Winter weather finally arrived here in the southern highlands. The quince bush outside the front window has been a riotous halo of vibrant pink but last night’s temps have wilted its glory. The titmice seem to be eating the limp blossoms–something I’ve never seen.
We finally saw The Force Awakens last night. The theater is in one of those contrived township things (that I first encountered in Florida at Disney) and we got lost going there, spending a frustrating 20 minutes trying to get out of a posh sub-division called Biltmore Something. It was horrifying in its uniformity and we had no idea how to get out. Round and round, with the coal-powered plant’s white exhaust to guide us. I got car sick and we missed the first couple of previews. But it’s a nice set of theaters and we got good seats.
It was exactly what I needed it to be, thank you very much. (Though I had willfully forgotten what wooden actors some of the old main actors were.) I liked Rey a lot and was so happy to see Fin– both good actors aptly cast. On the way home, I couldn’t remember many of the names and referred to them as Giant Gollum, Baby Vader, Linda Hunt and Brendan Gleeson’s Boy. Luke looked exactly like my old friend Michael Moon, which was a little disturbing considering what Moon and I and our cohorts got up to in the Olden Days at an opera camp far, far away.
And there was The Force, which is an old friend of magic-workers. I knew it before it had a name, when it was only what surrounded me when I stood on the ridge above our cove, looking out as far as The Big House. I knew it when I came face-to-face with a bear there. I knew it when I sat by the bed of my dying grandmother. And I know it every morning when I stand at my home altar, my hands on those plaster ram’s heads, my face turned to the Sun in its dawning.