I Feel Bad about My Neck and About Nora Ephron's Death

I actually do not feel bad about my neck--not yet.  But because of Nora Ephron's book by that title, I expect that I will some day.  I've been warned.  I also remember her appearance on Oprah to promote the book.  She talked about how few people have gray hair anymore, and so we all look younger than we are.  I hadn't ever thought about that before, but it's true.

Last summer I found my first silvery hair.  I saw it as a curiousity.  This summer, I'm seeing an invasion.  I'm blondish, so it's not so noticeable to others.  I'm budgeting for a future of hair highlights, though.  I've been warned.

I do feel bad about Ephron's death.  I also felt a shock--I didn't realize she was 71.  I felt the sadness that I feel when someone in their 40's dies.  But Ephron has had a full, rich life.

This story on the NPR website gives some background, along with this great quote:  "'I think it's like a lot of things about getting older — you have absolutely no imagination that this is actually going to happen to you,' she told NPR's Neal Conan several years ago. 'You think for quite a while you're going to be the only person who doesn't need reading glasses, or the only person who doesn't go through menopause ... and in the end, the only person who isn't going to die. And then you suddenly are faced with whichever of those things it is, and you can't believe how unimaginative you have been about what it actually consists of.'"

Yes, for years, I had felt a bit of glee about the fact that I didn't need reading glasses.  I thought that maybe I'd avoid that fate, even though I know that every pair of eyes needs reading glasses by age 50.  The only people who don't need reading glasses are the ones who don't read.

It's been shocking to me how quickly my eyes have needed reading glasses.  One month I could read perfectly; one month later, I'm blurry-eyed at every reading opportunity that's not a screen.

Sigh.

I had forgotten that Nora Ephron wrote serious movies in addition to romantic comedies and light essays.  I spent my college years terrifying myself by watching nuclear war movies:  Testament, The Day After, and Threads, the terrifying triumvarate.  But perhaps I should have watched Silkwood a few more times.  I've probably been in more danger from local nuclear plants than governments with nuclear weapons.

And if I watched it again, I'd likely pay attention to the dangers posed by big corporations.  That's the threat that's feeling most predatory to me these days.

Most of us will probably remember her as the writer of When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle.  You may remember the post that I wrote in February of 2011 after watching When Harry Met Sally, along with other movies.  I concluded this way:  "I'm happy to report that When Harry Met Sally still holds up all these years. Witty dialogue, crisp plotting, beautiful settings, perfectly done minor characters, truly funny bits. It was a great way to end my disappointing movie streak."

The ever-wonderful Linda Holmes has written a beautiful essay about Nora Ephron's romantic comedies, and she spends some time on what Nora Ephron taught her as a writer:  "Nora Ephron would be part of any box of influences I might try to pull together that explained how I started writing, how I learned what kinds of jokes I like, and how I learned what kinds of love stories I respond to. I suspect I still accidentally try to talk like I'm in a Nora Ephron romantic comedy; I wouldn't know it, because I'd just think of it as trying to make great conversation."

And let us not forget about Nora Ephron the director.  She paved a way when very few women were directing movies. 

I feel bad about all the creative folks we've lost this year.  Very bad.  But also very thankful to have had them and their work to nourish us.

Movie Disappointments and Perfections on Oscars Week-end

So, on this Sunday when lots and lots of people will tune in to see the Academy Awards, I have movie disappointments on the brain. I have not actually seen many of the movies that are nominated for awards this year, or any year. Gone are my high school years, the early 80's, where my friends and I went to several movies a week-end. Given the fact that fewer movies were made back then, there were a few points in the year when we had actually seen everything that was released.

Ah, high school, back when I had scads of free time. High school took up about as much of my time as my current job--why did it seem I had more time? Was it the fact that there were fewer other distractions? Fewer movies, fewer television channels, no Internet? Was I better at time management?

Anyway, back to movies. On Friday night, we watched the latest (was it the latest?) Woody Allen movie, Vicky Christina Barcelona. It had gotten good reviews, so I took the chance. As I suffered through this movie, I tried to remember the last Woody Allen movie I really enjoyed. Then I tried to figure out why the critics liked this movie. I wouldn't have added it to the Netflix queue if I hadn't heard good things about it.

It could have been a sexy movie, but it was dull. It could have been an interesting exploration of alternative relationships, a triad, not a diad. We only got about 10 minutes of that. It could have been an interesting exploration of art and what it means to be a creative person, but it fell back on that old stereotype that artists are barking mad people who will stick a knife in you (both literally and figuratively) and shoot you. I even had hopes for the scenery, but alas, no. And what horrible, stilted dialogue--NOBODY talks like that, particularly not beautiful, young women. Sigh.

Then yesterday, we watched the remake of Fame. What a hideous movie. We couldn't keep the characters straight because they were barely developed (much like the Woody Allen movie). Were the characters talented? Hard to say. The male dancer who wasn't good enough? We saw him in his first week of class, but we never saw him dance again--and we get the interview that he has with the dance teacher where she tells him he'll never make a living by dancing, but maybe he could teach. Well, I'll just have to take her word for it, won't I? And my spouse was the one who noted that the other students wouldn't have seemed nearly as talented without all their electronics. The lunchroom scene for example--it began with a boombox.

It was SO bad that we watched the first part of the original movie. SO MUCH BETTER. What a relief to see students playing instruments in that lunchroom. What a delight to think of a lunchroom that had two old pianos just hanging out there. What a delight to see students improvise. What a delight to see students dancing like they've actually been classically trained. Ah well.

And then we switched gears. We watched When Harry Met Sally. And let me take a quick aside here to say how wonderful it is that my husband was perfectly happy to have this chick flick film fest with me. We wouldn't want to do it every Saturday. Some Saturdays we will watch nothing but Westerns--and then I get the Best Wife Award.

I'm happy to report that When Harry Met Sally still holds up all these years. Witty dialogue, crisp plotting, beautiful settings, perfectly done minor characters, truly funny bits. It was a great way to end my disappointing movie streak.

Will I be watching the Academy Awards? No, I will not. I just don't care enough to suffer through all those hours and all those commercials (I feel that way about a great many things these days)--I'll just catch the recap tomorrow.

New Year's Eve Gratitudes

Here it is, the last day of 2022, the year I will think of as the year of whiplash or the slightly more positive pivoting.  It was a year of thinking we were headed in one direction, then being yanked in another, in all the ways I don't want to list right now.  It was also a year of considerable blessings, especially when considering how much worse it could have been.

I am thinking of this end of the week news of those who have died, the famous ones, just in these final days of 2022 alone:  Barbara Walters, Pope Benedict, Pele.  I keep looking at these 3 names, seeing connections and distinctions, the ways they broke boundaries or established them, and the ways that various parts of society would use them, shape them and be shaped by them.

I will have a very unusual New Year's Eve--at 5:00 Hawaii time, if all goes well, our plane will depart the Honolulu airport, and we will fly and fly and fly, east to DC.  It's a direct flight, and we land at 7 a.m., so it will be unlike some other New Year's Eve flights we've had.  I'm remembering one flight that took off from Las Vegas, where the people in the seat behind us had already been partying hard while on the ground.  Happily, although they were loud drunks, they weren't combative or vomitous.  I expect tonight's flight to be quieter.

I always say that I can't sleep on planes, but perhaps I will be able to sleep tonight.  If not, if the United in-air entertainment system is working, we should be able to get good movies.  Coming here, while the plane was at the gate for 3 hours, I watched When Harry Met Sally again, and later I watched Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (a bit baffling, a bit intriguing, a lot tiring).  I watched part of Honk for Jesus, Save Your Soul, which I might return to, but I found the characters tiresome, so I probably won't.

I will peek out the window from time to time, watching the ground below, the sky above, the boundaries dark, the blinking.  I will think about stars and navigation, both the Polynesians following the Southern Cross in their impossibly small canoes, the wise men following a new star (Epiphany approaches), the book lists for my seminary classes that bring me joy.  I am returning from a resort vacation for the first time in a long time not dreading what lies ahead:  no soul-draining job awaiting my input (my ongoing online teaching is not soul-draining), no physical therapy (last May's vacation--so grateful for healing from my wrist surgery, so glad I'm not facing that kind of body repair right now). 

I am a lucky woman