. It might have been on one of those “beach reads” lists. Truly, it is a genuine recreational read. The narrative is set in late-1930s Berlin and includes three women, one a member of the upper class whose demanding parents have her cap set for the handsome, highly ranked German officer; one who is a small-town daughter of a mother who was both a doctor and an herbal healer. After the death of her mother, she was sent to live with an equally upper class aunt and uncle who also want her to marry into Nazi aristocracy. The third is the daughter of a Jewish mother and a Gentile father. Her father has divorced her mother in an attempt to distance himself from his Jewish wife. The pair survive by creating beautiful made-to-order dresses and selling fabrics in a small shop in Berlin. At first this reminded me of Erik Larson’s In the Garden of Beasts given its girls-in-the-midst-of-dangerous-Nazis flavor. It didn’t take long before I was drawn to care about these characters. It was another of those “get home to see what happens” sort of experiences. These women are far smarter and more resourceful than the older adults in the narrative give them credit for and while things seem to be going awry at times, of course, things work out. The school for German brides itself is far less a part of the story than I thought it would be. It is simply one more place where the girls are threatened, a stage for more drama, but also a place where the threads come together in important ways. Curl up with this one with a pot of tea and under a warm throw while the snow flies outside.

A few nonfiction books stood out in 2022:

I first heard of Gretel Ehrlich’s The Solace of Open Spaces while watching the Paramount series Yellowstone. Beth Dutton is up late (as usual) and reading this book in front of the fireplace in her father’s room. It’s the only time in the series, so far, that Beth has picked up a book. Of course, I had to search it out. I think it is, in it’s own way, along the lines of Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire, his journal of the year spent in Arches National Park in the opening days of the park. Ehrlich goes to Wyoming in 1975 to make a series of documentaries when her partner died; she stays on. She writes about the beauty of the landscape, the extremes of the weather and the variety of people who live in this part of the United States, the teachers, the shepherds, the cowboys, the dreamers. For me, one of the most starkly “real” episodes involves her having volunteered to take the sheep up to spring pastures and to watch over them, alone, for the summer. It has to be a rare soul who can do this and appreciate the solitary life. Beth Dutton made a good choice when she picked this for her one visible read of the season.

One book that needs to be in the nonfiction space of my small book shelf is Electable: Why America Hasn’t Put A Woman in the White House by Ali Vitali. This title I list among the handful of books I think are IMPORTANT. Ms. Vitali was embedded in the Elizabeth Warren presidential campaign, observing firsthand how Ms. Warren navigated both the issues in the campaign and the perceived differences between how the female and male candidates were portrayed. In a time when more women than ever ran for president, the way in which the media handled reporting on the women became clearer as the media was forced to confront the fact that many of the female candidates were as varied in background and experienced and worthy of serious consideration as were the men. Ms. Vitali looks closely at how Hilary Clinton, Geraldine Ferraro, and Shirley Chisholm as well as Sarah Palin were treated by the press. All in all, it was a read that was both inspiring and enraging at the same time.

It amuses me to hear members of the House of Representatives attempt to pass of the recent drawn-out vote for the Speaker as “simply democracy in action.” It strikes me that saying this is much like saying that those who stormed the capitol building on 6 January, 2021 were there for the usual tour. I am fairly certain that there are those who actually believe both statements. The most salient visual from this year’s speaker’s election was that of Alabama representative Mike Rogers being held back from punching out Florida representative Matt Gaetz. Truly, there have been several times when I wanted to punch out Gaetz myself, but given the distance from here to there, it wasn’t going to happen. Besides, when I weigh the difference between following my better angels rather than the imps who would convince me that such action was a good idea, the better angels win. Resorting to violence in the face of frustration diminishes me more than it diminishes the other fellow.

Which leaves me to wonder what is happening. Of course, I have been wondering this for some time since the election of 2016. It feels as if a good portion of the populace has lost its collective moral compass. Clearly the twice impeached, immediate past president tapped into the craziness that simmers beneath a particular group of people and freed them from restraint. The closest analogy I can make is that he has released the simmering Kraken of hate groups into a place where it could explode like phosphorus hitting the air. Certainly I have said it here before that I cannot understand how someone, especially Evangelicals who claim to love God and accept Jesus as a personal savior, can hate their fellow man. Is there no decency here? And then, like a cancer, like the Nothing in the Neverending Story, almost to the day, we see the same dysfunction happen in Brazil. It seems that little by little the human race is succumbing to the craziness.

I know that there are still individuals in government who sincerely want to serve the American people. The problem is that far too many of them have decided to leave. The task is too difficult in the face of those who have bought into election denial and conspiracy theories. A few days ago, I heard a quote on (I think) MSNBC’s Morning Joe and think that Joe hit the bull’s-eye:

Is there no virtue among us? If there be not, we are in a wretched situation. No theoretical checks-no form of government can render us secure. To suppose that any form of government will secure liberty or happiness without any virtue in the people, is a chimerical idea, if there be sufficient virtue and intelligence in the community, it will be exercised in the selection of these men. So that we do not depend on their virtue, or put confidence in our rulers, but in the people who are to choose them.

James Madison

Would that we could have more confidence in those we have elected. I do not understand why, in the face of all the craziness and the shouting, some representatives are elected over and over. Yes, there is the fact that many are from gerrymandered districts, but nevertheless, they simply cannot be the only choice out there. Over and over in Hamilton, the musical, the founders looked to the future, looked to make the country a good place for their children. Can we say today that this is still the case? These days I look to the Millennials and the younger generations for leadership. I look for those who have not bought in to the culture of the lie as representative Matthew Santos has. Just because lying is not necessarily a crime doesn’t mean that one should indulge in it. The people of his district, the American people, deserve better than that. No one should have to wait two years for the next election to remove someone who so egregiously lies. On the other hand, it has worked before. Santos simply got caught.

We need people who have a moral foundation to be in leadership. The foundation is pretty simple: know the difference between right and wrong and be willing to stand up for the right. Know that there is one rule and one rule that works: treat people the way you want to be treated. Period. None of this is easy. There are risks in taking a stand, but a stand for right and for real truth–not something that came out of Q’s basement–is worth the risk.

It was 2016 and I had joined the army of knitters of pink hats to give to those who were heading to Washington DC for the protests. Unbeknownst to me, there was a protest organized for my city that might have benefitted from my handiwork. Oh the perils of not being in social media. I missed all the connections here at home and for the buses leaving for DC. The day came and went and here I sat with a dozen pink hats with a few green hats sprinkled in. Green, you ask? I was on a roll. I figured green for the fact that the incoming (now former) president had already done to Mother Nature what he had done to other women. I had enclosed a note to that effect. I had missed it all; I just never found the route.

I love to knit. Keeping my hands busy means that I am not rooting through the fridge because I am bored. As a result, I had far too much product for me to use. My friends are all well supplied with the fruit of my fingers. What to do with these pink hats? I decided to send them to the Smithsonian Museum of American History with a hopeful note suggesting that maybe they needed some souvenirs from the protests for the collection. Since I have gotten into the habit of including my email under my signature line in business letters, I was not completely surprised to receive a nice email from one of the curators at the museum. I was disappointed to learn that they had plenty of pink hats and no room for more. Even the nation’s attic has limited space. Ms. Curator asked if I would like them back. I answered that there were two possibilities: she could donate them to a shelter or she could send them back with my thanks for her help. What should not happen is that they should not end up in a land fill.

She kindly sent them back.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Clearly they had a particular shape, a particular color and a particular name. I wasn’t sure I could just put them out into the world the way I had knit them. Would I want my daughter wearing a pink pussy hat to school? There they sat in the finished work box until the day I invested in a pom-pom maker. I took the time to repurpose the “ears” of these hats with pom-poms and tassels. On one I tucked the ears in and blanket-stitched around the whole top part of that hat, starting just above the ribbing and going across and down the other side. While I am not the world’s greatest blanket-stitcher, it worked out well enough. With this work completed, I had to decide what to do next. So far, this whole project had been a learning experience and a challenge in creativity.

It was a case of simply looking around. Action presents itself. Over time I have gotten to know the security aide at the library. She is both kind and smart and very active in her church. Some time this past November I asked her if her church had a mitten or a hat project for her neighborhood. I explained that over the years I had donated a box of mittens and hats to a particular elementary school in the name of a teacher friend I admired who had moved on to Israel. Our security aide said and she would be glad to have whatever I could offer. I went home, dug thought the finished projects box and took all the hats, headbands, mittens and scarves that would work, put them in a large plastic bag and took them to the library. In the end, everything went to children and adults who needed them, even the redesigned pink hats. It was such a success that, yes, I am working now to fill the projects box again for next year. Yes, this is an investment in both time and money in materials, but on the other hand, I am grateful to have the skill and the wherewithal to be useful and to do this sort of work. If what I can do spreads a little warmth, I am happy.

This will simply be brief. I am not certain that I am supposed to share this link this way, but if I cannot, I am equally certain that I will hear about it. Nevertheless, because I receive links from The Atlantic magazine in my email, I get to read a daily offering. Today’s reading offered hope, and hope is what I need. In the spirit of passing on the hope, I pass this link on to you, dear reader. I am reminded that 2022 was not as awful as it sometimes felt. May you have a peaceful and prosperous new year.

https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/archive/2022/12/there-is-a-case-for-optimism-in-2023/672597/?utm_source=newsletter&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=atlantic-daily-newsletter&utm_content=20221228&utm_term=The%20Atlantic%20Daily

In truth, the past few days have been one of those days. It happens when I am sent to research some thing the Hubs would like to order on line. It’s a process. He gives me some bare-bones information, I research, set up a document with specs and pictures, bring it home only to learn that this wasn’t what he had in mind. Not useful. More specs, more information, more work that results in a revision. At this point there may be some shouting and that phrase “If you don’t like this, do it yourself,” which is an impossibility given his mobility issues. At any rate, the new snow blower was ordered, paid for, then delivered on time in an amazing two days post-click on the “buy” button. We are set to survive the upcoming storm. In reality, as long as we have electricity, we can hunker down for some time and let the winds blow and the temperatures fall. If nothing else, we are prepared.

Nevertheless, when I left the house this morning, ostensibly to go to the gym, I was in no mood to work out. I took my gym bag, loaded with shower stuff, intending to simply have a long and a hot shower, then head to the library. As things worked out, once in the gym, I wished I had brought my workout clothes. I know I would have felt better. Alas. Sigh. On the other hand, I did as I intended and showered. I had even brought the hair dryer seeing that without extra clothes, I had room in the back pack. I left the gym with dry hair and a warm head. Nice. That doesn’t happen ordinarily.

So now I sit in the library watching the snow not just fall, but now gradually driving across the big windows. If might soon be time to bail and head for home. I have lots to do–knitting a pair of bright red mittens now having finished the lacy socks—reading Billy Collins’ latest collection of poetry: Musical Tables—and maybe curling up simply to watch the world fill up with snow. When the fierce cold hits, though, I have to close the picture window drapes to keep the chill down. Even with a double-pane window, I can feel the cold come in, radiating off the glass.

This is one of those times when I am particularly grateful for a roof over my head and a warm bed to sleep in. The rest of the house may be chilly, but once between the covers, things are toasty. Near the airport there is a large billboard with a thermometer–think giant circular outdoor thermometer. The caption: Room temperature for the homeless. It is a sight that shakes the viewer, any viewer who has even the least bit of compassion. In our city, the police and the street angels will pick up the homeless and take them to a warming shelter. There are homeless people who take shelter in the library during the day, where the helpers find them and take them to an overnight shelter. That is not to say that they find everyone, but somehow they manage. This is not a time to be outside over the next few days.

A broader view makes me realize that in the long run, life for me may be frustrating, it may not at all be the retirement I had envisioned, but I have a home to go to, a meal to eat (even if I have to make it myself), things to do, and a fairly good bit of health. I really have nothing to complain about in spite of the usual research-go-round of the past few days. I can stop complaining and feeling sorry for myself and move on. I’m resourceful enough to do precisely that. We turn a page onto a new calendar in a few days. I have determined that I will be more diligent that I have been lately in getting back to writing. It’s a big world out there. Time to go exploring! Happy new year to you, dear reader. I hope that 2023 brings you health, security, and serenity.

It has been far too long since I last was able to write. Even today I am pressed for time and hence, this may be a short entry. However, that doesn’t mean that I have not thought about what I want to write. It means that I run out of time. It may be that I simply have more to do these day. At any rate, consider this to be not a rant but reflection of sorts. It’s about marriage. It’s not about the wedding, the lace, the poufy dress, the celebration, or the vows. It’s about the bottom line.

I think that beyond all that, even beyond all the business of relationships and trust, marriage is a contract. I think of it as that contract that grants the couple other rights and privileges. Once married, my spouse takes precedence over my parents. Yes, my parents were still my parents. Unless legally emancipated as a minor, my parents are not my former parents. We are always our parents’ children. But in the decision making about things like medical care, child rearing, and funerals, the spouse takes precedence. That is, until recently, unless the spouse is of the same sex. The argument was that there were routes to establishing those aspects of medical care and who becomes the guardian of the children and who decides what is what at the funeral, but all of that took time and money to hop through the legal hoops to make those choices official. The process was far more complicated than a set of “I do’s.”

So it is that I celebrate the recent passage of the Respect for Marriage act. It’s about time. I never though that interracial marriage or gay marriage threatened my marriage. The recent threats to both gay marriage and interracial marriage coming from the US Supreme Court is at the root of the act and I am happy to see that there were those of both parties who felt similarly. It’s about time.

I wish I felt that I could trust the Court again, but I think that such is not the case. I agree that, yes, SCOTUS needs a code of ethics and they need to abide by that same code of ethics by which other judges are compelled to abide. The court currently has a 22% approval rating. This is pretty dismal. Nevertheless, SCOTUS as a group doesn’t seem to be concerned.

But I digress.

Bottom line: Marriage is a contract between two consenting human adults. Period. It gives those consenting adults the rights and privileges that accrue to married people. It means that it is more difficult to renege on that contact without a legal process of divorce. It’s about time those standards apply to everyone.

For what it’s worth, I have been reflecting on aging actors lately. It might be that I am thinking more about plain old obvious Hollywood sexism. There is the ever-present question: “Why can male actors age and female actors are expected to be forever thin and forever young?” We have the conspicuous difference in age between a leading male actor and his love interest. The Kevin Costner/Jennifer Garner couple in Draft Day comes to mind on this one. There is a 16 year difference between the 60 year old Costner and the 43 year old Garner, who in the movie, is pregnant with Costner’s child. The website Stylist has the following article on the incredible age gaps between leading men and their romantic opposite: https://www.stylist.co.uk/life/hollywoods-age-gap-sexist-double-standards-outrage-actress-ageing-love-interest shocking/61279#:~:text=US%20site%20GraphJoy%20has%20discovered,in%20their%20twenties%20and%20thirties. I thoroughly enjoyed the excerpt from Inside Amy Schumer wherein “older” actresses Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Tina Fey and Patricia Arquette celebrate the last fuckable day. In truth, it is a scathing commentary on Hollywood’s obsession with older women. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPpsI8mWKmg If I remember correctly, it was Brad Pitt who said that he was going to work behind the camera, that there was nothing out there for him any more. There may nothing out there that works for an older Brad Pitt as heart throb, but there is plenty out there that does not involve actor Brad Pitt taking off his shirt on a rooftop (or anywhere else for that matter.) Find a better story that suits both your talent and your older personage, Brad. Nevertheless, Hollywood is not without its moments of risk. Kathy Bates once did a nude scene in a hot tub with Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt–something that took a certain amount of courage from actor and director. I am fairly certain that we will never see anything like that happen again. In reality, I am quite certain we won’t see Jack Nicholson do a nude scene, either.

Really. Moving on, consider the dearth of good stories for older actors to portray. Moreover, there are the males who are stuck in one mode. I always enjoyed Liam Neeson’s work until he got hooked on the Taken franchise. Here is an actor with genuine screen magnetism who seems to need to continue to assert his manhood in action/adventure movies. Neeson is not alone. There are so many actors who seem to compensate by taking on these roles. I think it’s time for Tom Cruise to do something more than Mission Impossible-like stuff. The new Top Gun: Maverick at least considers his age and experience in the world of the fighter pilot. I do appreciate the on-going comment about the fact that he has been in the business of flying so long and only holds the rank of captain. Today we saw the recent trailer of a “de-aged” Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. Or course he has to be de-aged, he is still fighting Nazis. CGI is an amazing thing. Is it possible that archeologist Indiana Jones could retire from teaching to adventure full time in all his aged glory?

Even though good scripts are difficult to find, I think it’s the women who win out here. Julianne Moore hit it out of the park with Still Alice. Likewise did Frances McDormand in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri. (Which in my head refuses to be anything other than Three Billboards Outside Hibbing, Minnesota. Go figure.) Female actors who portray a circle of friends are fun. Consider the group who form The Book Club: Diane Keaton, Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen, and Mary Steenburgen. I thoroughly enjoyed their bond and the individual stories. First Wives Club and 9 to 5 all have that same energy. A recent read, Saving Kandinsky centers around Ella Münter, a Kandinsky student who together with her teacher introduce to world to abstract expressionism in art. It is Münter who saves Kandinsky’s work from the Nazis who have termed abstract expressionism “degenerate art” in a night time adventure fraught with the best of suspense. Why this story has not been optioned for the big screen is beyond me. The same is true for The Women of Chateau Lafayette. I think there are plenty of good stories out there that would work terrifically on screen, but lacking threats to humanity from outer space or opportunities for explosions and mayhem, the powers that control the industry won’t think them profitable. The Ministry for the Future has both the threat to humanity and opportunity for visual effects. Has anyone optioned that read? It seems that there is room for heavy duty, interesting work for women actors where men get the action/adventure shoot-em-ups.

Given the vast variety of platforms these days, I think there is room for more than the recycling of older stories. I would so like to see more rich stories that challenge, then utilize the skills of these actors. We don’t need to replace adventure stories, we need to enrich the rest of the film landscape.

A few months ago, I invested in a pricey skein of beautiful yarn. I knit a few other projects while deciding exactly what to do with this investment, thinking I would knit a pair of lacey socks as a Christmas gift to my son, who once upon a time, knit such a pair for me. The pattern called for #0 needles, the skein called for #1. Since I usually knit to size and this particular pattern looked small to begin with, I decided to forgo the usual swatch knitting and plunge ahead. Bad decision. In addition to the issues of extremely slender needles, this was the first time using four needles in a project. However, having done three needle knitting, how hard could this be?

All of it was a bad decision.

I knit the pattern all the way to the heel flap. Since I had already done the required number of repeats to this point to discover that I needed two more patterns to equal the 7-3/4 inches the pattern needed for the length of the leg, one would think that such was warning enough that I was on the wrong track. But No-o-o. I forged ahead. Bad decision number two–or was that three?

I misread the directions for the heel flap. Every other heel flap I had done called for purling across the wrong side of the flap. This one called for knitting across the wrong side. Ok, but I didn’t see it that way. I did both sides slip-one, knit-one. That meant that the heel flap was more woven given that I had to move the working yarn from the back side to the front side. So there’s that. Then when I had finished the given number of repeats, the flap was only about two inches long. This was far shorter than any heel flap I had knit before. So I knit several more repeats. Bad decision number five.

Still, I was undaunted. I may have been on the wrong track, but I was making good time. I forged on to turn the heel (No problem there.) and then did the gusset that moves the fabric ninety degrees to make the foot. The rest simply was a matter of working the lace and the foot patterns according to directions, finishing with grafting the toe closed with Kitchener stitch. Tah-dah! Sock one complete.

Yuck.

This sock was a mess. The proportions were so bad that while the leg worked, the idea that one’s foot should make the turn and go into the rest of the sock was a pipe dream. Now having invested considerable time not to mention the expense of this particular yarn, I had no choice to admit, finally, that I had made bad decisions all the way through the process. Herein came the variation of my mother’s maxim: As you sew, so shall you rip. Take out the mistakes and redo the seam. Redo it until you get it right.

Yes, Mom. I hear you.

I undid the Kitchener stitches–something easier said than done—and unraveled the entire sock. Time to do this right for a change. Thereafter came three swatches. That’s 43 rows of 32 stitches to equal a 4″ swatch. IT took not quite forever. I knit one swatch on #2 needles: too short. I knit another on #3 needles: 3/4″ too short. I knit a third on #4 needles: 3/4″ too long. I opted for the #3 needles for my Goldilocks choice, thinking that the recipient of these socks has feet a little smaller than mine. With high hopes that this will work out, I picked up five #3 needles and started in.

So far, so good. I have completed the leg and am halfway through the heel flap. Things are looking far better. This time I looked closer at the direction and have managed to accomplish what the pattern calls for. Little by little I will get there, though I am not sure that I can finish both socks before time to send them off for Christmas. That’s the problem with socks and mittens. If you knit one, you have to knit two. We shall see what happens. The fibers in this cost-too-much yarn seem to have survived the trauma of being knit, unraveled, then knit again three times and then finally knit into the sock. It has me thinking that the investment in good yarn was worth the investment. I am willing to not only move forward on this pair, I muse on what these might look like in another color or another weight of yarn. One would think I have learned my lesson by now. Nevertheless, it has been a habit that while I work on one idea, several more possibilities wander through my head.

Two things learned: Read the directions. Follow the directions. Improvisation is great in jazz, but not so much when it concerns needles and yarn. When you mess up, remember the adage: As you knit, so shall you rip.

A few days ago my copy of Smart Brevity : the power of saying more with less by Jim VandeHei, Mike Allen and Roy Schwartz came in at the library. Since I am also into reading Jon Meacham’s And Then There Was Light, a biography of Lincoln, “Brevity” sat on my table for a bit. This morning I took the time to scan through this little tome, and while there was much that was good, it left me with much to think about.

While I suspect that the audience for this little book are those in business and on the administrative/ “adult” side of education. The authors aim at short, plainly written sentences that aim at the essence of the issue and why it is important. All of this is good. I want writers, especially writers of nonfiction, to do just that. I, too, taught students to use active rather than passive voice and to choose punchy words rather than combing through the thesaurus for those ten-dollar words that, in their own ignorance, miss the mark because they were dropped in without considering the shades of definition. Over the past few hours I have done that old-time-teacher thing of adapting their message to responding to the essay questions on the AP Language exam. Their process could work. It could be a helpful tool at getting things done without writing in circles.

Nevertheless, what I might miss in the business of brevity is the elegance and variety of language that a writer draws on from a lifetime of reading. Really, there are moments where obfuscation is the accurate word and one that is fun to use. To write “hiding” rather than “obfuscation” is not quite the same. Over the past few years I have noticed the use of “tiredness” rather than “fatigue” when posting the possible side effects of certain medications. Then there is the constant use of “bravery” rather than occasionally tempering the discussion with the occasional use of “courage.” I have even heard “bravery” in varied forms: braveness, for example. The same could be said for “tiredness” rather than “fatigue.” I remember hearing “fatigue” for the first time, and remember it because I had to ask Mom what that meant. As a result, I learned a new word and it’s related synonym. Cool. Later in the year, both fatigue and antique came up in the spelling list. I learned that when these words are mis-pronounced as fat-i-que and an-ti-que, it’s difficult to misspell them. The same is true for Chihuahua, as in that tiny dog from Mexico. That’s the fun of playing with language.

In the focus on brevity (or briefness?) are we losing other words? Yes, I am well aware that living languages are fluid things. Words come and words go. New words are formed as they are needed. Every year around this time, the OED publishes the list of new words added to the lexicon. I always find it an interesting adventure, this learning of new words. I confess that I don’t always know all of them, but that’s the fun of language, I think.

I find that this site also subscribes to one of the “brevity” principles: the top of this post lists the approximate number of minutes it will take for you to read this. Smart brevity means saying more with less. Be to the point. Draft in such a way that your big ideas stand out. Bullet points, good, long paragraphs, bad. I understand. IWhat might this mean for me? Do I write too much? Are these entries too long? Too circular? Do I use that ten dollar word when I could use one that’s worth a quarter? I like words. For some reason, “My Funny Valentine” from the musical Babes in Arms is earworming its way through my head as I write. I am not sure why. . .perhaps in spite of my writerly flaws in terms of brevity, you, dear reader, will find me the equivalent of your funny valentine.

This is a musing, after all, not a march, not an in-office memo, just a musing. Perhaps that is enough.