Historically Speaking

Something I’ve noticed about middle age, some would even say later middle age (Yikes!), is the tendency to look back on your life and try and figure out how you got to where you are. I can still remember the naïve hopes and insecurities of much earlier times. I’d like to think that “lost in the fog” college graduate in 1977 would approve if he could see where he ended up (at least in some respects); especially if he could see a 34 year (and counting) marriage and meet the two remarkable children he would sire.

These Two Are Madly in Love
But The Little One Still Won't Take the Bottle

I remember from that time how much I loved history (and still do). That love of history wasn’t a very marketable skill though. This was something I tried to impress on my own children when they left for college – emerge with a skill that will earn you a decent living. Luckily I turned out to be fairly good at the whole infantry thing. History is still a large part of my subconscious though. My favorite part is imagining what someone from ancient times would think about the modern conveniences we take for granted. Today’s modern amenities are such a recent addition to the world. My own father, only one generation earlier, remembered times from his youth without a telephone, TV, and cold winter mornings trudging to an outhouse. Something as simple as in house plumbing not to mention our worldwide mobility and staggering communication capability would seem magical to someone from ancient Rome.  History focuses a little too much on who conquered who; I love to delve into what life was like for everyday people during ancient times. I’d like to take Julius Caesar out for a spin around Worcester. He’d be amazed that even the “simple folk” now live better than Roman patricians.

Applesauce is Still not Fully Appreciated

History is currently being made out in Glendale, California as the First Blog Reader continues to astound with her daily increase in mobility and charm. I don’t know who it’s going to be tougher for, her or her grandmother, when this child care period ends and they’re a continent apart. My wife was committed to putting more dresses on her during her time out there as Wingman, her normal caregiver, leaned more towards pants, entirely too un-feminine for certain Panamanians. She seems to like the dresses as she can lift the hem and chew on it; something will have to dissuade her of before her teenage years.

I’m a sucker for schmaltz so I went to see Mother’s Day last night despite the horrific reviews it was receiving from just about anybody. I was interested to see how someone could make a bad movie with as stellar a cast as this one boasted. They did it. The scouring was called for. A very, very bad movie. I did feel a sense of relief that I couldn’t blame the actors, some of my favorites. I’m guessing Garry Marshall has comprising pictures of them and forced them to utter the absolute drivel most of the film consisted of. 

Tapping into an audience’s reverence for mothers shouldn’t be hard and it certainly shouldn’t be compulsory. I left the theater with one word in my head – “cringeworthy”. Do not waste your money on this abomination, for once the critics were right on target. Marshall is wending his way through the holidays after some initial success with Valentine’s Day. I shudder to think what he’ll devolve to by the time he reaches Arbor Day.