Monday, May 09, 2016

Latest Binge... Grace and Frankie

I think it was a year ago that Tom and I sat down (he was humoring me) to watch an episode of Grace and Frankie.  It was our first Netflix experience, and before we knew it, the second episode popped up, and we got sucked in. 
I remember making a mental note to encourage my mother to watch the show.  I also remember coveting Jane Fonda's ass. 

Season Two has incredible clothes, better dialogue, SAM ELLIOT, and the final two episodes that blew me away emotionally.  Powerful end-of-life decisions and two women reclaiming their identities after living their lives in service to the people around them. 
I watched it with my daughter - who knows that Sam Elliot is one of my favorites.  He keeps showing up everywhere, including a silly show called The Ranch with Debra Winger - which I watched in its entirety because he's just so watchable.  He plays a man married to a woman with Alzheimer's in Grace and Frankie, and has a scene with Fonda that seriously raised my expectations of what to look forward to in thirty years. 

Tomlin's boyfriend is an adorable organic yam farmer. 

I'm a weird mix of these two characters.  I think that's what's pulled me in so faithfully.
Even if (most likely) there was no perfect later life Sam Elliot or Ernie Hudson (perhaps the most unrealistic part of the plot), the idea of having a close pal roommate along for the ride with me in my seventies  seems like a wonderful arrangement.  Especially if we lived in a gorgeous beach house together - my dream retirement.

The most powerful storyline of this season is definitely Babe's story.  During this end-of-life episode, my Eleanor said to me, "That's how I want to go." 

"Me, too," I said.

Handled gracefully, poignantly, maybe I was moved as much because I've seen this drama in real life recently, and I wish it could have been handled as well for everyone.  It's a discussion we all need to have, and I thank this series for helping me have it already with my 12-year-old.

© Copyright 2016 Angeline Larimer

Hawk on the Hops

Looking over my peace garden, this one swooped in an hour ago and I was reminded of my fascination with my yard hawks three years ago or so.  I stalked them with my camera for weeks, and then got distracted away.  Lots of things crammed into those three years.  It's nice to sit with the coffee at my laptop during my week break and remember those sweeter days.
I revisited blogs today.  Went to Alan's.  He stopped writing a year ago - his last post about the status of his cancer.  He's probably gone, and has been for nearly a year.  We all used to write daily to each other.  He was always so reassuring.  This noise that splintered us all, makes me sad.  We'd found a lovely little room to be ourselves, and then the flood of everyone drowned us out.  Or things change, and it's that simple.  I'm sad that I stopped reading him, though.  We never met.

I've spent the last month around people dying of cancer, and I think about the woman I was three years ago - how I'd walk down to the garden every morning and lose six to eight hours, easy.  Gardening is a form of control, and my gardens these last few years have gotten away from me for the sake of other things.  Yesterday, I unburied rose bushes and hops vines, while Tom webbed coconut ropes.  He was happy.  I was happy. 
It is one of two most beautiful times in the garden.  It's all green now, teeming potential, and planting and discovering arouses optimism and wonder.  The summer has its own rewards, but harvest time is the second most beautiful time - melancholy, though, unless one is happy to know there's a forced vacation from the work coming soon with winter - which I'm starting to embrace.
But right now, I feel young again.  Green is my favorite.
What we do now will make a lot of sense later.  The work in the meantime is no longer a chore.  We live in a place where hawks perch above our labors, and no matter how terrible the outside world has been, there's peace here to retire to after a long hard time of it.

The hawk has several meanings as a spirit animal.  I used to think it meant incredible opportunities on the horizon, because that is what I'd want to think, but now I respect the reminder that life this precious also requires effort and protectiveness.

I love my life again.
The acquired sadness is part of the beauty of it all.  I feel less silly, more centered.  I know what I value.  I know who to value.  The big picture is that some of our energy needs to stop and appreciate what is good about right now - and trust that harvest time comes soon enough. 

Together at Our Place

Mother's Day dinner at our midway point.  It's so nice that my mom can text me in the morning and ask, "Wanna meet for dinner?" and then we do.
The entire weekend was lovely - just what I needed - but what makes me happy about our meeting place is that it's also the first restaurant that Tom took me to back in July of 1996. 

The poor kids have to hear this every time we go there. 

Mother's Day Quest

Mother's Day Quest.  (Those are coconuts.)
© Copyright 2016 Angeline Larimer
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