"I AM

BEOWULF!" Incredible.
That's the only word for it.

I literally (and I mean like a wet dog) had to shake this movie off. In the car on the way home I expelled my excess energy with excited yells and disturbed wimpering.

I had shivers the entire ride.

When Muad'Dib asked if I enjoyed it, I couldn't honestly say yes, but I said - honestly - that I EXPERIENCED it. I have never jumped or squealed so much in a movie. It wasn't scary but it was intense and beautiful and moving and gorgeous and enthralling. (I think those are enough adjectives, don't you?)

Do NOT take children. I'm really glad we didn't, and they guy who took his four small children to see it, thinking it was just an animated feature, had a lot of explaining to do at numerous parts in the film. "Daddy, why are they hanging from the ceiling like that?" and "Why isn't she wearing anything?" (there was a remarkable amount of nakedness) and "Why would he do that?"

No one under 20 should see it unless they are prepared for realistic death and gory monster mayhem. Wildbound, don't even think about it. Yikes. Muad'Dib had to release my death grip on his hand near the end of the film, and I was nail-biting the rest of the time. There was once I nearly jumped out of my seat!

This is a positive post. If anyone asks me if they should see it, I want to yell "Yes!"from the rooftops because it was so INCREDIBLE,
But these warnings are warranted: trust me.

For years I had heard a friend of mine try and tell me the story of Beowulf, and convince me of it's inherent charms as one of the masterpieces in literature. Well, now it is a masterpeice of moviemaking. It simply MUST win an Academy Award for SOMETHING!

Oh Wow. If this is the capacity of moviemaking ahead of us then WOW! This story was brilliantly told, brilliantly acted, brilliantly animated . . . I'm gushing now, aren't I?

No matter what anyone else says, I stick by my review. I still have that man's voice ringing in my ears: "I Am Beowulf!" Check out the trailer on my side strip to see more. This is the gory version, so if you don't want the blood (or the phallic symbols), don't watch, but you have to at least listen. The music (in the film) is glorious and the rant at the end is pulse pounding fun!

Incredible!

And River says: "Miranda!"

Notice the new picture at the top of my blog. It is called "Miranda: the Tempest". I like it. I like it so much that four years ago Muad'Dib bought me a 16x20 canvas print of it and I was able to frame it for my Christmas! It has hung in our bedroom ever since, always calming me, and beginning the water theme in our room.

The other night as we were attempting to put our little Rivulet to sleep, I realized how funny it was that we have a girl named River and a picture in our room named Miranda.

Real BrownCoats would get the joke.

Y'ever have those days where you feel like writing and you want to write something - anything, but only nothing comes out? Many pages in my journals are littered with these sorts of entries: times when my soul has something to say, but has not yet communicated it to my brain.

In these instances I often ramble of my days or my feelings. Not like brain poop rambling, but super romantic, pretty, Louisa May Alcott sappy rambling. I revert to my Anne of Green Gables self and use the largest prettiest words in my none-too-limited vocabulary.

I use words like "blithesome" and "floating". I conjur images like a goose coming to land softly and gracefully on an otherwise quiet pond, making only a few soft ripples that stretch ever so slowly to reach me as I sit on some shore or other. I begin to see things in pastel colors and gentle tones. The sound of a car going by reaches my ears with a calming sort of music and I want to cry from the beauty of it.

This is my pretty side. This is the self I really prefer to be when I am alone. It is the self that takes me to Antique stores and into quiet moments of nature. It is the self that remembers Subway and Lake Powel and Hilton Lakes. It is the self that writes the dreams and desires of a romantic girl's heart. It is the self that imagined wonderful and magical places that made no sense of any sort to anyone but itself. It is the self that is constantly sighing with contented relief because it is constantly releasing everything else from that other world: the cranky, tired or frustrated world. The calm state cannot understand the wired state. I take a look from one place as though onto another and feel entirely removed.

I have half a cedar chest full of the ramblings of my heart. I have a poetry book full of second rate poetry and first rate emotion. I have stories chock full of beauty and prose and images that still take my breath away.

Not long ago someone mentioned to me that I was merely surviving. When I shared that thought with another, they said that surviving is all a young mother can do. "What about thriving?" I wondered. Today I understand that to first thrive I must know what that means to me. What would it take for me to thrive?

One answer is: more moments like this. More chilly mornings where I sit by my newly-set-up Christmas tree with one space heater turned to me and a human incubator cuddled up on my lap. More created opportunities to write whatever romantic or glorified drivel I can conjur in my amazing mind. More moments where I take Cowboy Bob's advice and simply BE. What I can do is wonderful. What I can be is awe inspiring. What I am is enough.

And out of my nothing has come something. Thanks for sharing the moment with me.

Sneeze in a Dressing Room

A woman walks into a dressing room with four pairs of pants, two dresses and two shirts. The pants range in size and shape, because they are from the clearance section. As has been her habit, she has chosen what is available, not what looks best on her. The lights are bright, and the colors are classy as she enters the over-large cubicle with a long mirror on one wall.

Carelessly she removes her old chicken-juice stained jeans to don new ones, hoping one pair can possibly fit her the way these have for almost three years. Sure, she had to sew the zipper back in by hand and perhaps her husband was correct and she shouldn't have been walking on the hems until they wore right off . . . but she had enjoyed these pants.

Shopping is an exciting excursion for any woman. There are those who point out that the mirror in the dressing room is the most unfriendly mirror there is. That six foot peice of reflective glass ruins whatever joy a woman can derive from shopping, because it is too honest, too judgemental.

Well, not this mirror. Slipping into the first pair of pants, the woman noticed that she had grabbed the wrong size. But, she was over halfway in anyway and decided it couldn't do more harm than trying on any other pair of jeans. She fastened the oversized button and zipped up the pants and . . . her heart sneezed.

Perhaps it was her imagination. She turned from side to front to other side, admiring the flattering image she saw before her. She tore off her old snot-slimed shirt and threw on one of the new ones she had brought in with her.

The plum wine tones brought out the blush in her cheeks, her excitement now beaming from every muscle in her face. Still turning, still admiring herself she began to laugh. A laugh so loud and so full that the woman outside the stall asked, "Is everything working for you then?"

"Nope. I think I grabbed the wrong size!" How giddy that made her!

Another shirt - charcoal but in a similar cut - did not detract from the beauty of this robust woman who continued to giggle and dance before the mirror. The sales girl brought her three more pairs of pants, in that smaller size.

For twenty more minutes, the laughter continued, the dancing continued. She flipped her hair over her shoulders and totally enjoyed how beautiful she was. The pants were too expensive. The shirts weren't, so she decided to buy them and look for the smaller size of jeans somewhere else.

As she happily exited the cubicle she had dreaded entering, the sales girl grinned at her and asked, "Saw something you liked?"

How could a simple "Yes!" be enought truth for the moment?

BEWARE: Dreams to follow . . .

WARNING: to those who don't enjoy hearing or reading other people's sleep stories: skip this post! For those who enjoy the mental tumble a dream brings, I invite you to continue:

Last night Rivulet was sick, meaning I got up with her and her not-breathing-ness every two and a half hours. So I was blessed with not one, not two, but THREE very interesting dreams.

1. I was on the top level of a school (the top being, like, level ten). The school had many students and many stairs. I was so tired, sleepyand worn out, but I needed to exit the building on the ground floor to go home. The top level, I tried moving people out of my way by being gruff (thanks to the Leemur's new story reminding me of the word). It didn't work because it didn't make a big enough impact on enough people to actually clear my path.

Then I heard music. It was like Glen Miller's "In the Mood." Suddenly I was in a twirly skirt and realized whatI should do. I channeled all my efforts for gruffness into dance. I was swirling and spinning; until I was past the "I'm smiling so much my face hurt's" stage and was simply breathless with joy. It worked amazingly well. People not only cleared my path, they stood to the sides of the halls to watch me in wonder. Some weren't too keen on me expressing myself this way, I could tell . . . but there were others whose faces lit up by my passing.

I knew I was still exhausted, and yet I was energizing my way past it. I got to the door, and did a whole big dance number with a guy who was standing there. I tried to exit when it was over, but the faces of some more intrusive theater friends blocked my path and said things like, "You are so talented, just do it one more time!" I was so tired, though. No one listened. And the music wouldn't play again. I needed rest. Finally I gave up the being nice and said with calm, "I'm tired and I need to rest. Move out of my way." They did.

Moral: My journey does not need to be taken in happiness, it is happiness. Anger hinders my progress and my process.

2. I saw my sister on the steps of a huge school where she was the new principal. Together we talked and laughed and began leading music. She told me she was the one playing the music in my last dream that let me dance my way out.

3. A possible road my life could have taken had I made different choices at age nineteen. Sure there were good things like weeks at Lake Powell with friends, lots of theater, graduating college and being payed for my talents. Oh, and James McAvoy fell in love with me . . . but in the midst of it, I felt an incredible longing. I saw Muad'Dib on a house boat that we passed in LP,(in the dream) and thought (with McAvoy's arm around me) "That's a guy I'd like to know."
My father wasn't pleased with my choice in men . . . I wouldn't make time to eat with my parents, I felt ugly, though I was the "size" I wanted to be. I actually spent time in the dream envisioning what i would look like after children and prefered it. It was my "dream self."

And then the Simpsons came to eat with James and I and I found a fly in my creme brule' so I think the meaningful part of the dream was over by then.

I know there are those who say dreams are merely the brain's way of processing excess rigamorola we've accumulated through the day(s). Some of mine are that way . . . but not these. These were like markings on an unfamiliar trail that quietly reassure me: "You are on your way. Keep moving forward." Which, oddly enough to some, is a lesson I have not learned yet. Perhaps that's why i keep creating the situations that will teach it to me.

I feel so pleasently delightful right now. Reassurance does that to a person.

I submit:

I have decided that a new phrase needs coining.

In the spirit of Brain Poop, Emotional Vomit, and Gushing, I submit:

A Heart Sneeze.

Unlike it's brothers, a heart sneeze is incredibly desireable every day. Every moment of every day, actually. It is recognized by its odd symptoms: an uncomfortable tickling as it creeps upon you while you wonder with baited breath: "Will it really happen, or will it go away leaving me with simply the desire for sneezy greatness?" When it does come to full fruition, the impact is remarkable: Blinding release of joy: sometimes all at once, while other times followed by another or a third like burst (depending on the original level of joy). Then one is left with the incredible satisfaction. The peace after a storm of excitement, as it were.

This is my creation. And I continue to endeavor to experience it daily. hourly, if I'm not too tired.

Also, I have decided not to employ anger as my thug. He instead will be reserved only for moments of true outrage for crimes against my person or the safety of my family.

Instead I take it upon myself to learn more of this greater tool called "Love." I have a capacity for it. I must make use of it, for already it's employ has made a vast difference in the relationship between my son and I.

So when I am too tired, and would otherwise revert to anger as a way of keeping myself awake, i shall look my babies in their wonderful faces, do a yoga pose, and release a heart sneeze upon them. For I have much to sneeze about!

I have nothing to say, but BY GUM, I'm going to scream it!

* Cleaning dust off of the baseboards is harder than one would first imagine. Baby wipes are handy in just such a situation.

*Also, never leave a box of "pop up" wipes on the floor near your one-year-old, or you'll end up cleaing the baseboards.

*October walks are the best.

*Fallen leaves are sticky. Be careful, you could get stuck in them and have to have your mother come and grab you by the waist, carrying you upside down and away from danger. Just ask Lemur. It was harrowing.

*It is possible to get a little bit lost between 1700N. and 2100N. if you aren't paying attention.

*The Mountains are always east.

*I hate Sonic and his friend, Tails. One is fast, but the other is weak.

*The world of Catan falls at my feet, praying for mercy from my brilliant strategy! Yes, bow in submission, O you conquered!

*Winning Catan Online goes to my head.

*I am in need of a good book. Strike that: I am in need of a captivating book.

*The house never gets clean. Strike that: the house never stays clean.

*My son is brilliant. He is also brilliant at playing dumb - or deaf - when it serves him.

*I had hope last year. Then a broken heart. Then I buried it in sugar. Now the wound needs cleaning and I'm not sure I have the hope I need to heal it.

*Ieek: I'm drowning in emotion!

*Stripling warriors are quite . . . what's the word . . .Stripling. Yes, that's it.

*Walking eases the pain in my hip.

*Running doesn't.

*I want a dog.

*I want a bike.

*I think I'm sounding like a person who is getting close to saying something almost silly like, "I wanna be more like . . ."

*I like Wicked. Particularly Kristen Chenoweth. Dude.

*I enjoy many of the shows in the fall primetime lineup: ~Pushing Daisies~Brothers and Sisters~Samantha Who~Private Practice (ABC)~Life~The Office~30 Rock~Heroes(NBC).

*For someone who has a lot of time on her hands, I should be able to do more. I get a lot done. But I don't seem to do much.

*I'm not positively prepared for the holidays. I fear I may have been bitten by a Hum Bug. perhaps it was when I walked into Smiths the day after Halloween and was thrust into Christmas without a simple "Howdy-do" from Thanksgiving all to the tune of "I'll be Home for Christamas." by good ol' Bing. THRUST!

*I like the scriptures.

*I have a friend again!

*Me writing is remarkably beneficial. And not only to me. Someday you may all profit from, or at least enjoy, my reamarkable writing-ness.

*The world beyond the veil is not as far removed as I've sometimes feared and sometimes closer than I would like. Hmm.

*To everything there is a season.

TURN, TURN, TURN.

Of Pumpkins and Troll Boogies . . .

We had a big day, October 26th, that included, but was not limited to:

The carving of pumpkins to make Jack-O-Lanterns, the laundry, baths and even the creation of Troll Boogies (pictured below) for a "Harry Potter Party" we would attend later that night. Anyone know why Troll Boogies are a Harry Potter-themed treat?

Lemur was so proud of our pumpkins. I had drawn seven possible faces and he had chosen these two, their names being:
" Shucks"
and "Angry"

We then got ready for the Harry Potter party. As promised here is a picture of the cloak I made for Lemur. The dark circles under his eyes really add that extra "something", don't you think?

My little Emperor Palpatine!

Here is Dave, who most of you will know as "Albert" from our production of Secret Garden. He made his Quidditch robes and matching ensemble all by himself. His wife is a Gryffindor student sans the attack on Hogwarts. That pesky fake blood was running into her eyes all night!
Then there's us, two students from Ravenclaw. I know: we rock, we're so cute.

They had Pumpkin soup, a meat pie and all sorts of goodies. We played "Who (or What) Am I?" (Muad'Dib was Voldemort, and I was Azkaban) and "Harry Potter Scene It" It was good times . . . except that we didn't know anyone except Dave. But Lemur was adorable. He would yell "Suprise!" when anyone knew showed up to the party. And he and Rivulet played with our wands (not pictured. They light up and make sounds, though.)

And actual Halloween, Muad'Dib accidentally took Lemur's cloak to work, so I dressed him up as a pirate and we went to Hastings with my mom to find a book. When we got back, no one was up for Trick or Treating. So we watched Spider Man 3 and went to bed.

It was a good Halloween.