Motivated by a looser summer schedule ,
these last few weeks I have been determined to finally watch a few movies that have been released in the last ten years
as they would still be quite new to me.
Thank goodness for Netflix. I can curl up in bed with my iPad and feel like as if I am an in-touch adult again.
Given my remembered teenage obsession with ‘Alfred Hitchcock Presents’ and ‘Twilight Zone’ episodes,
I decided to watch the 2009 movie ‘Hitchcock’ last week as I had heard an interesting snippet from an interview about it a few months ago.
This movie captures the part of Alfred Hitchcock’s life when he made ‘Psycho’, but largely deals with his fascinating and complex relationship with Alma, his wife.
Hitchcock was certainly not an easy man to be married to and their difficulties are well highlighted in the movie. Alma and Alfred were, however, fantastic collaborators and in the end their love was affirmed. Alma was a brilliant support to her husband, understood his projects, and was even able to masterfully step onto her husband’s movie set and take over,
or spend hours with him in the cutting room, adding her own bits of genius.
It occurred to me that this, too, is what marriage can be about ~
Creative support and relentless cheer-leading when it seems that every other fan has left the building.
Undying belief in one another when faith in self falters and wanes,
as it will.
Enthusiastic collaboration on one another’s dreams….
Last week I was reading my newest blog post out loud to Dan, as I always do before publishing, and he told me he loved it,
after offering a few truly constructive comments.
He then said to me, ‘I am your Mrs. Hitchcock’.
I looked at him, surprised, while selfishly thinking to myself that it has actually been me who has done all of the
cheering on and supporting and standing beside.
But then I just as quickly realized that, in actuality, our support and belief in one another has always been completely and unarguably
Teamwork builds peace at home, after all.
‘Dan, you are my Mrs. Hitchcock and I am yours, and so……
Knowing a Place
On my morning walk this morning, in Waterton,
I reflected on how places can offer innumerable and never-ending precious gifts to be discovered. It doesn’t always need to be about the big, glamorous sights that everybody clamors around.
When we traveled to Holland seven years ago with the kids,
rather than rushing all over the country and the next one over, and seeing every possible sight with little kids in tow,
we decided to just choose one location to settle into and get to know.
We chose Delft,
and spent long afternoons browsing its markets, shops, museums and cafes,
Bike rides along the city’s canals and into the flower-filled countryside, day trips on crowded trains into the next town, lingering dinners with delightful menus (yes for me, it’s so often about the food)… These are the sweetest parcels of memories that I still hold onto from that trip.
There were so many tourist attractions that we missed, and some that we were able to make time to see,
but so often the greatest delights in life and travel are small,
the ones to which no expectations are attached.
Sometimes I will berate myself for having spent another whole summer in Waterton yet still not having checked all the ‘must-do’s off the list.
I haven’t, for example, done the most spectacular hikes that everyone asks and talks about,
and I am not out on wonderful adventures with the kids every time the weather is lovely (and it has been an achingly lovely summer).
This morning I drank my tea at the picnic table with George while we watched two squirrels chasing each other,
and we laughed our heads off at their zaniness.
Yesterday, I went on a long walk by myself and found my first perfect thimbleberry (don’t you love that word) of the season.
This past long weekend, on a long family walk after supper I turned around suddenly and saw this,
and my heart swelled to about ten times its size.
This is enough.
this is all there really is.
The Writing Process
Earlier on this week, I inadvertently posted a first draft of this blog.
Correction. It wasn’t even a first draft,
it was my very rough and preliminary thoughts about this piece.
I only worked on it for a few minutes and then, to my horror, pushed the post button instead of the save draft button. Of course, I could quickly delete the post from most social media, but those who have signed up to receive my blog via email received my
I decided that I could stress about it, or I could just breathe and let it go.
No point in obsessing over something that can’t be undone.
Perhaps, I even thought, there might be at least one lone soul out there who might be mildly interested in my writing process,
as how others bring their pieces to final form intrigues me to no end.
Writing is such a highly personal and creative act.
For me, writing is largely about distilling a piece, as much as possible,
to its essence.
Therein resides the impact and beauty.
My dear friend and glorious flower arranger, Jen, taught me that the real trick with flowers is to quickly get rid of all the extra unnecessary leaves and foliage fillers,
so that you are left with the perfect simplicity of the flowers.
Re-writing and editing, for me, is like that ~
a repetitive process of filtering and stripping away of words and extraneous thoughts,
until I finally reach a point where I feel that I have found something worth sharing.
Then, and only then, do I press publish. 🙂