It's amazing how we think we've been there, done that and know it but in watching Gosford Park, I learned or perhaps relearned how society operates on both a conscious and unconscious level.

It was only after previewing Fellowes articulate and intelligent explanations about his screenplay that the essence of the theme and the film itself came to life. Watching the movie, and then the background pieces made this long, but in the end I was grateful to hear about the class system, circa 1930, in Britain not so much for the period but for how much that system has affected the US society--even today. A big eye-opener.

Unbearable Lightness

It's already days, actually last year, December 29, that I saw the Unbearable Lightness of Being." I read the book ages ago, so long ago and so many books since that I barely remembered the plot, or the theme. What it did was remind me of a long ago love relationship with a Czech.

For one brief, but incredible moment we were Valentines. It was 1988, a most memorable year for me, and he came into my life as suddenly as a sharp change in temperature. We met at a bus-stop. We traveled by tramway. We made love, laughed and cried all in sudden, electrifying but unbearable moments. It took me hours to recall his name, or rather the name he called himself. It wasn't his given name but a name he adopted. His life was fierce and unimaginable. My relationship with him mimicked that description, but I was able to recall the feeling I had at the touch of his hand.

It's snowing here in Taos, slowly but steadily and I have no boots. I did go out to get some wet wood to have a fire, but quickly changed my shoes and huddled for awhile under my alpaca stole.

But, I am in an adobe, and can put the heat on (higher). The two climbers that have not been recovered or found alive on Mt.Hood are don't have this luxury. I don't generally pray, but I do light candles. I lite one for the two men yesterday and it is slowly extinguishing. I lite another and it is still going. I had so wishes that although one of the three climbers was found dead, the other two might have made it to some cave. But it is 12 days since they called for help. Twelve days without heat is intolerable to think about. I went one or two days once, out of ignorance, without heat, and I nearly lost my mind. One of the first things that happens is confusion, a kind of disorientation I've never experienced before or since.

We have reached yet another "crucible" - beyond Miller's brilliant depiction of hysteria.

I'm thinking seriously about the PNW, but as it is unfamiliar ground, sometimes I just long for what I know and loved. Like right here:

Another two movies under my belt: Ms. Dalloway and a recent version of Jane Eyre. I borrowed both from the library--a pleasant surprise to find these.

Ms. Dalloway is based on a VW novel, one I apparently never read. Vanessa Redgrave, among my favourite actors played Ms. D. It was a sad story, reflective and filled with a poignant angst. It may have been written, the novel that is, during a period of despondency. I sensed an underlying sense of doom for the protagonist throughout as if she'd take her own life--and yes, VW did in the end.

Rating: 8

The Jan Eyre version I saw starred George C. Scott and Susannah York, a most unlikely duo. It was a shorter version, I think, than some of the other films, and although it presented the main elements of Bronte's story, it seemed somewhat lacking.

Rating: 6

The last of the three movies I rented and saw as Fahrenheit 9/11, Michael Moore's documentary or docudrama, can't recall how this is classified.

A bitter disappointment to this New Yorker. I probably should have read reviews before, or listened more or less closely to those who saw the film. While it started out exactly as I had imagined, it quickly turned to an anti-war tirade and one that didn't seem to hold together thematically.

While a strong anti-War activist (loud-mouth) something about Moore's presentation seemed like a chunk of undigested food in a bad tooth--it hurt.

I'll say no more.

Rating: 6

Following along with the movie updates, after seeing Merlin, my DVD zoomed off to "Logan's Run" an older movie and one I've seen before, perhaps more than once.

If anyone cares to check online you'll see some interesting reviews. One impressed me more than others because it summed up what I suppose draws me to movies like this--hope.

After sheltering or imprisoning all these young folk, a smashing end brings them and the future into the light. I won't go into too much detail, fearing to ruin the climax, but it is the end that carries the movie and it's loose plot

Rating: 8

Perhaps it will be helpful to note which movies I'm watching and keep my whispering memories diary elsewhere.

Yesterday evening I saw "Merlin," a 1998, made for television film staring Sam Neill as the magician. It was not terribly well done but the cinematography was super. The story itself was changed drastically, but with some mercy, from many of the legends and folklore I've read or imagined.

Nimue (nin u-way) and Merlin have a successful relationship. Morgan la Fay dies by the hand or impetus of Maab. And several characters are added for flavor.

Rate it: 7

In the shadow, she said, "only follow your heart."

So this just in from AARP, several days too late for me. http://www.aarp.org/travel/transportation/holiday_flying_tips.html

Angry, frustrated and in tears my yummy yoghurt was snatched from my bag, as I was glowered at by first the crew at Security, and then a 6 foot, 3 inch enforcer. Never have I left the Pittsburgh Airport without losing a leaf from my carry-on. This went too far.

No proper food on board for the first time in all my 40-odd years of traveling I brought some snacks. I had been so encouraged by seeing my daughter carry her lunch to work, it seemed like the right and proper gesture to carry my own food from Pittsburgh, through Chicago, to Albuquerque. No such luck! Foiled again!

It's been ages, more than a few years, that I thought about buying and owning a digital camera and now I finally made the leap and purchased this camera by phone.

I was so surprised this morning when I opened my email and saw that J&R had shipped it out on Friday night.

It was already dark and raining when I arrived in Pittsburgh on 15 November. We swung by Squirrel Hill and picked up some Italian heroes and then headed for home. Slept well.

On Thursday, 16 November, I moved slowly but managed to take the 61a to Oakland, make a quick visit to Top Knotch, have a good bowl of soup and coffee at the corner cafe on S. Craig Street, and then head on back to a quiet afternoon.

Friday, 17 November, the Mouse and the Bean were both home. We went to the Strip to buy some good appetizers, visit the craft museum, have a huge late breakfast at Pamela's and make it home for a Bean-nap. At around half past six we headed Downtown, to discover it was Lights and very crowded. But with typical Mouse-luck, at the last moment, we got a parking space on Liberty and joined a throng at Wolf's Gallery, part of the Pittsburgh Trust, to see some amazing light art and hear Eden whisper.

It's Saturday now, and mid-afternoon. We've been to the storage unit, the Coop, and eaten lunch. Mouse and Ness are cleaning up their kitchen.

Watercolour in Taos

For more than a month I have been trying my hand at watercolour--straight from the lofty tubes of D&R, DS, MG and a small number of W&N and one tube of Schmincke-rose madder. These are all new, and available at Artisan, and hopefully not too much duplication from among those watercolour tubes sitting in my storage unit back East.

I also have a small number of pads, blocks and sheets of watercolour and drawing paper--again not the generous lot in storage, but a sufficient number to test and touch.

I found the MG and W&N the most reliable. DS comes in third place as their tubes continue to run out faster than I can top off a plastic palette with their juicy watercolour. Also living in a very dry climate, totally different than the humid one I lived in for 10 years, I found that the DS dried on the palette faster than the honeyed MG, and the standard W&N. This has been my first time with D&R, and I rank them last. I found their pigment load insufficient or at least radically lower than the others.

But, it is paper that really gave me a full course of instruction and the start of a degree in art materials. I am contrary, and find Arches pads at the lower end of satisfactory. I just tested some water and colour on my Robert Bateman (cover series, recycled, 110lb) and it curled not at all while the Arches, 140lb. seems to want to arabesque.

Today, I feel a change coming on and perhaps a totally new direction. I plucked the 7 of Coins and gave it some thought; more meditation later.

Think about a room with Northern Light, a cheerful room, spacious, uncluttered, something like the imaginery studio you created in 1982.

Draw it, speak it, dream it, live it!

Finally got a chance to experiment with Daler-Rowney cartridge paper A5 (5x7) (something that appears rare here in the States, but which I purchased from a NYS outfitter).

It is smooth, heavy, heavy weight and a pleasure to draw on. I was able to do two quick drawings with watercolour--and no buckling. The third piece, too much water, too many colours, didn't work.

So, I'll keep these pads for quick drawings in the house or on the road.

It was a strange feeling, voting early, in my new town and then waking today knowing I didn't have to stand in line today, November 7.

I was one of more than two thousand in a community of about five thousand who elected to vote before the official date.

Some say, like Vidal, that this is one, if not, the single most important election in his life-time, and to some extent I must agree.

I'll be watching and waiting for the returns, and this time, I am two hours behind the East, and will be seeing the returns in a different light.

Yesterday I went to vote for the first time in a new town, and a new state. We had paper ballots that were then inserted into a counter. Five days before the actual election it appeared that at least 40% of the county voters went to the poll. I was number 2074.

It seems I'd forgotten about this promised recount of my journey, but now reading a mystery novel, I stopped and recalled a missing person. I wondered if I could explore a time table from the time I remember last seeing him and my car.

Yes, my car!


The missing person was my auto mechanic, no ordinary man, but a rough, temperamental Sicilian. I had met him in 1997. Walking around my new neighbourhood, I often took routes that were beyond a normal foot-path. One day I noticed an auto repair shop and a parking lot opposite one another. In the lot was an old Honda Accord. No rust, looked good, seemed solid. With five hundred dollars I bought her. I know it was a she because not only did this car bring me into personal contact with my Sicilian she also brought me into a minor relationship with her former owner.

The car lasted all of that summer, and perhaps beyond. She drowned one winter from repeated rainstorms. But when I bought another car, a Saab, the Sicilian remained main man. I counted on him and he never let me down. He called himself, Vinny; I called him Vincenzo. He loved it.

The last time I saw this Vincenzo--I have another in my life--was shortly after the World Trade Center were hit by airplanes. Vincenzo's daughter had just flown off to California for her honeymoon. He was nearly hysterical with worry. He drove out to California to get his daughter and son-in-law. Somewhere between there and New York City, he decided life is too short. He sold his auto repair shop to one of the mechanics and disappeared.

I lost my Saab.

I am trying to remember not only the sequence of events, but a time table--when was it I hugged Vincenzo good-bye and cried as I walked away from Falcon, the car that plagued me and my chequebook.