Film Art

Saturday, April 20, 2024

Last night, I was thumbing through some streaming offerings and stumbled across “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.” The highlight of that 1954 musical was one of the greatest dance sequences ever filmed. In their real lives, six of the seven “brothers” were classically trained dancers; so were the townspeople, the men and women dancing partners. I was eager to see that movie again.

The underside of its wonderfulness is a dark story. It’s deep winter and the brothers are eager to find wives. They kidnap girls from the town and forget to kidnap a preacher. A sudden avalanche closes the pass to their remote property, preventing the townsmen from rescuing their girls.

The eldest brother is married, and his wife keeps his younger brothers and the girls separated throughout the winter. By spring, love is in the air and everybody is happy. A rescue group led by the town’s Chaplin arrives at the ranch, and finally, the Chaplin officiates over six marriages.

In its time of making, the film’s story was fun. In modern times, however, its fable is much less innocent. It’s hard to ignore the 2014 kidnapping of Nigerian schoolgirls by Boko Haram, an Islamic terrorist group. Finally, some of the girls managed to escape or became rescued, and only now some are telling their stories of years in captivity. Their stories aren’t pretty and don’t end well enough. Even today rescues again living in their village of origin are shunned, considered “Boko Haram women,” and with their children, are treated as outcasts.

Curious, I looked up Stephen Vincent Benét’s short story “The Sobbin’ Women,” published in 1937, on which “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” was based. Benét’s story is beautifully written and readable. It’s also much leaner and tougher than the movie version.

Fortunately, artistry can overcome much. In “Seven Brides….” the dance sequences are outstanding, and sheer art that lives on film. Someday, I will watch that movie again.

Dear Friends: It’s all about having the capability of leading a good life. Diana

Mind Viewing

Friday, April 19, 2024

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. This capture of Maxwell says a bunch.

The department store manager where I work part-time will leave in a few weeks. She’s heading to Colorado, to start managing a “sister store.” Our Bend employees are sad that she’s going because she’s a good store manager, but are cheering for her new opportunity.

Bend’s second-tier managers who report to her are well-seasoned, know their stuff, and are good leaders who can keep the store’s goals and line workers on track to succeed. I’ve never found it easy to say farewell to a well-liked someone, but I have learned that a capable succession group can ease the challenges, and we who still are here will adjust appropriately and move forward.

Socially, in contrast to lengthier, earlier times, the post-Viet Nam era’s explosion of technology and wealth has encouraged populations to keep moving and seeking new opportunities. We have learned to live in a nuclear age, and are accustomed to people being constantly on the move. We have become seasoned shifters of allegiances.

We have learned that families may split, long-time close friendships may become long-distance friendships, our supporters and mentors might move away, and now, we’re learning that people are living longer, for more years than ever anticipated. We understand that our home base essentially is ourselves and that calls for self-confidence and self-structuring.

To that end, we are exploring new interests to keep our minds alert, being active to build strength and remain active physically, and knowing it’s important to be sure of ourselves and carry on despite the constant social changes affecting us.

Anyway, now, a capable, fine friend is leaving. I’ll adjust.

Dear Friends: Always, a huge challenge to wrap one’s head around change. Diana

Visuals

Thursday, April 18, 2024

Yesterday was weird. I was thinking about air space and visibility. While driving home around 4 p.m., I couldn’t see a cloud in the sky. Suddenly, I noticed overhead a partial globe, maybe the moon? It was alone, just hanging. After several seconds of doubting reality and double-taking, I understood that it was most of the moon, just floating, naked.

I wondered why the moon sighting had been confusing and why visual perceptions sometimes cause doubts. A little research explained that our brains don’t receive perfectly detailed pictures from our eyes. Instead, they absorb sight data and fill in blanks with what’s known from past experiences and expectations. The “filling-in” can lead to misinterpretations, like my doubting that overhead and so early, I was seeing the moon.

Filling in may be especially confusing when sightings are unfamiliar or in low-light conditions. How things are arranged or lit affects how we perceive their sizes, shapes, and colors. Our brains are generally very good at interpreting the visual world. Still, overconfidence can add to confusion. Our human sighting limitations remind us to be aware of and critical of what we see. Understanding has a reward of less wondering if what we see is an illusion or misinterpretation.

Take this a step forward and consider magicians. Their hands move very quickly, not directly fooling our eyes, but fooling our brain’s perceptions of what our eyes are seeing. They create illusions by exploiting the loopholes in how humans process visual information.

Dear Friends: Now, quitting, on seeing that illusion-related topics are unending. Diana

Hello

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

My brain is roadblocking this morning’s blog. The problem is that I have an early meeting and must attend to time and preparation needs.

For now, I’ll just say “Good Morning” with the hope that your day is fine.

Dear Friends: More tomorrow morning, and also, more creative. Diana

Bitties Insisting

Tuesday, April 16, 2024

My house is under siege by two tiny birds, apparently mates, taking turns tapping unendingly into a lower corner of a high window. They’re working too high for wingless me to reach them without a 20-foot ladder. Little by little a hole grows. The birds are tiny—chickadees or nuthatches—but determined. I watch and yell to no advantage.

Their chosen window is precisely where a Northern Flicker drilled a large hole years ago. Apparently, birds are attracted to high spots protected by an eve. I love birds but would drive away these littles. I yell and threaten, but they ignore me. The long-ago Flicker left an unsightly hole that, finally, a house painter made to disappear.

Now, here we go again. This time, it’s a bird tiny enough to leave space in my palm.

They’re so high up it’s hard to tell, but I think a Chickadee bird pair is tapping into my house. My first impression was that the birds were Juncos, but a Junco doesn’t drill unendingly.

It’s a wonder seeing these tiny birds pecking into my house siding, determined to create a nesting space. A little research says that they can and won’t give up until they do.

Dear Friends: I’m becoming an unwilling nest host to bitty birds. Diana

Crackin’ Peachy

Monday, April 15, 2024

The header photo is an old selfie; it popped up and surprised me. I took it many years ago while driving to Sister’s, slowly, in heavy traffic. It was opening day for the Sister’s Quilt Show, an impressive annual event. Crackers, a Moluccan cockatoo, was on my shoulder. She was my buddy/visitor through that summer and we went everywhere together.

Crackers, a very affectionate bird, always dependably stayed on my shoulder. She had a huge vocabulary; we talked lots. I adored her–didn’t realize how much until after she was home again with her first family.

She’s why later I adopted Peaches, my Citron cockatoo.

Here’s Peaches, exploring a recent challenge.

Peaches’ personality is huge, like Crackers’, and he, too, has a large vocabulary. However, he often speaks less clearly than she–characteristics of their breed types. He loves being with me. One of my favorite things about Peaches is that he sings and creates humanlike melodies. We sing together, communicating that way is lovely.

Dear Friends: Yes, I’m a bird person, all because of my summer with Crackers. Diana

Still Out…

Sunday, April 14, 2024

Rain, rain, and unstopping last night. The small critters stayed inside with me, and the big outsiders didn’t get late-night eat-infusions. My most bothersome thoughts arose from an email saying that my book package had been delivered. I looked around nearby outside and didn’t see a package anywhere. Of all things, books, somewhere in the rain.

What’s more to do? I went to bed.

I slept little all night as my stubborn head replayed much of the Simpson-Brown trial thirty years ago. Then, I lived in LA and worked in a big aerospace company. I had a private office, wonder-of-wonders, where a little radio let me follow each moment of the murder trial. I listened to months of jaw-biting arguments, descriptions of edge-clinging evidence, and commentators’ outrage. I believed Simpson guilty, and still today, I can recall my deep shock at the jury’s verdict.

Now, thirty years later, we understand better how our larger culture influenced the jury’s decision. More makes sense, from the outrage among non-whites after a history of vicious policing against them; and a black celebrity with the wealth for a star team of defense attorneys; and public defenders representing a political office, totally unprepared to handle a trial that became a circus.

That double murder remains openly unjustified and still is an outstanding social tragedy.

Dear Friends: Anxiety-causing memories from my “midnight-awake” time. Diana

Dreamy

Saturday, April 13, 2024

On Saturdays, the department store where I work part-time opens earlier and closes later. Today, I must be there, bright-eyed, when it opens. Yesterday, my schedule was late, starting at 5 p.m., and going until the store closed. Here’s the rub: I’m tired any day by 5 p.m. after working bunches here at home.

I was thinking about being tired while peering inside a drawer by the cash register. There, a bag of trail mix–it’s bad stuff, high in sugar and carbs. Weeks before, that bag was my reward for doing something the bosses liked. Now, diving into high sugar and carbs awakened and carried me to the closing hour.

Yesterday, also, it rained, and this morning’s sunlight is transforming the junipers and my fence posts from dull brown into golden shades. Lovely reminders, that I still live in a country-like environment, despite this once-small city’s ongoing, speedy building-up.

I suppose this still is considered a small city. But not to me, who measures its growth from when I moved here. Twenty years ago, I’d drive clear across town, from east to west, in five minutes and be headed to nearby mountains. Of course, that was before the ’08 financial crisis. After the economy improved, retirees began moving here, and new construction swung into action. A growing population and rising numbers of new buildings increased vehicle traffic and slowed driving times. These days, driving from east to west across town takes at least a half-hour or forty-five minutes.

Now, countrylike to me means being inside my home beside a big window, seeing golden highlights on trees and fence posts. It’s the same while walking downhill to the barn to feed my outside animals. There, trees and some acres of open space surround us.

It’s very satisfying that for now and in the near future, being at home is countrylike; the place is sweet.

Dear Friends: Now, putting aside dreams and getting ready for work. Diana

LOL

Friday, April 11, 2024

Yesterday was National Dog Day, and I didn’t post photos of my dogs. Today is National Hamster Day, and I haven’t one of those pets. Years ago, I adopted a sweet Peruvian Guinea Pig from an animal rescue. His coat was very long and needed trimming regularly, or else, formed into rolls and grew into dreadlocks.

The guinea pig was a cute little fellow. He and my bunny, Speedo, were each pleasant pets. Speedo was a domestic white that turned up loose, hopping on my property and nibbling hay in my barn. Using an apple as bait, I trapped Speedo, and he became a house bunny. The sweet guy had been litter-box trained by somebody.

While I was thinking about interesting sorts of pets, George Rodrigue’s “Blue Dog” images began appearing in my FB feed. Years ago, I spent a week in New Orleans and I discovered The Blue Dog Gallery. Rodrigue’s sense of humor delighted me, and wow, still does.

Rodrigue, an excellent artist, snuck the Blue Dog into his larger, serious paintings. The dog always looking out of place and bewildered. This example is “Millenium 2000.”

Notice the dog has wings, is a butterfly out of place physically, and trying to process mentally.

Many Rodrigue paintings include his dog character, always out of place, trying to process.

I saw Rodriguez’s Blue Dog as representing elements of himself. Also, that dog represents an element of ourselves.

On a lofty side, we are that dog while viewing and interpreting works of art. Also, in daily living, we are that dog, for being in today’s world and attempting to comprehend the predictable vs. the unpredictable.

I enjoyed the art and that dog, but couldn’t afford a painting. Still, I barely managed to resist.

Rodrigue passed recently and that increases the value of his art. While value is a consideration, to me, his works represent more. They reflect much about ourselves.

Beyond the artist’s humor and insight, his Blue Dog is all of us, in all our whimsy.

Dear Friends: Here’s to enjoying a chuckle at ourselves. Diana

Out & About

Thursday, April 11, 2024

Yesterday, after work, I hurried to an adjoining city to pick up my prepared income tax forms. Then, I rushed home to pick up my Rottie-X, Chase. He had spent the day waiting for me in a standalone, escape-proof kennel. I intended to take him to Costco, have him stay in the Jeep until I returned from shopping, and learn not to leap from an open cargo that’s being loaded. That was asking quite a bit from this young dog; he rarely goes anywhere with me.

Chase has turned two years old. He has spent his life mostly on my property and sometimes runs freely in a BLM with my other dogs. That’s all good, but he needs more outer-world experience teaching him to be comfortable while out, especially with other humans.

I left him in the Jeep and entered Costco with a quick list, and unsurprisingly, my rapid shopping plan failed. I spent an hour in the store before pushing my loaded cart to the Jeep. There, I didn’t see Chase waiting, and looking inside, still not seeing him, I panicked. How could he have escaped!

Suddenly, a woman beside me smiled and said, “Hello.” Assuming she was a Costco employee, I said, “My dog somehow got out of this car!” Suddenly, turning and seeing Chase in the Jeep, I understood he’d been on the front seat’s floor.

The woman said, “I came to help with unloading your cart,” and gestured, “all those look heavy.” I shook my head, “Thanks, but I can do it.” She ignored me, reached for the heaviest box, and said, “Open the cargo.” I did that and she continued, lifting and loading faster than I could help.

Meanwhile, Chase stayed in the cargo, not threatening her but trembling mightily in the unusual situation. All did go well, and to his credit, he didn’t attempt to escape. Finally, on finishing, the woman turned to me, “Will you have help with unloading?” and watched doubtfully as I said, “I’ll be okay doing that.”

Then, she said, “My mom is ninety-three years old and still insists on doing things herself. I saw you with that loaded cart and just wanted to help.” I nodded, really having welcomed her act of kindness, and now thanked her.

At home, I unloaded and thought about her and also about a young man who had been shopping inside Costco. He saw me starting to wrestle with a bag of dog kibble, came to my rescue, lifted the bag easily, and placed it perfectly on my cart.

Two good samaritans. I felt appreciated and old; one forgets one is old. That’s another topic, for someday.

And my Chase, too. That good boy waited, tolerated a stranger’s pushy presence, and didn’t try to jump from an open cargo. Having him with me is making this pup more special. If only–if only, he’d outgrow his high leaping and quit doing his deep digging.

Dear Friends: A planned day with pleasant surprises and good outcomes. Diana