Hidden Lives
One of my favourite movies is Hugo directed by Martin Scorsese which follows the life of an orphan boy in Paris 1931, his work in the train station as the keeper of the clocks, and his encounters with a young girl and her seclusive grandfather. What I find most intriguing about this film is that its based off of true events. There is something delightful about the colour and magic mingled with the ordinary!
At its core Hugo is a story about a man and a boy who think they've been forgotten by the world. Its a masterful tribute to the artistry of early film and the hidden lives of those who created them.
When I reflect on how many other lives have and are being lived unnoticed, I'm overwhelmed (working in a museum makes me very aware of them). Everyone has a story to tell, but
"Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen."
Its comforting to know that God plants each flower with tender purpose.
~
I'm a lover of old films, especially the pioneering silent film era! It was actually The Invention of Hugo Cabret (the book that inspired the movie) that introduced me to Harold Lloyd, a brilliant silent film actor who has remained hidden, unfortunately, in Charlie Chaplin's shadow.
Not long after discovering Harold's films I came down with a terrible cold and consoled myself by watching a bunch of them (thank goodness for youtube!).
If you have any suggestions for good old movies, whether from the silent or dancing, musical eras, let me know :)
"Here and Now"
I don't know if its just me but I find birthdays bittersweet. Its like being handed clothes too big and expected to wear them until they fit. Problem is that just as they begin to feel comfortable its time to exchange them for new ones.
Then I find myself reminiscing about the me that was, and though they're usually pleasant almost unconscious thoughts I'll suddenly feel a twinge of grief because they're the past, never to happen again. As such I'm finding that transitioning into adulthood involves a certain level of mourning.
Recently memories have flashed before me, surprising me with their vividness and the fact that there are no pictures to prompt them.
I see my eight-year-old self on a date with my dad to the theatre to see a play (either Suessical the Musical or The Sound of Music). Without a whisper of a self-conscious thought I jump out of the car all dressed up for the occasion feeling pretty, confident and jittery with excitement.
Then I see me on the playground during Grade 1 recess, leading a game of cowboys vs. wild horses (my imagination had been sparked by the movie Spirit) and helping to settle a conflict between my classmates.
And I wonder: where did that confident, outspoken little girl go?
~
Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury is one of those unassuming little books that contains priceless treasures. I read it over three months ago and the characters and themes continue to impact me. At its heart its a story about the mingling of age and time; a celebration of what it means to live. In one chapter an elderly lady is hording memorabilia from her past and trying in desperation to prove to the neighbouring children that she was once young herself. They refuse to believe her, and only after her most cherished photograph of her younger self is stolen does she realizes that,
"No matter how hard you try to be what you once were, you can only be what you are here and now."
I think that's what it means to grow old gracefully. Staying young at heart but not fighting the current. As Scott F. Fitzgerald famously concludes in The Great Gatsby, people are like "boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
But while Fitzgerald's words are poetic and true, they leave me with a sense of hopelessness. I know I'm not old but I already find myself beating against the current and I don't want to get in the habit of living like that. How tiring!
I'm learning that childhood innocence and vivacity are beautiful things but that there is also beauty in the wisdom and experience that comes with age.
"When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a (woman), I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." - 1 Corinthians 13:11-12
I'm back!
I don't usually do much for my birthday but the other day as I was thinking about turning 21 at the end of the month I thought, why not record a handful of my experiences and musings as an advent for the year ahead? 21 snapshots to share!
Here goes... :)
Upon the Threshold
Back in December I was completing my first semester of college and experiencing an odd combination of anticipation and dread. Dread because - as one of my profs pronounced it -"the great and glorious" week of exams had arrived (it really wasn't that dreadful, although I wouldn't call it "glorious" either!). Anticipation because I was only a few days away from my Christmas break which meant returning to the dear ol' Island and and my family.
Time is such a curious thing.
During that week it languished in slow motion, oblivious to my silent requests to hurry up, and yet at the same time it rushed by in a whirlwind of studying, goodbyes, and events. Time isn't consistent but at least its reliable and eventually I found myself writing the last page of my last exam (Intro to English Lit), trying not to let my mind wander to my dad waiting patiently in the car outside or the ferry we needed to catch.
At the bottom of the page there was a bonus question; an invitation to write a haiku about my present thoughts or emotions. It only took me a moment and I certainly felt the little poem more than I thought it...
In the crisp, cold air
I stand upon the threshold
Of the warmth of home.
Home. A haven. A place to recuperate. A place of solace where I know I'll be listened to and where I'm free to express myself.
What struck me that week on the cusp of the holiday season was how my happy emotions in regards to returning home were often contrasted by the mixed ones of many of my fellow classmates. Not everyone can associate home with warmth and my heart aches for those who return home with such uncertainty.
The older I get the more aware I am of the gift that my family is to me. We're not perfect but I'm thankful beyond measure for my parents and sister who have seen me at my best and worst and continue to love, support, comfort, and refine me.
