Wow.

If you happen to search for "Samantha: An American Girl movie" (in quotes, as such), you will be given two links: TheWB.com and The Thought of Being Free.

I don’t know how I feel about this. However, the words are right there on my site in that very order, so what can I say? It’s still just rather strange, I must say.

Announcements

Apologies for the length of the earlier post. Perhaps I should blog more regularly.

Also, I have added links to other bloggers (as well as a few non-blog-related links) to the sidebar. Note that the blogs are ones I actually & those that are regularly updated.

Reflections on Samantha, Maria Full of Grace & Paul Miller

I usually watch Gilmore Girls on Tuesday nights, but it was canceled last night in order to show Samantha: An American Girl Movie. Since I was cleaning my room (unfortunately, it’s a serious disaster area in progress), I thought I would leave it on to create some background noise thinking, at the very worst, it might be cute – and, besides, we don’t have cable and the W.B. is the clearest channel my television receives. I was actually pleasantly surprised, it was quite good. (Of course, it’s important to note that the target audience is probably 9-12 year olds, so please don’t draw comparisons to Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind or The Maltese Falcon.) However, I was honestly stunned by the depth of the piece. The story takes place in the early 1900’s, I believe. A girl named Samantha (who is around eleven) befriends a servant girl next door named Nelly who is her age. Through this friendship, Samantha has to come face to face with the issue of class in her society and, as she begins to see her privileged status more clearly, her heart is torn and inflamed by the injustice that “progress” has created and she sets out to remedy what she can. (Not bad stuff for a kid’s movie, eh?) I was also impressed that the story was also entertaining on top of the depth. I’ll leave it here because I don’t want to spoil anything in case anyone comes across it. It will be shown again on Thanksgiving night, so if you find yourself dusting and are in need of some background noise...

Continuing down the social-justice-in-film rabbit trail, I went to see Maria Full of Grace this weekend with my brother. I had heard a review months ago, but had forgotten all about it, however, the film happened to be playing at my brother’s university - so we went. The film is from Colombia and follows a seventeen year old girl named Maria as she begins life as a drug mule. The filmmakers did an incredible job of fleshing out her story. Why is she discontent with her lot? Is it reasonable for her to be so discontent? What are her options in life? Was her decision to enter the drug trade valid or invalid? Was the end result worth it? Are there others like Maria? And so the questions continue. It has been a long time since I have seen a film that seemed to give me a new angle of sight - as well as a deeply grieving heart. When the credits started to roll, it was as if time began to pulse again – it seemed incomprehensible that the film could actually be over. Hadn’t we just begun? (Note: The film runs for 101 minutes.) Let me just say that I highly, highly recommend this film.

On top of watching films and cleaning, I’ve also been rereading Paul Miller’s Love Walked Among Us on the bus to work. In it he talks about the compassion and love of Jesus and tries to impress upon the reader to learn to really see people and how to truly love them. It’s a hard read because he doesn’t leave any room for “Oh, that’s too bad” or “It’s not my problem.” Let me just insert a few quotes...

If we help someone and don’t take the time to look at the person and feel what he or she is feeling, our love is cold. And if we look and feel, but don’t do what we can to help, our love is cheap. Love does both.

We instinctively know that love leads to commitment, so we look away when we see a beggar. We might have to pay if we look to closely and care too deeply. Loving means loosing control of our schedule, our money, and our time. When we love, we cease to become the master and become the servant.

As I digest Miller's book, I realize that I am the antithesis to it all. I watch the above movies and care very deeply, but I don’t usually search an outlet for my compassion. I watch, reflect, and then continue to enjoy my life of advantage.

This has all set me to thinking what really moves me and what scares me. First of all, orphans move me very deeply, especially older orphans – so deeply, in fact, that it sometimes stresses me out that I am currently in no position to adopt a child, because I think I might seriously consider it if I was able, crazy as this sounds. However I am not financial stable enough to be even self-supporting – nor do I crave to be a single mother. Pity the man who marries me – especially if we can meet our needs – because one day this idea will obsess me!

Street people also move me – and they scare me. I can buy someone lunch, no problem. I can talk to someone, no problem. I can look someone in the eye everything I pass, hard but possible. However, I always feel that I am dealing the very tip of the iceberg and feel hopeless because I know that I am incapable of really helping – at least not permanently. It’s not even that I’m scared of the actual people in their actual difficulties (drug abuse, mental illness, etc.) – Jesus would have fed/talked/listened to anyone who was in need regardless of their societal appropriateness. It’s just that this is all I can do. Not only am I lacking in wisdom to be of real service, but also, at this point in time at least, I feel alone in this endevor because I don’t really know anyone else trying to shoulder their grief and their grief is overwhelming at times. However, perhaps this is not too much to ask of me, even if I must do so alone.

Finally, immigrants move me greatly. I get infuriated when Americans see Hispanics (as well as other immigrants) as a cause of societal ill. These individuals don’t see anything beyond jobs & law and completely miss the riches that other nationalities can bring to this nation of immigrants. I also have a great compassion for people who cannot communicate because they are still struggling in English. I still remember how it feels to spend months unable to communicate except in basic language and how small and alone that can make you feel. I could tutor English, learn Spanish, hang out with my mother’s friends from Iran, but I do none of the above. Time is an issue, but, working backwards through the list, even a very small effort is possible and could be of real service.

This world is a dim, dreary place sometimes. I’m extremely glad that these films end hopefully, each in its own way. It is good to be reminded of the darkness, but to be reminded that all is not hopeless and it is worthwhile to act. Remember Ms Which? “Wee wwill cconnttinnue tto ffightt!” This is not a bad thing to remember. I am also extremely glad to know that Jesus spent most of his ministry with the lowest of society. It is extremely hard for me when Christians look at me like I’m nuts when I begin to mourn the lot of Colombian coffee growers (and they look at me as if I’m even more nuts for suggesting they should pay a measly four cents extra per espresso shot that would go directly to the coffee growers.) I usually leave feeling labeled as a bloody liberal, an anti-capitalist, or at best “not one of us.” Sometimes I can’t decide whether I should rage or just give up. Did I say that this world is a dim and dreary place sometimes? Because it is, but this shouldn’t be an excuse for me to give up or to only rage without doing something to encourage change. I am only one person (and a very small person, at that.) I will not change the world, but I can act where I find myself even if my actions seem minute, go unnoticed, or mean that I will be pitied by those who should call me sister. These are not in my control, but what I do is.

Sketch of a Memory

I visited my brother this weekend. He, strangely, now lives in Greenville, NC where we used to live when I was very small (4 years to 9 years). We were driving to a Chinese restaurant when we past the Greenville Art Museum which is actually an old, restored house. Even though I was the one behind the steering wheel, my mind was tracing all the angles and curves of the house with the familiarity of a long back road you must drive everyday. Then I remembered sitting in the lawn with a funny pencil made only of wood and strange paper covered in black wax that revealed vivid neon orange, yellow, or pink when you used the special pencil on it. Then I remembered trying to control a child’s chubby fingers while sketching the building – all the while a little mildly stressed because I knew I couldn’t correct any mistakes I might back. I was also hard to draw outside in a breeze. I think my mother came to pick me up before I was done that day

All I said to my brother and his friend was, “Hey! I used to take art class there when I was little!” They didn’t respond. I guess it’s just the Greenville Art Museum to them. To me it’s a big strange house (that has unfortunately shrunk a bit in its old age as well as taking on a more presentable appearance) that is like a maze and that smells musty with clay, ink, and canvas.

Those Republican Kids

I find it terribly hard not to eavesdrop on the bus, especially when folks are talking loudly about something reasonably interesting.

Today's overheard conversation was between two Kerry supporters who worked on his campaign here in NC. First, they talked about how disappointed they still are and how unbelievable the outcome was. Then they moved on to talk about the Republican reactions, concluding that Republicans may seem nice, but they really find pleasure in the misery of others.

One gave the anecdote of two Republican students he teaches who came into class the day after the election and gave each other high-fives in front of the miserable hoard (i.e., the other students.) The teacher said this kind of shocked him because these two students are usually extremely conscious of what sort of impact their actions have on other - then he concluded that this just proved the theory that Republicans find pleasure in the misery of other.

Now, I have seen some uncalled-for reactions from Republicans (in the how-do-ya-like-them-apples variety) but, for the most part, I find it hard to believe that Democrats would have been more sober if they were the ones celebrating victory. I thought about breaking in, but, seeing as I was already two and a half hours late for work, I thought that the day was already off to a crazy enough start without picking a possible argument with two mourning Democrats.

And, as a side note, I just want to say how utterly disappointed I am that Colin Powell has resigned from his post. I'm a little nervous about a new cabinet being created where everyone is very alike in how they approach foreign policy.

Finding Neverland

I'm actually pretty disappointed that this will not start showing in NC until the 24th although today is the official release day - albeit a limited release. It's really unfortunate that Barrie's story is remember by the public through Disney's lens. It's actually a really great story and lends itself well to being read out loud.

However, I must admit that I'm a little nervous. Last year's Peter Pan, long promised to be the most faithful rendition yet, was a total let down. The first 30 minutes were great. They even added in a new character, Aunt Millicent, to bring in some of the narration found in the first few chapters. My brother and I whispered to each other that this was quite clever and our expectations soared (which is quite a feat since we had been waiting for the film for almost a year.) Unfortunately it was downhill from there. Tiger Lily was rescued from the Black Castle and Tinkerbell joined forces with Captain Hook to revenge herself on Peter. How we groaned. The rest of the theatre was lucky we didn't start yelling curses on the screen.

I'm hoping, seeing as this film is not the story of Peter Pan, that they might get it right. Hook was a good endeavor!

Quote of the Day

I write the way I do because (not though) I am a Catholic. This is a fact and nothing covers it like the bald statement. However, I am a Catholic particularity possessed of the modern consciousness, that thing Jung describes as unhistorical, solitary, and guilty. To possess this within the Church is to bear a burden, the necessary burden for the conscious Catholic. It's to feel the contemporary situation at the ultimate level. I think the Church is the only thing that is going to make the terrible world we are coming to endurable; the only thing that makes the Church endurable is that it is somehow the body of Christ and that on this we are fed. It seems to be a fact that you have to suffer as much from the Church as for it but if you believe in the divinity of Christ you have to cherish the world at the same time that you struggle to endure it. This may explain the lack of bitterness in the stories.

- Flannery O'Connor

Serenaded By Strangers

It’s a good thing that I’ve been listening to country music lately or I would have missed that Brad Paisley has written a song for me - albeit, we’ve never met. However, if you read the lyrics, you will most likely agree.

Little Moments

Well I'll never forget the first time that I heard
That pretty mouth say that dirty word
And I can't even remember now what she backed my truck into
But she covered her mouth and her face got red
And she just looked so darn cute
That I couldn't even act like I was mad
Yeah I live for little moments like that

Well that's just like last year on my birthday
She lost all track of time and burnt the cake
And every smoke detector in the house was goin' off
And she was just about the cry until I took her in my arms
And I tried not to let her see me laugh
Yeah I live for little moments like that

I know she's not perfect but she tries so hard for me
And I thank God that she isn't 'cause how boring would that be
It's the little imperfections it's the sudden change in plans
When she misreads the directions and we're lost but holdin' hands
Yeah I live for little moments like that

And about the time she falls asleep so does my right arm
And I want so bad to move it 'cause it's tinglin' and it's numb
But she looks so much like an angel that I don't wanna wake her up
Yeah I live for little moments
When she steals my heart again and doesn't even know it
Yeah I live for little moments like that

Yeah, no Righteous Brothers outside my window, please.

It's So Sad to See Your Story End

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville-- mighty Kerry has struck out.

[ Link ]

Honk if You're a Sport*

If I've learned anything in the past few days, it's that I was not really born to be a Southerner, a Conservative, or a "good" Evangelical.

* Sport [spôrt] n. 7. Biology, An organism that shows a marked change from the normal type or parent stock, typically as a result of mutation.

Vote! The World Is Listening...

One more nice thing about living in the middle of nowhere is that, when you go to vote, you are practically guaranteed an empty parking space - plus you will be on your merry way within 10 minutes (even if you take the time to ponder over the ballot.)

However, you may come close to running over a chicken on your way to work. They can blend in with the leaves this time of year.