Month: April 2011

The Greatest Generation

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This may turn out to be my first book report in about a decade. Luckily, I don’t have to stand in front of the class stumbling over reading it with a garbled speed while my cheeks turn red. (I was never very good at speaking in front of people.) I hope I get an A. *fingers crossed*

Read it.

Little Heathens is Mildred Armstrong Kalish’s story of growing up on an Iowa farm during the Great Depression. I read it for the first time last year. If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend it (plus, it has some good recipes in it). The official title is Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression. That really sums up the whole book.

They grew their own food. They planted it, maintained it, and harvested it. Once the harvesting was done, they prepared it. They knew all the ways to keep it from spoiling and all the different ways to utilize it in a recipe or meal. They didn’t think food just came from the grocery store. They didn’t eat artificially flavored or “produced in a laboratory” foods. They knew what they were putting in their bodies.

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Please, Step On My Toes

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I want someone to surprise me in the kitchen with Sam Cooke’s “Bring It On Home To Me.” I want to silently move with someone to “And I Love You So” by Perry Como. I want Fred Astaire to serenade me with “Cheek to Cheek” while I sway with someone. I want to dance. More to the point, I want to slow dance.

If you’ve ever seen the movie Catch Me If You Can, you might recall the scene where Frank’s parents dance in the living room to Judy Garland singing “Embraceable You.” That is what I’m talking about.

The only partner dancing I’ve been privleged to partake in.

The best dancing I have done was with a little man. It was a tradition we had carried on for three-and-a-half years. He would run up to me on tip toes, arms stretched up, saying, “Boompa, Kimmie, boompa!” Boompa is what he called “our” song, “Papa Loves Mambo” by Perry Como. And you know, he’s the only man I’ve ever found who would dance with me to Perry Como. Hmph. He may have been a little man, but he was light years ahead of most grown men.

Outside of a spontaneous moment at home, I want to attend a dance. That may sound a bit juvenile, as if I’m waiting for Homecoming or the Prom, but I’m referring to those dances held in the community. Ones with a real band, not a DJ. Ones with tables to sit at having a drink and chatting with friends. A place where the songs range from those get-in-close songs to the pick-it-up-with-a-little-swing songs. These would be varying dances, the 1950s-60s to big bands, think Glenn Miller (Yes, you read that right, I said Glenn Miller!).

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A Top-Notch Tam

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Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca

Cap, turban, derby, lid, chapeau. Call it what you like, but take a cue from some of the ladies of the past (we’ll talk about the men another time), and grab a classic one. Hats, let me correct that, good hats are so underused today. A hat can say “look at me” and be feminine, it can disguise a bad hair day in a stylish way, and it can show your fashion sense and give your head or face protection from the elements, pretty and practical.

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What’s In A Basket?

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Crunching leaves, gentle breeze, warm sun, and birds chirping. This is what could comprise a glorious day having a picnic. Remember those?

*Photo by Graeme Weatherston

The idea of an “old-fashioned” picnic conjures the vision of people in their car, driving until they find a nice spot alongside the road to pull over and cop-a-squat. Picnics now are more the local park variety. Which is nice, don’t get me wrong, but a bit restrictive. No glass

Scene from Mad Men

bottles, no alcohol (come on, wine!), and too many other people around. Think Mad Men Season 2. Just don’t flip the trash off the blanket and leave it on the ground.

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Be a (Soda) Jerk

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Watson Drug & Fountain

Growing up (and when I go back for visits), trips to the Dairy Queen (I’ve been made fun of for saying THE Dairy Queen, but coming from a place that got it’s first stoplight when I was in high school, and to this day only has two, you use such prophetic sentence structure) were a common occurrence. My Dad has never had to ask what I want. It is an unasked and understood knowledge: a chocolate malt. I am a malt monster. I have a thirst for malty goodness that is never fully quenched. That subtle chocolate flavoring, the creamy yet flaky texture, the cold abundance dancing across the tongue . . .*wipes drool off chin* Pardon me. As I was saying, I love malts. I have a bit of a ritual with them, I like eating part of it and then preserving the rest in the freezer for a day or two. It transforms into a crunchy-melt-into-creamy excellence that is unmatched.

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It Requires An Attention Span: Silent Horror Films

/ lovelyshadesofnostalgia / 258 Comments

Attention spans are wonderful things. Too bad they are noticeably lacking in society today. I would appreciate even a small attention span, going to dinner with someone or walking along having a conversation without them looking at their cell phone, sitting down to watch a movie in its entirety without needing to log on to the Internet, and so on. So I’m reaching here when I suggest watching silent films. An activity that not only requires one to read (how dare I suggest such a thing), but paying attention to body language, facial expressions, and a story entirely dependent upon the viewer actually grasping it. Plus, there are no explosions to distract you and no computer generated creatures to stifle your own creative insights. Forgive me for wanting you to use basic reasoning skills, an imagination, and an awareness while viewing a film.

I thought I would start with a couple of my favorite horror films. (With other installments for other genres to come.) If you are of the minority (as I am) and love silent films, then you most definitely know about Nosferatu (1922) and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). If you are of the other or some how think silent movies are “dumb” or “too old”, then you are greatly missing out (and mistaken).

For those who haven’t seen Nosferatu, it is the story of Dracula. Pretty simple. Although it is a German expressionist film, it doesn’t carry heavy signs of it. That fact makes it no less beautiful in it’s scenery and lighting, nor it’s artistry. The use of shadows, sweeping shots of the sea, and towering buildings all speak to an expressionist subtlety.

He’s coming for you.

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Keep the World Spinning

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Carousels have that distinct quality of being able to enamor me in a beautifully historical way and an unadulterated childlike makes-me-want-to-go-weeee kind of way.

Santa Monica Pier Carousel inside the Looff Hippodrome. Built in 1922.

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When Reflection Stings

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My nostalgia isn’t always fun and playful objects or a yearning for an era, sometimes it hits closer to the heart in a less inviting way. British singer Adele’s newest album includes a song called “Someone Like You.” While I have never been a particular fan of hers, this song has struck a chord with me (as I’m sure it has with multitudes of others). I posted this song (VH1 Unplugged) on Facebook several weeks ago, and since have seen various other friends posting it. It seems I can’t quite escape it. I’ve included a video of her performing it at the 2011 Brit Awards (Her emotion at the end is achingly beautiful). Her voice is beautiful and I enjoy her much more in this acoustic live environment other than what I have heard on her albums. But I digress. I sometimes like to wallow in my emotions (it makes for good artistic expression when I paint, and come to think of it, when I write) and this song leaves me dripping with inadequacy, foolish illusion, and a fleeting uneasiness. So I thought I’d resurrect something I wrote a few years ago (I’m also feeling a bit lazy), that sort of reminds me of this song. And I have no problem looking a little foolish over it. (I wear that hat quite well.) Humility for the sake of art . . . or something like that.

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