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captainsblogMy back hurts this morning. No surprise there, as cramming 12 hours out of 26 behind the wheel of a not-large automobile will do that to you. In a way, though, I rather prefer to have my body hurting than my brain- even though it still does.
Left here around 3 Sunday afternoon, rolled back in about 6 last night. I met my sister at the rough halfway point and we made the rest of the drive early Monday, through Endless Mountains fog. Nicole, who left her Connecticut home and fragile family at 4 that morning, beat us by a few minutes. We were the only relatives there; a few longtime friends, and former caregivers, joined us, along with Mimi's longtime end-days caregiver who drove with Nicole.
It was enough. Two or more were gathered in her name.
Two priests came- one, mostly, a cheerleader so someone in the room would know the Funeral Mass responses (I certainly don't). But the one who gave the homily couldn't have done a better job for all of us.
He began by speaking of a film he'd seen, years ago- an obscure one, subtitled, we'd probably never seen it.
The heck we hadn't:
Babette's Feast (Danish: Babettes gæstebud) is a 1987 Danish drama film directed by Gabriel Axel. The film's screenplay was written by Axel based on the story by Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen).
It's a tale of a woman from France who travels far from her roots to a distant and different place, where the raison d'être of her French spirit is never understood. She nonetheless devotes her effort, and her fortune, to bringing that understanding to the people she loved and appreciated so much.
That is Jeanne E. Erickson all over.
We've seen it, of course; I was certain we owned it (can't seem to find evidence of that, and will fix that later today). My niece and sister, who hadn't seen it, still understood the meaning that the priest conveyed with it. They will see the images as soon as I can find and deliver them.
----
We had more time than we expected to visit and share memories after the service was ended, and we went in peace. I dropped my sister back at her home and collected my stuff, including a charged tablet with a fresh purchase of an audiobook she'd commended to me.
This one:
While she'd read it, and would have independently mentioned it, likely at some point, it came to mind for her because she'd seen an entry by its author, Abraham Verghese, on the guestbook accompanying David Relin's online obituary. That pretty much sealed it for me.
Unfortunately, it didn't completely download it. Audible purchases are a two-step process, and I neglected to hit "download" before leaving Donna's wifi space. I resolved to find a hotspot on my way back, looking especially for the friendly (and caffeinated) confines of a Tim Hortons, but somehow found a 100-mile stretch without one advertised. I finally bailed, thinking I'd seen one getting gas on the way down, in the small southern Finger Lakes village of Bath.
Never found it, but I did find(as I so often do on these weird crusades) a sign pointing to the village library- and it had a coffee bar- and wifi. So I spent my final not-quite-two hours listening to this amazing (if fictional) story of twin sons of an officially celibate mother, torn from India to a faraway Ethiopia. The sea journey from one to the other invoked some of the visual pain of a similar voyage we just saw (and walked out of) in Life of Pi, but like the protagonist's parents, I survived it. When finished, it will be my 40th, and probably final, read of the year- unless my friend Greg's second Mets book gets here in time. Never got to see him, or anyone beyond the mourners this weekend, but we did message and I've arranged the signed copy I'd hoped to secure in person.
----
The final mind-blowing came when I walked in the door last night. I told Eleanor about the Babette reference, and she visibly jumped. I knew she'd recognize the film, and its importance, but,... huh?
She pointed to the television screen, where she'd paused a video. Of an older time, where families were bigger and more important (if just as dysfunctional) and the weapons took moments to reload.
It was a scene from the 1981 Granada series Brideshead Revisited. And at that second, three characters were on the screen: the men you'd expect, played by very young Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews- and a fairly minor character in the piece (at least so far), Cara. Played by a just-as-young Stephane Audran. Who, years later, went on to play the title role as Babette.
Quit messing with us, Sandy.
Left here around 3 Sunday afternoon, rolled back in about 6 last night. I met my sister at the rough halfway point and we made the rest of the drive early Monday, through Endless Mountains fog. Nicole, who left her Connecticut home and fragile family at 4 that morning, beat us by a few minutes. We were the only relatives there; a few longtime friends, and former caregivers, joined us, along with Mimi's longtime end-days caregiver who drove with Nicole.
It was enough. Two or more were gathered in her name.
Two priests came- one, mostly, a cheerleader so someone in the room would know the Funeral Mass responses (I certainly don't). But the one who gave the homily couldn't have done a better job for all of us.
He began by speaking of a film he'd seen, years ago- an obscure one, subtitled, we'd probably never seen it.
The heck we hadn't:
Babette's Feast (Danish: Babettes gæstebud) is a 1987 Danish drama film directed by Gabriel Axel. The film's screenplay was written by Axel based on the story by Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen).
It's a tale of a woman from France who travels far from her roots to a distant and different place, where the raison d'être of her French spirit is never understood. She nonetheless devotes her effort, and her fortune, to bringing that understanding to the people she loved and appreciated so much.
That is Jeanne E. Erickson all over.
We've seen it, of course; I was certain we owned it (can't seem to find evidence of that, and will fix that later today). My niece and sister, who hadn't seen it, still understood the meaning that the priest conveyed with it. They will see the images as soon as I can find and deliver them.
----
We had more time than we expected to visit and share memories after the service was ended, and we went in peace. I dropped my sister back at her home and collected my stuff, including a charged tablet with a fresh purchase of an audiobook she'd commended to me.
This one:
While she'd read it, and would have independently mentioned it, likely at some point, it came to mind for her because she'd seen an entry by its author, Abraham Verghese, on the guestbook accompanying David Relin's online obituary. That pretty much sealed it for me.
Unfortunately, it didn't completely download it. Audible purchases are a two-step process, and I neglected to hit "download" before leaving Donna's wifi space. I resolved to find a hotspot on my way back, looking especially for the friendly (and caffeinated) confines of a Tim Hortons, but somehow found a 100-mile stretch without one advertised. I finally bailed, thinking I'd seen one getting gas on the way down, in the small southern Finger Lakes village of Bath.
Never found it, but I did find(as I so often do on these weird crusades) a sign pointing to the village library- and it had a coffee bar- and wifi. So I spent my final not-quite-two hours listening to this amazing (if fictional) story of twin sons of an officially celibate mother, torn from India to a faraway Ethiopia. The sea journey from one to the other invoked some of the visual pain of a similar voyage we just saw (and walked out of) in Life of Pi, but like the protagonist's parents, I survived it. When finished, it will be my 40th, and probably final, read of the year- unless my friend Greg's second Mets book gets here in time. Never got to see him, or anyone beyond the mourners this weekend, but we did message and I've arranged the signed copy I'd hoped to secure in person.
----
The final mind-blowing came when I walked in the door last night. I told Eleanor about the Babette reference, and she visibly jumped. I knew she'd recognize the film, and its importance, but,... huh?
She pointed to the television screen, where she'd paused a video. Of an older time, where families were bigger and more important (if just as dysfunctional) and the weapons took moments to reload.
It was a scene from the 1981 Granada series Brideshead Revisited. And at that second, three characters were on the screen: the men you'd expect, played by very young Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews- and a fairly minor character in the piece (at least so far), Cara. Played by a just-as-young Stephane Audran. Who, years later, went on to play the title role as Babette.
Quit messing with us, Sandy.
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Feasty
Date: 2012-12-19 03:53 pm (UTC)Re: Feasty
Date: 2012-12-19 04:02 pm (UTC)