Embracing my purpose

I'm becoming more and more convinced that one of my biggest roles on this little planet is to speak truth. I don't often enjoy the job, because most people don't want to hear what I have to say, seeing as it's usually bad news. Yet, I am bound by my personality to fulfill my duty.

This time, my somewhat unwilling speech is about food. The movie Food Inc., to be exact. But it's not just that movie; it's my slow, unhappy, dawning realization that the food supply in this country is really messed up.

Let me say, up front, that I am not a vegetarian. I eat meat. We own firearms. I am increasingly conservative. However, we also have a garden and grow food in it. I am an avid cook who tries to use healthy, natural ingredients as much as possible. I love animals, while also realizing that we are superior to them in our intellect. I believe that God made us in his image, and that animals are wonderful companions that are here to help, teach, and serve us.

It seems logical to me that, if we are more intellectually capable than any other earthly living thing (that we know of), it should be our goal to treat all of creation with respect and gratitude. (Within reason, of course. Respecting nature doesn't mean we never chop a tree, or that we move an entire city because its existence threatens the life cycle of an owl, etc.)

Anyway. This movie, Food Inc., is disturbing. If you're not thinking seriously about where your food comes from, you ought to. It's sort of a companion piece to King Corn, another eye-opening flick, plus one of the commentators in Food Inc. is Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore's Dilemma (which I have yet to read but very much want to).

In the same way that the phrase "throw that away" has somehow turned into a mammoth floating garbage dump in the ocean , the idea of "going to the store" has morphed into a weird, utterly dependent system of unhealthy consumption that feeds our twisted, tightly controlled agricultural economy.

Even if you don't live in a city, it's still quite likely that you don't know any farmers. Why is that? If not, where did they go? Food is coming from somewhere... so neatly wrapped, in pretty packaging, it just magically appears and we buy it and eat it and ask no questions.

People: WE SHOULD BE ASKING QUESTIONS.

I need to keep this short because, lo and behold, my little guy came home sick from school today; he's feeling pretty lousy and I need to be attentive now that "Arthur" has ended. But seriously, I hope you'll watch the movie. I hope you'll ask some questions. I hope you'll see, as I am seeing, that the terrorists of this world won't even need to bring us down, because we're doing it to ourselves with ignorant and bad choices.

Over and out, for now. Next on my public service messages? Buying American. Then, we'll tackle the abandonment of plastic bags.

A cold-blooded bunch

Recently, my little guy and I read aloud The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. (If you haven't yet, I highly recommend taking a couple of hours to enjoy this little book.) I'd read it years before, but while revisiting this gem, I was reminded just how amusing and unattractively truthful are the events the story details. There's the narrator's mother, trying to conduct a Christmas pageant that's always been led by another woman who unfortunately has injured herself. And there are the various "church" people who pretty much exemplify why so many folks steer clear of organized religion. By and large, though, the most entertaining characters are the story's antagonists, The Herdman kids: a band of troublemaking near-orphans who've never set foot in church until they hear about the free refreshments served therein...

One thing that stuck with me was the outrage some of the Herdman children felt when they heard that King Herod had gone unpunished for his evil (but thankfully unrealized) intentions to murder the Baby Jesus. Herod apparently died many years later of natural causes, and one Herdman kid was flummoxed and thought that the pageant should feature the hanging of King Herod instead of peaceful manger scenes.

I thought about that a lot, how we as a pop culture are fascinated by murder and murderous thoughts, and how we want justice unless it falls on our own heads. I pondered the history of men, even the Biblical history, and how often murder shows up. There's David, lusting after some babe, and he has his way with her and then has her husband killed in the front lines of battle. Yes, he was sorry, but still... And there were other murderous kings, not just Herod; many earthly kingdoms have been won and lost based on which king has been murdered. Women have been murdered because of their aspirations, or just because a younger and sexier woman came along; brothers have been murdered because they were the favorites. Children have been murdered because they were a burden, or the new girlfriend or boyfriend didn't like them.

I like to believe that we as a people are not so base, so cruel and selfish. But we are. I spoke with a friend recently who detailed how her elderly neighbor had died recently, and she explained point by point why she felt certain his children had given him an overdose of morphine. You know what? I think she's right. This wasn't an elderly man on his deathbed, or suffering from terminal illness. This was a man my friend had just visited, who'd been in good spirits, who'd received a pacemaker and was feeling quite chipper. His daughter won't let people see him, he dies suddenly, and the day after the funeral the daughter's ex-husband, which whom her father had not gotten along, suddenly shows up at the house again. Coincidence?

My own neighbor down the street a few homes? Her sister died mysteriously—drowned in the bathtub. A few months later? Her widower husband remarries. Nothing can be proven. But it surely makes you wonder, doesn't it. I don't know if any charges have followed because I'm afraid to ask the neighbor; it's not the sort of topic we feel comfortable broaching. "So, was your sister murdered?" God forbid we call it what we think it truly is; that would be so unpleasant, so morbid and sordid and all those other unattractive adjectives that we'd rather not have to use when we describe human nature.

But I suspect this sort of thing happens much more than we realize. It's not just on television. There's a great movie, one of my all-time favorites: Crimes and Misdemeanors. It's a Woody Allen film from the 80s, and yes it's a tad dated, but mostly it holds up beautifully. (Even though I think Woody is a perverted near-pedophile weirdo, I also happen to think he makes great movies.) This film is a thought-provoking piece, mostly because it twists together a series of bad, somewhat-related events, and leaves the characters (and the viewers) to decide which of those events constitute real crime—true sin in its most base form. It shows people at their very worst: evil, selfish, thoughtless, unkind, cheating, stealing, even murdering. It's a disturbing idea, but it's done so artfully that you are left feeling rather somber and disappointed—in people, generally, and that so much crime goes unpunished.

We really are a murderous bunch of cold-blooded killers, deep down. I'm very glad we have a savior, and that nothing can separate us from Him. Even David, that killer, was still a friend of God. Still, it's a pretty unflattering and humbling history to bear.

They DO make 'em like they used to...occasionally

Movies: The very fact that we, as a nation, have such a wide variety of fantasies from which to escape reality is kind of embarrassing. There are people in this world to whom the mere notion of watching predominantly fictional people living mostly fictional lives on a big, flat screen would seem absolutely ludicrous. It really is kind of silly, when I think about it. But it's fun, it's lucrative for many folks, and it is a means of learning about things and people we might otherwise miss in our little spheres of existence.

I'm not a movie aficionado. I make an effort to eventually view the titles that seem to impact Hollywood positively, and others that just sound somewhat appealing or come highly recommended by people I respect and with whom I share some basic values. And speaking of values, modern film is such a different animal from what movies used to be. Cinematography has provided history, news updates, opinions, even experiments. I think that these days, as has been the case for some time, the main purpose of most movies is definitely entertainment. You really can't even compare old-style movies, and old television too, with current releases. Both have much to offer, but they're almost separate entities from each other. I guess I've always been a fan of the drama genre, regardless of whether the film is old or new.

A recent flick, Doubt, really made me think about how we as people reflect our own fears and shames onto others. The movie was a bit slow at times, yes, but definitely well-acted and very thought-provoking. Fairly new movies dealing with the theme of sacrifice have stayed with me, too--The Kite Runner and Seven Pounds were quite impressive. Even the incredibly foul-mouthed characters of Gran Torino have continued to prod me for weeks after viewing them, prompting thoughts on not just sacrifice, but also stereotypes and disadvantages. These films were well worth the time spent watching—and pondering.

But the title of this post has to do with a nice, quiet little movie that brought me back to my childhood TV and movie memories in its innocence and simplicity. It was called Love Comes Softly, and I suppose it would be classified as a Christian movie. It was recommended by several people on Netflix who were frankly surprised that they liked it as much as they did, and that was enough for me; I placed it on my queue and warned my husband that it might just be pretty darned corny.

And it was a tad corny. It was overly simplified in its portrayal of many life lessons, I'm sure. Also, there's no way a frontier woman could be so clean and pressed...and I'd point out more inconsistencies with reality, but it would ruin the movie for you. In short, it's a good story, fairly well acted, and honestly, I could have watched it alongside my 4-year-old without a single qualm. I recall seeing Michael Landon's son's name in the credits, which probably explains why it reminded me of "Little House on the Prairie" a bit. It featured some recognizable names, among them Katherine Heigl from the show "Grey's Anatomy;" Corbin Bernsen shows up as someone's husband, although I wouldn't have recognized him. But my main point is that while the movie glosses over some dirty, unpleasant realities of tragedy and daily survival in the developing western U.S., it was interesting, pretty believable, and I cared about the characters. I wanted it all to work out. When it was over, I had hope in God's ability to turn horror to happiness, in the strength of human beings, in our ability and need to help others survive and thrive.

I was also pleased that such a well-known actress had lent her talents to a project of this ilk. I'm sure it was no big budget film; I don't believe it was ever released in theaters, for that matter. The fact that a well-known young woman would act in a movie of this sort gave me even more hope than the film itself had; perhaps not all of Hollywood has been brainwashed to thirst for sex and violence in a leading role? (And to embrace Marxism?)

Anyway, those are some notables that've flickered on our screen of late. (Note: Definitely, only that last one I mentioned is kid friendly.)

Good flick

I don’t normally tout or slam films—they’re fine, but I’m not a big movie person and it takes something special to get my attention. Finding Nemo did, if you recall, and there are a few big-people movies that stand out in a crowd, but by and large I feel concern for our society and the amount of attention and time we give to something unreal. And movies are, for the most part, unreal. They’re a means of escaping the real. (Television is the true enemy—but that’s a post for another day.)

Then, there are movies that don’t fit the mold. Some biographies, historically accurate movies, movies that do not come to exist for the same reasons that pop culture creates films. One such example is The Unforeseen.

I’ve been waiting to rent The Unforeseen for about 2 years—at least it feels as if that’s how long it’s been on my “wait” list in Netflix.* I saw it previewed on PBS way back when, and my curiosity was piqued. It was presented as a pretty fair-minded, multi-sided documentary about suburban sprawl.

And it succeeds, in my opinion anyway. It’s very good. It made me think about the issue from different angles; it forced me to consider all the factors that go into building most modern-day housing developments. It provided the basics in understanding how these projects are funded, and who benefits the most, and which beneficiaries take on the greatest risks. It gave a face, a voice, to all the different players in that drama. It will break your heart a little, and make you angry a little. It’s poetic like a Cormac McCarthy book, and it tells a story that almost anyone living in America today has been affected by.

Would it cause you to change your mind about buying a home in a “sprawl” development? If your mind is made up and you love the house, then I doubt it. But if you’re just considering it, or if there’s another of these housing plans in the works near you, I can see where it might light a fire under your bum.

So, when you get a chance, I’d recommend you see it. But ladies, be prepared: Robert Redford (who helped produce it) makes an appearance, and you may be shocked to see how time has worn him down. There remains very little evidence of the Sundance Kid.

* Didn’t want you to think that I was contradicting myself—we have the bare-bones Netflix package, which permits 2 movies per month, not at the same time…and we sometimes remember to watch that many.

Just keep swimming

Okay, so I’m a self-admitted Mel-come-lately, and I recently viewed Finding Nemo for the first time. Yes, I know, it’s very old news. It’s for children. It’s beyond yesterday. So sue me.

I loved it.

I might have bashed Disney at some point in the past—if not, I’m certain I’ll do it in the future—but for this moment, my impression of poor Walt’s twisted, overly commercialized dream is pretty sweet, thanks to my viewing of Nemo. It wasn’t perfect; it had its obligatory potty humor moment (“Nemo touched the butt!”) and parts that I thought were a tad too frightening for a G rating (the inevitable Disney parent death, the huge, blood-thirsty shark pursuit, the dark-sea-dwelling toothy fish pursuit, even the giant scuba diver mask rising out of nowhere to kidnap poor Nemo…) But it was, to put it plainly, a great flick. Disney (and graphics giant Pixar) got it right. The frightened dad was believable as an understandably overprotective parent. Nemo felt real as a kid who is ready for challenge and wants to be brave so his dad realizes how big he is. The lesser characters—the other kids fighting over one youngster’s shell, Gill the fish tank dweller who’s also gimpy and also hails from the ocean, Nigel the soft-hearted pelican, even those ludicrous seagulls chanting “mine, mine, mine.” It worked. It really worked.

And afterward, I kept thinking of Dory, the scatterbrained but very likable fish voiced by Ellen Degeneres. She was my favorite, so sweet, so silly and forgetful, so hapless. I felt like I knew her. I loved that she couldn’t give reasons for her instinctual hunches—I mean, how many of us can, really? I loved that moment as they sat on the verge of death inside a whale, ready to tumble back in the giant’s throat to a seemingly certain demise; she was telling Marlin to just let go, the whale said it’ll be okay, etc. etc., and when he asked her why he should, she said, “I don’t know!” And that moment resounded in me, for all the times I’ve felt something, felt the need to do or say something that I couldn’t explain—actions or statements that I occasionally felt sure were being prompted by God. And nearly every time, I wasn’t absolutely certain about the instinct or the prompt. Often, I didn’t know why I should do it (other than obedience, in the God-prompt situations); I certainly didn’t know what results it would bring. I am Dory.

But my favorite part? The line I couldn’t get out of my head? “Just keep swimming.” The precious scuba mask, Marlin’s only link to Nemo’s kidnapper and his location, has slipped into the deepest, darkest crevasse that Marlin’s ever seen. The mask drops farther, farther, and farther out of sight. He tries to retrieve it, only to suffer a fishy anxiety attack as soon as he’s immersed in the blackness. And there comes Dory, and she’s chanting that line with such cheery determination. In fact, the whole exchange cracks me up (I found it online):

Dory: Hey there, Mr. Grumpy Gills. When life gets you down, do you wanna know what you've gotta do?
Marlin: No I don't wanna know.
Dory: [singing] Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim.

The best part is that while she repeats the mantra, they swim deeper and deeper into the great unknown and are ultimately successful in finding and decoding the lost mask.

Oddly enough, there’s a whole web page dedicated to quotes from the movie (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0266543/quotes) although I would guess there are countless web pages dedicated to quotes from every remotely decent film ever made, since we humans seem by and large to prefer unreality to our own tedious existences. But our sometimes tedious existences are the very point of Dory’s line, aren’t they? “Just keep swimming.” Even if you’re tired, or lost, or unmotivated, or don’t care for your swimming partners and teachers and the underwater growth around you… because that’s reality sometimes, if we’re being frank here. And although I’m always Mel, I’m also pretty darned good at being frank. Life can be dull. It can wear you down and make you weary, teary, ungrateful, and filled with ennui.

But it’s up to us, whether we just keep swimming, or float around expending energy in complaints and concerns. I even had my kid saying those words for a few days after we viewed the movie: “Just keep swimming.” It seemed appropriate, as I pretended I was a fireman for the 40th time that day, or carried more clothes to the washer, or cleaned up from yet another meal, or paid bills and watched one more paycheck slip away. Just keep swimming.

Just keep swimming. Because you can, because you must, because it’s better than being buffeted by the tides. And because the very fins we flutter, gimpy though they sometimes are, can deliver our greatest blessings if we hold them dear and use them to our best ability and with the intent of glorifying our maker. Even the tides can be blessings, if only we can learn to flow with them and not against them.

Maybe it’s a stretch for a Disney movie; maybe I’m reading too much into it. But I’m still going to say it to myself whenever I need a reminder to persevere: Just keep swimming.

On being out of touch

I’m a mite sad to tell you that I have no idea who won what at the Oscars—but just a mite. In fact, I think they’re still on. Aren’t they? It’s 11:15 on Sunday evening, and if memory serves me, those silly awards will be handed out for some time yet. But I don’t know for certain, and I flatly refuse to turn on the television and find out. You see, this is just one more area of my life that I’ve pretty much abandoned without looking back.

I looked back for awhile, peered over my shoulder wondering what I was missing, especially when I lost books. Books were big to me for so many years—I mean, I taught English for cryin’ out loud. Books were huge. They shaped me, they entertained me, they spoke to me and were real to me. Now? Not. I just can’t care about them like I used to. Even when I get a chance to read, it’s not the same. I noticed some years back that I was losing my taste for fictional characters, and now I find that I simply have no patience with them. They’re not real. I can no longer justify the time and energy spent on these people. Only the most convincing, human characters can hold me now. I suppose that increasing demands on your time make you more selective about how you spend it. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Giving up TV was no biggie—I pretty much gave it up in college, and lost nothing. But even recently, I used to at least watch the news. Now? It’s too depressing. It makes me wonder what I was thinking, bringing a little person into this world. So, I don’t watch the news anymore. I’m lucky to catch the weather in the mornings, and maybe we turn on world news once a week or so, which I then promptly forget to watch because I end up reading stories or talking to someone. I can still scan headlines online, and filter out the stupid, shallow stories, and the ones that fill me with sadness, make me feel heavy and sullen; foxnews.com and NPR will serve me well enough in this period of my life.

I do miss music and movies. Especially music. I used to make it a point to stay on top of new artists, and tours, and who had gone solo, and who had flopped. I used to know what young people were listening to, because I used to listen to it, too. Now, I turn on the “hip” stations and I don’t recognize a single voice. They all sound the same, young and undeveloped, like they’re trying too hard. The same way, I’m sure, that all my favorite childhood bands sounded to my parents. Now I’ve become that person who thinks the music of her youth was superior. I even heard a song from my high school years on the “oldies” station the other day. Now THAT’S a downer. That makes me want to leave the radio off.

Movies, too—once upon a time, I had a clue. I knew who was starring in the box office hits, I knew who was nominated, I’d even seen a few of the well-known titles. I read reviews, I was at least familiar with some of the odd films that were only shown in one local theater, I even knew some of the good foreign films coming down the pike. Nowadays, I don’t have any idea what’s playing. The last film I saw was at Christmas time with a girlfriend (Charlie Wilson’s War) and it was good, but I don’t want to talk about it and think about it and see it again. Before that? I can’t even tell you the last time I was in a movie theater. And rentals? Todd and I are usually catching up on things the whole world already viewed last year. Our last big hit here? The Fox and the Hound, of course. (Marcus adored it, and was only a little bit frightened by the bear at the end.)

I guess it’s all part of the bubble effect of being a stay-at-home-mom and a parent in general. I’m pretty content to leave out the bad stuff, so the news is no loss. And honestly, I’ve always been a person absolutely grounded in reality, and that aspect of my personality seems to have become even more dominant, thus eliminating the need—and desire—to fill my brain with too much mental jewelry. Every day, I care less and less that I know less and less about this stuff. Because honestly, is any of it important? It doesn’t really matter whether I know who sings that song, or who won that Oscar for which movie, or which book Oprah’s pushing and what it's about, or whether Britney remembered to put on panties last night, or whether Jen is still bitter toward Angie, or whether the Police are coming to Pittsburgh on their reunion tour… Well, okay, that one is bothering me a little. Man, I’d really like to see the Police and Elvis Costello. Sigh.

But truly, I’m feeling more peaceful every day about my cultural cluelessness. BTW, can one of you call me if something really important happens?