Saturday, October 24, 2009

Ode to a Night Out

I'll never forget where I was when Huck proposed we go see Bright Star, the understated, smoldering film about Keats and his muse. I was on the toilet, my favorite one. And I nearly fell off at his suggestion.

I read the reviews. I ached and pined like Fanny herself to see it. But I didn't even mention it. Huck's hissing and spitting hatred of poetry is epic, steadfast and unwavering. It was hopeless, I knew. His poetical loathing probably accounts for some percentage of the reason I married him (probably less of a percentage than having his 5 month old baby (as I may have mentioned here before) but a percentage none-the-less because I have learned well and thoroughly a distrust of poets, especially male ones. Love the poem; pass on the poet). So a poetry-despiser seemed like good odds in my mate-hunting favor.

But Huck's hatred of poetry suffered a crack recently. We loved the film The Motorcycle Diaries. LOVED IT! The both of us. In this film, Pablo Neruda is quoted extensively. And a few days later, as fate would have it, I decided to finish unpacking my office.

I've been 1/2 unpacked since June. Another 1/2 of my books and office gear languished in piles and boxes. And the previous half of my volumes were donated, discarded and sold during "The Ordeal of Sarajoy, June 2008 through May 2009." (I do have to specify the dates because I've had some number of ORDEALS).
Anyway, Huck was stretching nearby when I un-crated a translation of Neruda's called Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon. Curiosity pre-piqued by Che, Huck actually took the volume in hand and began to read "Ode to the Onion." And he hasn't looked back.

This is probably THE WARNING SIGN NUMERO UNO. Alarms should be clanging. Red lights should be flashing. From greasy dock worker to poetry loving dandy with fabulous taste in shoes and a passion for Neruda! YIKES! But me being me, I find it charming anyway. Life on the edge!

Bright Star, if you need to know, rocked. The love rocked. The costumes rocked. Fanny reminded me of our Wenatchee babysitter, in that she was a talented young seamstress who also sewed almost all her own clothes. The period was not quite spot-on with a few 21st century mannerisms and I swear there was a banister in there from the 1910's. But nothing as historically wicked and barf inducing as Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman and Ipecac of Cathode-Ray-Tube.

We viewed Bright Star at the tiny artsy theater named The Magic Lantern: cute!

The date was facilitated by another visit from my grandkid-obsessed parents: THANK YOU!!

And we never puked up our dinner. It's like a first date, or a date of firsts. Awesome movie, not followed by food poisoning. I just don't know what to expect next from this crazy life!

photos are of our wedding and part of my new office

1 comment:

  1. As a male poet, I can confirm that your mistrust of male poets is wise. However, I wouldn't worry too much about a fondness for Neruda. Also, if memory serves, Huck's hatred of poetry has never been complete. We (you, Huck, pre-birth Blue, and I) went to a poetry reading in Seattle, and Huck didn't have a terrible time...or at least hid his hatred well.



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