It was March Break for the kids this past week. We decided to go skiing locally as we had a hot weather vacation over the New Year. We went to our local ski spot where we had stayed on weekends during the year. Our skiing is prepaid so it was cheap and cheerful.
The skiing was excellent (well, excellent for Ontario, which is a very flat province) but the sleeping arrangements nearly killed me this time. I’m one of those people who needs at least 8 hours of decent sleep to function. And I have a trick neck and shoulder from a bout with shingles. It seemed that the pullout sofa was the optimal place for me to sleep to accommodate our group of 5. I assumed that the sofa bed would be as comfy as it had been before but this particular mattress was entire devoid of stuffing. I had metal coil marks imprinted in my back after the first night. On the second night, I tried to sleep in a double bed with my two kids and the dog. The third night I tried to sleep on the sofa, which was the size of a loveseat. Argh!
Even Serena was unhappy with the accommodations:
The fourth night we went home and I slept like a baby.
The fifth night, at home, Serena decided to help herself to some of the leftover Lucky Charms cereal I’d permitted my children to buy as a special March Break junk food treat in ski country. Said Lucky Charms were not “magically delicious,” as advertised, unless magic was what made them reappear at 2am. The gluten and sugar laden cereal did not mix well with Serena’s strictly Paleo diet and I had semi-digested pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, and green clovers all over my bedding along with a lot of raw lamb. I changed my sheets and comforter and got us all tucked back in when the same thing occurred at 4am and then again at 6am. Having gone through all of the clean bedding in the house, and fearful that the dog would be sick on my mattress, I ended up sleeping on my sofa with a french bulldog on my feet.
Did I mention how much I need sleep?
Luckily the BF rescued the situation by delivering flowers:
He also procured tickets to see The Grand Budapest Hotel. And a babysitter my kids like! Yes, he’s a keeper. Wes Anderson is my absolute favourite director (the Coen Brothers and Whit Stillman tie for second place) and I was so eager to see this film, especially after the formidable Tabitha gave it a stellar review.
It was fantastic. Once again, I’d give my eye teeth to live in Anderson’s world. Anderson’s world is rife with dysfunction and yet it is offset with absolute charm. Oh to be able to shrug off a cruel father, lovesick adoptive brother, loveless marriage, and a wooden finger with a fur coat and eyeliner a la Margot Tenenbaum, or bring a fencing club to a hostile inner city school when one’s prep school scholarship runs dry a la Max Fischer.
I think that Anderson’s most brilliant character to date is Grand Budapest’s M. Gustave who is portrayed brilliantly by Ralph Fiennes. M. Gustave, like most of Anderson’s characters, is an anachronism: “His world had vanished long before he entered it. But he sustained the illusion with a marvelous grace.” As someone who often feels out of place in this Neknominated world, I appreciate this in spades.
I also appreciate that Anderson does not shy away from tough subjects (a lot of people lose fingers in Anderson films, I’ve noticed) and yet injects charm and humour in the cracks we all have. He provides, in the worlds of M. Gustave, “a glimmer of civilization in the barbaric slaughterhouse we know as humanity.” The Anderson world view is what has always drawn me to blogging. The title of my blog is taken from Philippians, letters to the young church written when Paul was in prison, facing certain execution.
Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.
In other words, in the face of all that is bad, focus on the good. In the face of fascism and border checks and stalking and false imprisonment, focus on Mendls: a patisserie with glorious confections. When one is feeling world-weary, there is Eau de Panache. There is murder and deception but there is also Boy With Apple, and he is worth fighting for if only to hang over the front desk of a semi-abandoned hotel. These things give one strength to fight the real fight.
I find this same world view in the little band of people in the blogosphere I adore. We all seem to treasure all that is good because we have lived long enough (or hard enough) to see the other side of things. I’ve come to really love reading this group. Our beloved Tabitha gave me a shout out as well and tagged me to do one of those 11 Random Facts About Me posts. I’m honoured and I shall take up the challenge (this should get the haters going…)
11 Random Facts About Me
1. I’m a germophobe. I will shake your hand. But I will Purell immediately afterward and not even be discreet about it. I know I have issues.
2. I’ve done stand up comedy and was not redlighted.
3. In high school, I got paid to write obituaries for the local newspaper.
4. I have a finance degree and have worked on some pretty high fallutin acquisitions in my day. I cannot easily calculate a tip at a restaurant. I’m not sure if this means anything significant.
5. I cannot wear thong shoes or have anything between my big and index toes. Ever.
6. I cannot sing. In grade 4, I was asked to stand away from the microphone at a school concert. I never got over it.
7. I debated all through high school and university. You probably don’t want to get into an argument with me. But if you do, I promise it will be invigorating.
8. I have every copy of Victoria magazine ever produced and cannot go a month without reading Tatler or Town and Country.
9. I’ve never had a speeding ticket. Related: I believe in miracles.
10. I’m a big fan of Ayn Rand novels. I attribute this to babysitting for the head of the Libertarian party when I was young. I’m also a big fan of Marian Keyes’s work. I’m not sure my babysitting jobs had anything to do with this.
11. I’ve filed three police reports in my life: two for relatively normal things; one, not so much.
Play along if you fancy!