Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Uncle Stevie’

Summer Cicada Symphony

Posted in Musings and Epiphanies, tagged , , , on July 20, 2011| Leave a Comment »

The sounds of the cicada were so loud on the way home tonight.  As I drove through campus toward the main exit, their noise filled my car, coming in through the open windows faster than the warm, muggy air could go out of them.  Even as I drove home on the six lane interstate highway, the chirping filled my car.  Their pulsating rhythmic sounds created an eerie mood for the sultry night.  In my mind’s eye I could see them swarming, about to attack my car and me, although they are not truly locusts.  Their song bounced back and forth between the trees lining the highway, a sound man’s dream for background noise in a movie by Uncle Stevie.

I thought of how many exoskeletons were in the trees surrounding my path home and how my sons would love to collect the hundreds that must be there.  Our yard only yields a humble crop of them, this year even fewer because of the many trips up and down the Japanese Maple tree during the boys’ summer adventures.  My sons enjoy collecting the discarded skins and creating little habitats for them, just as I did when I was young.

The saddest part of the cicada’s song is that it trumpets the passage of time.  They are singing even as I write this filling my ears with the hypnotic blast announcing the arrival of the dog days of summer.  Summer session is halfway over and back-to-school fliers are arriving in the mail.  Soon I’ll have the annual urge to buy school supplies for myself…just because through my work I’ve never stopped following the school calendar.  I’ll crave a new notebook and binder, a fun folder, and cool pencils.  I’ll want a new backpack, even though I have never used a backpack (messenger bags and the like are more my style).  I’ll start humming the old song, “School days, school days, dear old Golden Rule days….”

But tonight I’ll embrace the song of the cicada.  I’ll crack open my bedroom window, ignoring the muggy heat of this July night, and listen to the symphony of nature until it lulls me to sleep.

Read Full Post »

Chopped Liver

Posted in Musings and Epiphanies, tagged , , , , , , , on July 16, 2011| Leave a Comment »

I don’t know how it happened.  I do know when it happened.  This is the summer of my discontent.  My sons have taken the first step to independence and I have become chopped liver.  Their world was parent-centric.  Now it’s play-outside-all-day-and-what-do-you-mean-I-have-to-come-in-centric.

Yes, I’m happy for them.  Yes, it’s means they’re growing up just like we want them to, with independence and confidence.  Yes, it means so many wonderful things.

But, first I’m going to have myself a bit of a pity party.

Where are my babies?

Okay, pity party’s over.  What an exciting time.  Yeah, yeah, for them, but I mean for me and my hubby.  We could pick up our hobbies again.  Heck, I’ve already been cast in a show.  I’m going to rehearsal tomorrow and the boys have to come with me, instead of me going with them.  My husband and I have had actual conversations in the recent weeks.  Conversation that were uninterrupted by “Mom, he’s touching me.”  I’ve been completing whole thoughts all at once.  I’ve been working on house projects, including catching up on Hugh Laurie and House.  I’ve done, dare I write it, reading for FUN and the book was a grown-up book with no pictures.  I’m current in the grading for my summer class.

While it is hard to think that the early childhood years have almost passed, it is invigorating to know that the early work took hold.  Our sons are getting it.  No, not perfectly-we really need to work on that talking back to your mother thing-but they are problem solving, compromising, sharing, thinking of others, and having fun with their friends.  They have entered that time of their life when they have secrets that mean the world that they forget the following week.  They make secret clubs and handshakes.  They can do anything, be anything.  It’s the time of youth when everyday objects hold magical powers, the days are never long enough, and the plans they make will really happen.   This summer marks the beginning of one of the best times of their lives and, oh my sweet sons, I am so happy for you.

It’s like the summer in It when the six of them first battle It.  Okay, I don’t hope that my sons end up in the bowels of the sewers battling a monster so hideous one can only call it It, but this is like that summer.  The summer of innocence when a child can still believe in monsters and the tooth fairy.  This won’t be their only summer like this, they’ll have four or five more, but this is the first one for them.  One of the boys they play with (an older boy, he’s 11) is in his last summer of innocence.  You can see it changing for him.  Some days he can completely suspend disbelief, other days he struggles and usually goes home.  The summers of suspension of disbelief.  They’re awesome.

My job now is to let them have their grand adventures.  To let them believe.  To quickly bandage their scrapes so they can back out there.  To hug them when their feelings are hurt and they’re never going to talk to so-and-so again (at least till they’re back outside talking to so-and-so again).  I’ve got to say, it hurts just a wee bit to let them have the space and time away from the “safety” of home.  But only until one of them runs in to get a toy, and pauses to come to me, wrap his arms around me, and say, “I love you, Mom.”  Then the hurt is not so bad.

Read Full Post »

My Lunch with Ted Levine

Posted in My lunch with..., tagged , , , , , , on July 5, 2011| Leave a Comment »

Oh, I definitely would order liver and fava beans with a nice chianti to start.  I think that would be a good meal for our lunch-remember, it was Hannibal, not Buffalo Bill, who was the cannibal.  Not that Buffalo Bill was much better for society.

Dear sweet Ted Levine.  Yes, sweet.  But I’ll get to that later.

We would have to discuss how truly creepy Jame Gumb was-a sociopath in the truest sense-particularly with his lack of remorse.    I repeatedly watch the scene when Clarice Starling shows up and he’s looking for the business card of the former owner.  She figures it out, he figures out that she’s figured it out and the cards drop from his hands.  The expression on his face is devious–he knows he has to get rid of this woman.  The hunt between them is exquisite.  Actually, this end part of the movie is my favorite part.

You also have to be truly comfortable in your own skin as an actor to create such a deeply sociopathic character and prepare for people’s inability to sympathize with him.  When Buffalo Bill is wearing his “dress” and tucks his package away, stating how desirable he finds himself, one tends to forget there is an actor in there, performing.  One just shudders at the illness that is Buffalo Bill.

I’ve always been a little off the bullseye.  I thought Buffalo Bill was creepier than Hannibal.  Like Uncle Stevie always says, the imagination always thinks up something scarier than the folks in Hollywood.  We see Hannibal’s horror and gory bloodshed.  Buffalo Bill’s is only hinted at through pieces and scraps that we see-the rest is filled in by our imagination.  Our mind’s eye fills in the dark waiting in the well…waiting for more verbal taunting, waiting for a pair of scissors, waiting for the lotion in the basket.

Ted Levine’s voice is exquisite.  Is it wrong that my husband and I use that famous line for many things?  We say “put the ______________ in the basket” almost daily.  (We store a lot of toys, stuff, etc. in baskets or bins).  We usually say the line in our best Ted Levine voice and add the mock crying/screaming…”put the papers in the basket, whahhhh.”  I will confess that our boys, while not knowing the origin of the line, use it as well.  We can simply say to them, “put the toys in the basket,” and they respond with “whahhhh.”  We are who we are.  Levine’s voice is such a big part of the creepiness of the character.  It’s such a full, rich voice-it haunts you after the fact.

Yet as Captain Leland Stottlemeyer that voice, while almost always authoritative, offers some of the sweetest and funniest moments.  Sweetest because Stottlemeyer was such a true friend to Monk and offered such loyal guidance to him, even when it was hard to do or when he thought Monk wouldn’t listen.   Funniest because through Levine’s timing and that gorgeous voice, great lines received perfect delivery.  In one episode, Disher comes in and says he has two ideas, asking Stottlemeyer which he wants to hear first.  Stottlemeyer replies, “whichever one will get me the least pissed off” (I may be paraphrasing…but you get the idea).  So you have this handsome man with those gorgeous blue eyes and that booming voice at times being full-out captain, friend to a strong yet fragile friend or trying to be a dad.  Levine plays humility (both being humble and being humbled) really well-happens throughout the series-too many examples to list.

I think I may have written it before, but I loved how they ended the series.  With Monk, Stottlemeyer, and company still doing their thing in San Fran.  I miss the show. Thank goodness for reruns and dvds.

The final part of our lunch would be discussing theater.  Oh how I wish I could have seen some of his work at Steppenwolf.  Like Tony Shaloub, Levine’s background in theater makes his performances so very rich and layered.  I would thank Ted for two characters who wander around in my mind-one haunting me and one reminding me of the goodness in the world.

Read Full Post »

What about Bob?

Posted in Musings and Epiphanies, tagged , , , , on June 14, 2011| Leave a Comment »

OCD can be a blessing and a curse.  My talent for alphabetizing is truly neat and I catch little mistakes that probably wouldn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things, but in my line of work these two things do come in handy.  Catching the little mistakes more so, but if I do ever decide to pursue the “woulda, coulda, shoulda” path and become a librarian, both will be truly purposeful.  I am glad that my boss really appreciates my ability to catch most errors (not all, I’m not perfect).  When I do miss one, I actually question myself-how could I have missed that? It was so obvious!

It’s a curse when you live with the three stooges who do not possess the same affection for order or organization.  But on my journey for self-improvement, I try to remember it is me stuck on this need.  It does get in the way at times because sometimes you simply cannot be ritualistic about order, which is my natural desire.  A place for everything and everything in its place.  I also like to keep to the schedule I set forth each day.  Obviously with two young boys, I’ve had to adapt.  I have a few new things I do that I can control and they help.

I get an everything bagel four days a week at work.  I don’t get the bagel on Friday because it’s early closing at the moment (so very nice) but also I prefer things in even numbers.  Messiest bagel out there, but I always check for poppy seeds after I finish and I’m mindful not to get seeds and such on my desk.  I put the cream cheese on it the same way each time and cut each half in half the same way.  It sets the day to a pleasant tone.  The nice ladies in the cafeteria set one aside for me now Monday through Thursday in case I can’t down till a little later in the morning.  I also found the bagel balances my blood sugar nicely throughout the day.

I’m following a regular bedtime.  It’s really early for me…11:30…and it’s starting to feel like that’s late!  It helps me to let go at night.  I’m no longer staying up randomly trying to finish one more thing.  It’s helped with simplicity-setting simple goals for each day and accepting that they may not all be achieved.  It also helps me to enjoy my time after I get home from work more.  It relaxes me knowing that the day will in fact end and I’ll be able to rest.

Another ritual that has returned is reading Stephen King again before I go to sleep.  The old friends are nice to reconnect with and a reader always brings something new to the text, so many are like brand new stories.  I’ve also been reading at work.  It’s been a goal to read research articles and such and I’ve actually been doing it.  Today, my head was simply swimming with wonderful information, but I then had to follow it to some kind of end, which there wasn’t a neat and tidy ending to get to and this created frustration.

The newest obsession is developing my personal philosophy, theology, understanding of my place in this world, and the calling put out for me.  It’s stalled at the moment, or it feels stalled.  I’ve plateaued and I’m not sure where to go next.  I’m in the zone of proximal development and I need the More Knowledgeable Other to scaffold me to the next level (yes, my inner geek comes out!).  So I will read the good book and see what I can discover in the Word.  Then I will read Uncle Stevie and fall asleep around 11:30.  Compulsive rituals are not always a bad thing.

Something I have noticed as I tweak my use time from fungible to epochal (yeah, go look ’em like I had to) is that I share so much more with my family.  My youngest was out in the back yard the other day, using nothing but pure imagination.  It was one of the most beautiful things I have been blessed to watch.  He was talking away to the trees, the dirt, or himself.  I don’t know who he was talking to, but he was having a grand time.  It was pure childhood joy not being interrupted or interfered with.  In letting go of the human constructs of time, I saw these moments he was having in discovering himself within the world.

I am finally finding a balance and a positive way to use the OCD.  Like Bob in What About Bob?, it’s baby steps.  Baby steps every day.

Read Full Post »

My Lunch with Uncle Stevie

Posted in My lunch with..., tagged , , , , , on February 12, 2011| Leave a Comment »

Picture the classic Jersey diner. Not one of the ones that tries to make an impression but one of the greasy spoon mom and pop joints. You know the menu-every breakfast item comes with hash browns. Lots of open-faced sandwiches smothered in gravy. Homemade soups.  Now imagine the corner booth with the duct tape covering the cracks in the vinyl. That’s where Uncle Stevie and I will be sitting while we discuss various observations from life. My hope is that we’ll start with comparing stories about our children. This will lead to why I can no longer read Pet Sematary. While all of his stories can give one the heebie-jeebies, what happens to the little boy could happen in real life (not being brought back to life in an Indian burial ground gone bad but being run over by an 18 wheeler) which makes it unreadable now that I am the mother of two small boys. Meanwhile, Cujo is fine. I’m not likely to be trapped by a rabid Saint Bernard at my mechanic’s place of business. He doesn’t even have a dog there. One of the mechanics we used to use always left me with an unsettled feeling. It wasn’t until recently that I realized why…it matched the setting in Cujo. They might have had a Saint Bernard.

After we catch up on the kids, I’d have to do the thank you. Thank you for It. “One for the Road.” Cell. The wonderful short stories. Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption.

The scariest book in my opinion is the novella Apt Pupil. This one haunts me and I can only read it every few years. Each time I read it there are new things to be afraid of. Why? The Reader, the Text and the Poem. I bring new life experiences to it and the world keeps adding new experiences of hate, evil incarnate, to bring to this terrifying tale of the all American boy.  Uncle Stevie is wonderfully talented at creating characters the reader cares about and becomes emotionally invested in. He weaves a story with detail that is real enough to see in the mind’s eye. He captures the creepy nature of the human experience so vividly that one can explore the dark underbelly of existence from a safe distance. Apt Pupil shines a bright light on that underbelly.

Most of his stories also contain hope. None so beautifully as Shawshank (“I hope…”) but readers hope things turn out all right for the characters because they grow to care about them.

I remember seeing Misery at a movie theater while living in Philly. After going through the metal detectors, I bought my goodies and found a seat toward the back in the middle section. I settled in, knowing I was safe enough because the security guard who checked my purse said I could keep my pepper spray, and watched in darkness as Kathy Bates worked her creepiness. As the movie was nearing the end, the audience had really become invested and we were all screaming for James Caan to beat her with the pig (sorry, Kathy, but you were just that good at being bad). You won’t shout at the screen unless you care about the characters.

There are two things about my relationship with Uncle Stevie that some folks think are odd. First, when I can’t sleep, I read from one of the short story collections and it calms me so I can fall asleep. People tell me that when they read Uncle Stevie they can’t fall asleep. I think his stories, particularly his short stories, help me to sleep because I have read them so many times they are like old friends. My copies of Night Shift and Skeleton Crew are well worn and bring me comfort, with the newer collections quickly becoming worn as well. “One for the Road,” “That Feeling, You Can Only Say What It Is in French,” “I Know What You Need,” “The Jaunt,”and “The Mangler” bring warmth to me, make me feel cozy all snuggled up in my bed. Clearly my life is going way better than the characters’ lives so I relax and fall asleep. The only thing that has surprised me is that “Quitters, Inc.” never made me quit. You would think that it would have worked…

The second thing some people don’t understand is why there are a select number of his books on the top of my Uncle Stevie shrine. These are the books I’ve banked. One day he will really retire. One day he won’t write another story. One day he won’t write another word for the public. The books on the top of the shelf are for that day. Then I’ll ration them so I will still have about ten years of discovering new stories and new friends. It could be a sickness…we’re not sure yet.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts