I'll have some Mr. Darcy with that...

I decided to stay in on this humid Friday evening and sit down to a movie with a glass of pinot in one hand and a salad, which unfortunately tasted nothing like chocolate, in the other. On a whim, I flipped a coin to choose a shelf and rolled a die twice to choose a number. The twenty-third film on the second shelf of my tv stand was Pride and Prejudice. Being a staunch Janeist, I am ashamed to admit that it is the Kiera Knightly version.

Though it is beautifully filmed, the blatant gothic undertones of the movie always make me cringe. I imagine sitting next to Jane, or perhaps I should say, I am sprawled inelegantly on the sofa in stretch pants while she lounges  in a chair, the epitome of grace and intelligence. So, I am "reclining" next to Jane as she protests the dramatic proposal scene in the rain or the soaring music as Lizzie's cloak billows ominously in the wind on the cliffs of the Peak District. I can hear her declare that her intention was to present a realistic yet humorous view of relationships and that the extreme emotions of the gothic style are exactly what she intended to satirize in Northanger Abbey. Of course, I can then see her turning to me with a sly smile as she admits that Mr. Darcy is wickedly handsome.

And, though I know it has nothing to do with the novel which is perfection, I do adore the second proposal scene. What woman does not want a man to declare his passionate love to her in the magic moments of the day when the light is just emerging? Yet, I believe that the beauty of the scene is not in the lighting, the score, or the tender words. The beauty is in the fact that two wildly different people have overcome their conflicts, their incompatible backgrounds, and their various misunderstandings to find a friend who is also their dearest love. It is a hope that keeps us coming back for more. It is a lovely dream that we wait to see fulfilled.

P.S. The score of the film is heartbreakingly beautiful.

Vintage Beginnings

I remember when it all began. The hot June sun baked the backseat of my Mommom's Honda. I leaned my head back and let the light turn the back side of my eyelids into a fiery dance of amber and gold. I usually read in the car, but the mixed odors of french fries and mildew made me feel queasy. I always wondered why she didn't fix that leak in the window, though I suppose I would have hesitated to change a livable situation if I had survived the depression with ten hungry brothers and sisters by my side, a father who was losing his mind, and no money to speak of.

School was over and we were taking our final trip to the library. I loved the hours we spent each week surrounded by a thousand adventures. It always astonished me that such amazing things could take place between the narrow binding of a book. I was a reader and I knew it. But that day, I began an adventure of discovery that was unanticipated.

As I day-dreamed in the glaring sun, I became aware of the strains of a song that I had never heard before. The energy and pulse and glory of the sound were fireworks bursting my world into dazzling clarity. I was instantly enchanted. I felt as if I had never heard anything before in my life. My mommom told me it was a song she had danced to as a girl. She and her girlfriends would take a bus to the army base where the USO would host dances for the men who were about to ship off to battle.

The song and the story intertwined, soaking through my skin and pumping through my veins as my heart beat to the rhythm of the bass, the squeal of the trumpet, and the humor of the vocals. Mommom said it was called "The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." Even the title made me happy; I still can't say it without grinning.

She passed me a cassette case graced with a photo of the three most glamorous girls I had ever seen. With knowing smiles, they beamed at me from glossy black and white perfection. And that was the beginning.

That was the day I met The Andrews Sisters.