Film going: To the Wonder

Last night I saw the film To the Wonder.

I am still in awe.

This film follows the love and lives of an American man, Niel, and a French woman, Marina, who meet in France and move together to a small town in Oklahoma. We catch glimpses of their lives as their love waxes and wanes through time. The film weaves through the changes they face as a couple and as individuals. Beautiful moments and troubled times. Discontent and sublime happiness. Confidence and doubt. Tied into the tale are a love story between Niel and his childhood sweetheart, Jane, and the quiet struggles of a Spanish ex-patriot priest, Father Quintanna serving his parish in this small Oklahoma town. In much the way our characters seek to find, keep and understand their love, Quintana is reaching out for faith and for Christ, whom he has seemingly lost among the all too real lives of his congregants and the seeming lack of divinity around him. Though the characters overlap and their lives intersect, the stories remain separate and individual. Each unique.

The film is raw. Emotional. Narrated, vaguely, in turn by the various characters as they move through the phases in their lives and loves. As they struggle and question and seek and yearn for that which they cannot find or cannot hold on to.

It is also beautiful. Not just emotionally, but visually as well. The scenes are simple, yet at times take on an almost fairy-tale-like quality. Whimsical and flowing. The lighting and angles are gorgeous. Stark. Brilliant. Elegant. Dreamy. It is we, the audience, are half in a dream. In fact, the entirety of the film might be described as dreamlike. Hazy. The fragments one remembers after waking up. Unfinished and even, in parts, incoherent. Yet the moments are still surprisingly potent; the emotions inexplicably strong.

I recommend it highly...but know that this will be dreamy, emotional, abstract.. and the narrative sparse and elusive. I like that I guess. It was powerful enough to make me weep. So who knows, maybe you will love it too.

magic man

Saturday night was the very definition of gorgeousness. Beautiful music. Lovely people. The unity of so many different people in moments of pure delight. Just pure joy.

I've loved Josh Ritter for a long time (thanks to my friend Doug!). But at his concert, I suddenly felt a new connection to the man behind the music. The man whose music could fill a room with awe and wonder. Whose joyous love of his craft was apparent in every aspect of his performance. Whose gratitude for his listeners and whose enjoyment of being in that moment, on that stage was palpable. Who brought every voice in the room together in a chorus that filled the Rialto Theater with a little piece of love. Because no one there could have helped but love this incredible music man. It felt a little bit like magic. Or heaven.

So enjoy....

a new one,

and another new one,

and an oldy, but a goody :)

The opening band was also breathtaking. The lead singer's voice is out of this world powerful!

Have a listen to Lake Street Dive:

mix 'n' match

what do you get when you combine one of your favorite singers with lyrics about your favorite home town?

must be losing my mind...



i love this too



and this



and everything brett dennen sings.
i'm obsessed.

myheart

There is so much more
brett dennen

It takes me back

I don't quite remember how I stumbled upon the video of Bon Iver performing a cover of Bonníe Raitt's "I can't make you love me." His version is beautiful in its own right, but in the end I had to go back to the original. Gorgeous! (Adele's version is pretty too, by the way.)

The thing is, listening to this song takes me back in time. For some reason I was suddenly overcome by a memory of sitting in the backseat of my grandparent's car with my sister. We were driving to a swimming pool in Albuquerque while there on a visit. Maybe I was 8. The truth is, it's fuzzy and hazy and unfinished. I don't know if the song was playing on the radio, or a CD, or goodness, probably a cassette tape! while were driving. Or maybe some other Bonnie Raitt song. I can't say, but it's strange the way a lost memory can submerge like that, for no apparent reason. But beautiful too. I love it.

And it made me think about other favorite songs we used to listen to in the car when I was little. There were many-- but here are few songs that really stand out in my memory from ages 3-6 or so, when we used to drive half an hour across town to visit my (other) grandparents. At the moment I remember these specifically...

The Judds...

And Eric Clapton.. this is still one of my favorite songs..

Plus a Disney cassette
with "Zip-i-dee doo dah" and "We are Siamese if you please," etc. , etc.
that we must have played 3 million times! 

It will forever remind me of winding roads and fields of flowers

 from summer visits to the White Mountains.

But I'll spare you....

Thanks for indulging me in this blast from the past. Does anyone else have any songs that just can't be separated from your childhood?

Shall we dance?

I'm not a dancer, though my mother was, and because of that I imagine that the ability should be lurking somewhere in my genes, just waiting to be released. That one day I will step out onto a dance floor and nothing but beauty and grace will flow from my limbs; they will work together with the music and I will be transformed. Someday....

Dancing with Carlos, I almost felt it was possible.

Have you ever danced with someone who really knows how to dance? It's like you're moving without even knowing how. Somehow he's leading and following, sort of, and then, despite yourself, suddenly you're dancing. It's something magical, possessed only by a really, truly good dancer. And I guess that's kind of rare.

Carlos taught me to dance: bachata, merengue, a little bit of salsa. He took me dancing and he gave lessons to a group of us on a couple of evenings in the Center for Young Adults in Alcalá. When the rest of us danced together we all fumbled with our feet and started on the wrong beat and struggled to maintain the rhythm. But when I danced with Carlos it all made sense--the music, the movement, the turns--it was natural. Light, free, smooth, flowing. And pretty. While the rest of are just awkward and overly self-aware, when Carlos dances he looks graceful and beautiful and poised. Effortless.

On Tuesday I danced with Carlos for the last time. Today he left for Manchester, England, where he will serve a 2 year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am happy for him. He will teach and serve and learn, and speak English! He will grow and do much good. But I have to confess that, selfishly, I'm a bit disappointed to have reached the end of our dancing days, few though they were to begin with.

I guess what I'm really saying is, I'm in the market for a new dance teacher. One who not only knows how to dance, but who can transform his partner into a dancer by the sheer grace of his movement.

And no, I wouldn't mind if he happens be very handsome.

And maybe a little bit tall.

Skewed perceptions

Today I somehow found my way to this article/photo essay about celebrity moms feeding their babies in public, in various forms. What was shocking to me was that many people are "offended" by images of breastfeeding women.

What??

To me this is so skewed and twisted it is hardly comprehensible. Today we live in a culture which has turned women's bodies into sexual objects, and then so normalized this objectified, sexualized image that when we see nearly nude women in magazines and movies and television we hardly think twice. Yet, somehow an image of a woman feeding and nourishing her child in the way nature intended is unsettling. Am I the only one who sees a problem with this situation?

Maybe having spent time in cultures where public breast feeding is completely normal and common place, or knowing the some of the benefits mother and child can receive from breastfeeding, or the impact that breastfeeding can have for children and families in developing nations, or knowing women who would love to breastfeed but are unable to has changed my perspective. In our culture I know it isn't common to see a mother openly breastfeeding. What I don't know is why. I am offended, if we want to talk about offensive things, that we as a society hardly say a word when scantily clad women are posted on every magazine cover and make appearances in practically every film and TV series, often in demeaning and horrifyingly objectified ways, and then turn around and act as though we've never been so shocked when a woman happens to expose her breast in order to feed her child. It's beyond me!

Breastfeeding is awesome. And while not all moms can breastfeed and there are also many other good options for feeding babies today, there is no reason for this weird cultural taboo against a beautiful act of motherhood!

Shhh.

I love words.

I have felt their power and been inspired by their beauty.

But they are limited, too .

There are moments of magic in this world

that words cannot capture.

Valencia: Las Fallas

I wish the world knew the value of quietness

the meaning of stillness

the power of silence.

Because there are times when words are not enough

and can only diminish that which should already speak for itself.

*I hope someday to marry a man who knows when

to not speak

A dream or divinity

It was strange, but but for some reason this evening, while I was at an activity tonight with some Spanish friends, I suddenly realized that I was glowingly happy. Really. It's strange, because I didn't even realize it until I thought, Wow! Why can't I stop smiling? I just wanted to sing (which I actually did since we were practicing for our choir... which will perform on Sunday!!!) and give everyone hugs!

There are many contributing factors: I talked to my sister today. I received a beautiful card with inspirational quotes I definitely needed to read in the mail from an amazing woman who I love dearly. I had a great day with my classes (things seem to be much better this week now that they are done with their exams...). And I have been feeling extra blessed, protected and loved lately, which is rather amazing.

But mostly I think it is because this weekend I experienced this:

The pictures I took cannot even begin to capture the magnificence of La Sagrada Familia or any of the other incredible Gaudí creations I was lucky enough to experience with weekend in Barcelona. But I know that being surrounded by this incredible and truly inspired beauty touched my soul and changed my view of the world by exposing me to something so ethereal and yet so grand and magnificent. There is no way to see this inexplicable masterpiece and deny that there was something greater than man behind its creation.

I am still stunned. Just thinking about it leaves me speechless and jubilant!

On my little heart

I can't stop listening to this song. Because every time I do, I feel like my heart is breaking, but only so that it can be rebuilt, stronger and more full of love than ever before.

Everything about it makes me want to be better. Not only is it a gorgeous song with a beautiful message, but the fact that it is a tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr., one of my greatest heroes, makes it all the more powerful. It stirs in me a desire to be the best I can be and to give to the world, and to the Lord, everything I have. I love it!

favorites

I LOVE butterflies! I always have.

(and I think they love me too--one time i was talking to someone by the HBLL library and a butterfly just came over and landed on my hand. And once in Guatemala about a dozen of them came and landed on me while I was lying in the sun--apparently they thought the flowers on my swimsuit were real. (and also, they really love me.) it was basically the coolest thing that has ever happened to me!)

Butterflies are so delicate and graceful and beautiful and gentle. Perhaps a bit aloof, but they seem generally friendly. They are, I think, a happy insect. And they're pollinators. Since I love flowers too I am extra grateful to butterflies for their elegant usefulness!

So today I'm sharing this article about Vladimir Nabokov's theories on butterflies, which have recently been confirmed. Quite interesting! Also, as a lover of literature, I feel that i have a double connection to Nabokov.

I guess I ought to read Lolita now.

And here are some pretty butterfly pictures from the article.

And here is a Nabokov poem, “On Discovering a Butterfly":

I found it and I named it, being versed

in taxonomic Latin; thus became

godfather to an insect and its first

describer — and I want no other fame.

Have a wonderful day! It should be easy now that you're thinking about butterflies :)

Casas de carton

Yesterday my heart was broken as I watched a story of a young boy living in El Salvador during the civil war (in the 1980s). The movie "Innocent Voices" was based on the actual experiences of writer Oscar Torres and is one of the most beautiful depictions of family, childhood and war that I have seen. I was again reminded of the terrible reality of war and especially of its devastating impact on families and children, which effects linger on for generations--as we can see in El Salvador with the terrible gang violence that has taken hold in the country.

Luckily, there was more than simply a message of despair in the film. Perhaps one of the most poignant moments was when the Catholic priest, after having been brutally beaten by the El Salvadorean soldiers, held mass in the street and preached a message of love and faith to his congregation and all who could hear:

"The word of God should be heard by those who have not found grace within themselves. What is grace? Grace is the presence of the divine in every one of our actions. The skeptics say, 'If God existed, there would be no war.' And I respond, 'If humanity would obey the word of God, then there would be no war!' Because God has given humanity the privilege to live in grace, or on the contrary, to provoke disgrace. I assure you, when one lives in the grace of God, war does not exist. Nevertheless, there are those who ignore their own divine nature and they satisfy themselves by robbing, humiliating and killing their own kind..."

To me this is such a beautiful expression of our responsibility. Each of us must live according to our divine nature. We must act with grace and love and treat each other with care. If we want to be blessed with peace, we must first live peacefully. We must demonstrate in our actions the grace of God and our devotion to him, rather than to our own wants and our own prejudices and hatreds and grudges. Oh how I wish we would live that way!

This song was a song of the rebel army in the civil war in El Salvador, prohibited by the national army. It is gorgeous.



Here is the English translation:

How sad the rain sounds
On the cardboard roofs
How sadly my people live
In the cardboard houses.

The worker comes descending,
Almost dragging his feet
Under the weight of his suffering.
Look how much is the suffering!
Look how much the suffering weighs!
He leaves his pregnant wife above
The city is below,
And he loses himself in its tangle.

Today is the same as yesterday
In this world without tomorrow.

How sad, the rain is heard
On the cardboard roofs.
How sadly my people live
In the cardboard houses.

Children the color of my land
With the same scars,
Millionaires of worms, and
therefore, how sadly the children live.

How happily the dogs live
In the home of the exploiters.
You won't believe it,
But there are schools for dogs
And they give them education
So they don't bite the newsboys
But the boss
For years, so many years,
has been biting the laborer.

How sad, the rain is heard
On the cardboard roofs.
How far away, hope passes
In the cardboard houses.

From: http://lyricstranslate.com

This Christmas season, may we remember, and live, the glorious song of the angels at our Savior's birth:

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men."
Luke 2:14

The advantages of an onion

A delicious addition to spaghetti sauce
or quesadillas, fajitas and stir fry.
An essential for soups and stews.
Quite useful for feigning emotion
or bringing an entire room to tears
or perhaps blinding an enemy--you never know when that might come in handy.

For some reason I had the sudden urge to buy an onion today. They just seem so practical and delicious! Seriously!

It has been years since I have really cared much for onions, but there was a phase in my life when I ate them all the time. I loved to put onion on sandwiches and in salads. I habitually cooked onions and ate them with almost any meal--I especially loved onions cooked with zucchini (my very favorite veggie!). But then onions lost their appeal. Suddenly they seemed too strong; too potent and harsh. My delicate palate could only handle them in small doses hidden amongst other foods. Then I came to college and started buying food for myself, but dear old onion never made it into the cart. And slowly, he was forgotten.

But that is about to change. On my next trip to the store the onion will have a place of honor in the front of the cart. I have great plans for this pungent friend--oh the miraculous meals that I will make! I am so very glad to have my eyes opened once again to the advantages of this oft misunderstood root.

In honor of this joyous occasion I shall share with you a poem I read a few years that speaks of this dear vegetable in much more elegant words I can summon. . .

"Onions"
by William Matthews

How easily happiness begins by
dicing onions. A lump of sweet butter
slithers and swirls across the flow
of the sauté pan, especially if its
errant path crosses a tiny stick
of olive oil. Then a tumble of onions.

This could mean soup or risotto
or chutney (from the Sanskrit
chatni, to lick). Slowly the onions
go limp and then nacreous
and then what cookbooks call clear,
though if they were eyes you could see

clearly the cataracts in them.
It's true it can make you weep
to peel them, to unfurl and to tease
from the taut ball first the brittle,
caramel-colored and decrepit
papery outside layer, the least

recent and reticent onion
wrapped around its growing body,
for there's nothing to an onion
but skin, and it's true you can go on
weeping as you go on in, through
the moist middle skins, the sweetest

and thickest, and you can go on
in to the core, to the bud-like,
acrid, fibrous skins densely
clustered there, stalky and in-
complete, and these are the most
pungent, like the nuggets of nightmare

and rage and murmury animal
comfort that infant humans secrete.
This is the best domestic perfume.
You sit down to eat with a rumor
of onions still on your twice-washed
hands and lift to your mouth a hint

of a story about loam and usual
endurance. It's there when you clean up
and rinse the wine glasses and make
a joke, and you leave the minutest
whiff of it on the light switch,
later, when you climb the stairs.



"Onions" by William Matthews cited from The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry Second Edition edited by J.D. McClatchy (2003). Vintage Books: New York. Pages 491-492.