Monthly Archives: December 2010

Snow falling on maples

…and on sidewalks, driveways, and streets in my town. I love the quiet.

I don’t love the missed rehearsals the day before a concert, however. This was going to be our last one. Oh well…we do what we can, and hope everyone enjoys it. My normal reaction would be to flip out and stress and get all apoplectic about it, but I’m trying a different approach this year. We’ll do our best, and hope everyone enjoys it. And that’s the ticket. My mantra for this performance: Let it go. It’s all good.

Worst part about snow days? I can’t go back to sleep like seemingly everyone else can. Hiss. But hey, there’s always Netflix on the TV and my electric blanket (yes, I have an electric blanket on the living room couch because the Thriller is awesome), and coffee and my Nook and the Christmas tree lights. What’s to complain about? Feh.

Yesterday’s chocolate craziness was ten kinds of fantastic. We made all the goodies and set them out on the sideboard in the dining room. Then we all “went shopping” and filled up our goody bags and gift boxes with stuff to give away to family and friends. This is becoming a yearly tradition — what fun!

Speaking of fun: off I go to not stress about tomorrow night.

FO

Honestly.

I mean, cripes. Who really thinks these are attractive?

Seriously. It’s like stilettos with great horrible growths. Wicked Witch of the West shoes. Man kickers (ouch). Sorry fiends, but they are just butt ugly to me. So are the pumpy versions:

How these could be marginally flattering to any kind of foot is beyond my apparently limited comprehension.

I know, I know. Men have an inherent weakness for pointy heels, and maybe that affinity leaks over into pointy toes as well. Personally, I see machete-sharp, leather outcroppings jutting from underneath dress slacks (or worse, jeans, ugh) and I think, “Ew. Antithesis of sexy.” Don’t get me wrong: I like to wear sassy, smart shoes and boots. But I fail to see how these monstrosities could be considered even remotely feminine or flattering. I wear a size 5, and they’d make my feet look gargantuan. I can’t imagine them on a size 9 foot. Just write PT-73 on ’em.

But hey. If you want fancy leather cake servers sticking out from under your pantaloons, you just knock yourself out. I’ll be over here, relaxing in my moccasins.

Hoo-ah. Had a great night with Justin and Jake last night. Justin’s still sawing logs, and Jake is relaxing with Dora the Explorer at the moment, so Grammie is taking a few minutes to read and write. Later today is the marathon candy-making jamboree at the Fink house, where I will be joined by Helen, Hannah, Mavis, Jane and Simone. Fun will be had, and chocolate will be taste-tested. Yay for Chocodiles. We won’t have the heavy yellow cake, but Twinkies will do the trick, I’m thinking.

Review: La Vie en Rose

I’ve listened to Edith Piaf’s music for years, but not actively. I mean, if I heard it on the radio or a commercial, I’d know it was her voice, but I never paid it much mind otherwise. Then I saw La Vie en Rose last night on Netflix. Wow…what a life she led.

French actress Marion Cotillard was positively fascinating to watch; she carried the entire film. I’m obviously not alone in that assessment, as she won the Oscar for Best Actress for the role back in 2007.

Born into poverty, the daughter of a circus performer dad and an alcoholic mother who fantasized about being a singer, Edith was sent to live with her grandmother, who ran a brothel. She later joined her father in the circus, but returned to street life with him when the work dried up. Soon, she herself was performing on the streets for coins, and began to draw crowds. One thing led to another, and when she was taken in by a wealthy club owner who’d heard her as he was walking home one night, her fame was assured.

Then came one horrible tragedy after another. Though she was the most popular artist in all of France, and had taken New York by storm as well, she couldn’t escape immense sorrow and devastating personal choices. One particular 1949 event basically destroyed her for good, haunting her every thought until her death in 1963. It was both heartbreaking and captivating to watch; I recommend it highly to you, mes amis.

In French with subtitles, it runs 2:15, but you’ll never notice the length. You will notice, however, that even though Edith stood only 4′ 8″, the 5′ 8″ Cotillard completely pulls off the ruse of  “little sparrow,” as Edith was dubbed by her wealthy benefactor.  Cotillard  had some cinematic magic help, of course, but she managed to channel the frail, diminutive Piaf to perfection. Color me très impressionné.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give La Vie en Rose:

Observation

As my attitude has improved at school, that of my students has also inched forward in a positive direction. Inched. But that’s better than regression.

There. Now that I’ve put that in writing, the wheels are going to fall off. But it’s been an interesting experiment. I’ve always said that students will reflect about 50% of your energy, but 100% of your attitude. It really is true. Attitude shapes everything, and the kids know it.

Stay away, snow. Just until Thursday, please.