Movie Review: Alice in Wonderland

I have an unending and unconditional love for puppets and stop motion art. This love was sparked by what are, for me, The Four: Sesame Street, Gumbi, Jim Henson, and those old holiday movies about Rudolph and Frosty. I feel giddy whenever I catch a reminiscent glimpse of these, such as the North Pole characters in Elf and the vampire musical in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Fondness has etched stop motion into my heart, cherished memories of watching these shows with my sister cementing them in place forever. Pajamas, puppets and socks. Makes me crave a cup of hot chocolate.

When I was 10, I watched The Nightmare Before Christmas. It was mesmerizing. Clever, detailed and so so cool. It was then that I fell in love with Tim Burton. Like any love, I don't love everything. But what I do love of his, I love a lot. Dark, creepy, crawly. Romantic, intricate and mysteriously ethereal. That is what sums up Alice for me. Bold, delicate, and so so pretty.


Score: DIZZY WITH DELIGHT.

Love At First Grade

Dear E,

I am so sorry. I wonder if we could be in love. If you said yes, then we need a plan. If not, we are lost.

J

As I sifted through student writing I came across this letter. We are writing persuasive letters. Started on Monday. Students are attempting to understand the structure of letters. Yes, the line at the top is for the date. If the comma is at the end of the line, then the paper is right side up. And don't forget the punctuation. It's like your underwear; always necessary.

My first thought was about E. I don't know who E is, but she is one lucky little girl. How many boys will consider themselves lost without you? And he is already planning for the future, so you know he is in it for the long haul. This little man is clearly not playing games; he means business.

J is one of those rare kids that is just plain honest. That is the most important thing I have learned about him so far, and the thing I most love about him. He is honest about everything. Is mom picking you up after school today? I hope so. What's wrong, J? I am in love! Everything is wrong. Did you do your homework? I forgot. And I didn't want to. How did he come to be so honest? And can this honesty be taught to others, or have we no choice but to admire and attempt to imitate? Wish it could be captured somehow and passed around the classroom.

J is fluent in Spanish, falls deep into the stories and illustrations of his books, and often talks to himself throughout the day. No doubt he is composing sweet sonnets for his beloved E. He laughs at all of my jokes, always tells me what he ate for dinner the night before, and I predict that he will be a brilliant writer when he grows up.

Mail picture by Smithsonian Institution.

Letter picture by topsy cretts.

Pears of Wisdom

me: Bye Appa, I'll call you when I land.

Appa: Ok, geureh. Have a good flight.

And next time you come, don't wear clothes with holes in them.

... Really? Those are your parting words? I've worn these jeans for the past five days without a word but now, in the crowded security check line, a few seconds before we both leave this airport, is the best time to address the wear and tear of my jeans?

This is why my father is so wise. Yes, now is the perfect time to remind you that it would be wise to think about your appearance every now and then. Because while what matters most is the 'stuff' inside your heart, the decisions you make in accordance to that 'stuff' represent who you are. I could have brought this up at dinner four days ago, but now you will remember me clearly. It is a good idea to care.

Those jeans are distressed. Are you in distress?

Do you feel worn out in some places?

Not really?

Then why do you dress like a beggar?

That last comment is always said with a chuckle and an endearing I-don't-understand-you-girls smile. I heard it often back in the JNCO days, when my sister and I were accused of being street cleaners due to the excessive length of our pantalons. He often referred to pants and jeans as pantalons. Pronounced bbang-dda-longs.

Perhaps it was his sublty. Or his off-beat timing. Whatever it was, it struck me in the heart in a way that made me smile the whole 6 hours home and love my dad even more than I already did.

There is something in the gospel of Matthew about a tree. A tree is recognized by its fruits. Good trees bear good fruit and bad trees bear dragonfruit. (Ok it doesn't really say that but have you ever tasted one? Seriously. Fruit of the armpit.) Had my dad intended to remind me of this lesson? Or does he truly not understand why I choose to dress 'like a beggar' ? It's not a perfect metaphor, jeans as fruit. But it was as good a time as any to remember to live like the good man, who brings good things out of the good stored up in him... and, who knows, probably wears jeans without any holes in them.

There are a few more Appa-isms that have stuck with me:

Always hold your breath when taking a picture. It keeps the camera steady.

You can never have too many books.

Everyone should have and use a shoehorn.

Movie Review: Sherlock Holmes

" You wear a jacket."

When does the DVD come out? Because I need to watch this at least 10 more times. Cannot get the acting out of my head. Cannot get the riddles out of my head. Cannot get the music out of my head! It was dark enough to be intriguing, just the right amount of spooky without being scary, and endlessly witty. If you don't pay attention to the dialogue you can miss a lot of it so I recommend ditching the commentator friend as well as that friend who always wants to know what just happened.

Score: I LOVED IT.

Movie Review: An Education

Just watched An Education and I loved it. So much. I enjoyed every minute of it and highly recommend this beautiful movie.

Is there anything better than 50s/60s fashion? Or Paris? Or love? (Brownies.) Carey Mulligan is fantastic and adorable. The colors in this movie were absolutely gorgeous. Muted but with tastefully bright accents. It is a drama, for sure, but had the perfect balance of light sarcasm and heavy emotion. Everything came together in such a graceful and subtle way. I was sad when it was all over, and will probably watch it again tomorrow.

Oh, to picnic by the Seine!

Score: FANTASTIQUE.

Defrosting

As the holidays come to a close and winter enters the room with gust after gust of chilling winds, I am thinking about the kind of attitude with which I want to ring in this new year of 2010. Twenty ten. This number sounds the way a perfectly round donut would if it were thrown against a wall. Round and fresh. That is, if any sound could be heard beyond my hysterical shouting about wasting such a perfectly delicious donut.

Mostly, I cannot stop thinking about compassion. This is not because I have a big heart. My heart is small and mostly covered with ice. A heart like this produces words that are blunt, sarcastic, and mean. Worst of all, sometimes I am proud of this, and parade myself around like some unstoppable, undefeated champion of rudeness, often confusing my snarky comments to be witty ones. Friends are too nice to tell me to shut up, and when they do I think they are teasing me.

A few weeks ago I met with a parent. She told me about how every day he comes home complaining about how much he hates school, also how much he hates me. My response: I'm not surprised. If I were him, I would hate school, too. This is no defense but my honest opinion about how this student is performing. I wonder now that it was perhaps a little too honest but at the time I thought it was a very objective. At the end of my little speech, she starts to give hers. It is a speech I feel as though I have heard before, details, defense and deductions about her child all the same, but at the end she proves me wrong. I have not heard this before and hope to never hear it again. She trembles a little bit, her voice a mixture of anger, worry, strength, and sadness, and says "Have a little compassion for him."

Have a little compassion. My heart sinks with guilt and shame. It was really sad to hear a parent request this of their child's first grade teacher, and it strikes a chord so deep in my ice, cold heart that it has played over and over again in my mind more times than there are donut crumbs. When I wake up, when I step into the classroom, when I get into bed... I am afraid that it will resonate with me for the rest of my life. I am also hopeful that it will.

So, here is the attitude. I want to be more compassionate. I know I have passion for teaching and for children, but I don't know that I exhibit compassion for them. Especially towards students who need good teachers the most... I am not going to tolerate my sinful personality anymore. 'I'm cold-hearted' and 'I'm just mean' are not acceptable. I cannot imagine facing Jesus and making those kinds of excuses, so I will not do it now.

I want to be a more compassionate person. I feel the need to say it over and over again. I don't know what this requires exactly. I feel the need to be a little bit softer, kinder, quieter even. But I am afraid that compassion will somehow diminish or crush the strength in me, strength the cross has given me, strength that has extinguished so many plaguing, stifling, toxic insecurities...

Then I remember the cross, really remember, and conclude that compassion most definitely adds strength to strength.





Remember the cross.

Watch out, 2010. I am ready to kill and destroy with compassion.
(Or something nicer.)

Donuts, courtesy of rosy outlook.
Ice Melt, courtesy of GlasgowPhotoMan.

Hot and Cold

"Sea glass is one of the very few cases of a valuable item
being created from the actions of the environment on man-made litter."

This past year has been all about hot cold, yes no, in out, up down. (Katy Perry is a bright-eyed, bright-lipped genius.) 'Roller coaster' doesn't even begin to describe all that has passed. More like uncoordinated juggling. Imagine the colorful balls of first grade and a teacher's first year thrown clumsily into the air along with love, pain and pimples-- all to be poorly juggled by an amateur who instead of asking for a hand barks at the offers to assist.

That is all that I remember lately. To do lists, poor juggling, and deterrence. Start date? Can't remember. End date? Indeterminable. When I try to think of what good has come of this year, it often produces no result. I look at my face and I see scars. I look into my heart and I see wounds. I look around me, I see nothing and no one. An optimist would have no trouble seeing the full glass of adversity. I guess that makes me a pessimist today. The sky is gray, my sweater is itchy and this tea is too cold to drink.
After all that crashing and tumbling, how hopeless the bottle must feel. Broken to bits. No consumers in sight. Not a hand to recycle it. There is an astounding persistence about its hardship. On the one hand it seems unbearable and cruel. It serves its purpose only to be thrown into the ocean, literally, where waves and storms relentlessly wear it down. On the other hand, I say it is astounding because sometimes.. I get the feeling that the waves that persistently come at me are the people I love the most.. and they come at me not to break me down but to shape me with their support and loving presence.. which is astounding considering the miserable way I have treated them through and through..
What words can be left after such things?

None. There are no words, no things, and no people.


There is only grace.
Because in the end, through everything difficult and terrible, what remains? Not a stone that used to be a beautiful shell, but smooth sea glass that used to be a piece of garbage.

The remains will always be that of a sinner, survived by grace and grace alone.