Close up Hands Tea x

Sit a bit and hear some observational stories I’ve been steeping.

Everything old is new again. On second viewing.


Funny how time and experience will change your impression of a thing.


For example, the first time I watched the movie “Mommy Dearest” I thought to myself, “What a lunatic this woman is.”  Then, I got married and had children of my own.   With my patience worn down to the size of a BB and the sleep pattern of a prisoner-of-war I watched the movie again and thought, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, that poor woman.”  My opinions on love, marriage and family have tumbled around long enough in the spin cycle of my brain to reveal LOTS of angles I never thought I’d see before.


Over the long 4th of July weekend I curled up on the sofa to watch a batch of romantic movies and had similar reactions to each.  Back in 1995 when I first viewed The Bridges of Madison County, I simply did not get it.  A decade and a half later, I don’t mind telling you the arrow of the storyline pierced my heart.  The same was true of the other films, where everything seemed to be so much more convoluted and complicated in matters of the heart.


While I chalk some of this new perspective on my old eyes, I also wonder if part of the problem might be that my formative years gave me a mixed bag of role models when it came to love.  Since my childhood household was a glaring Waring blender of “Who, How and What Not to Be”, my first impression of what I thought true love should be, came from the black & white Zenith television images of Rob and Laura Petrie.  Ah, the Dick Van Dyke Show!  From it, I learned that husbands were supposed to be fun-loving, bumbling guys with a heart of gold and that the wives main task was to simply be cute (Capri pants mandatory).  Added to my mix of romance role models was a dash of Carol Brady, a sprinkling of Samantha Stephens (though I admit I identified more with her dark-haired, slightly wicked, cousin Serena) and a pinch of Nanny and the Professor (academic elbow patches still make me woozy).  The message of love, over and over in syndication again, was this: all issues could all be worked out in neat and tidy 30 minute intervals.  As a bonus, sometimes relationship problems were uproariously funny – who wouldn’t want a lifetime of that?




Love was cut and dry and black and white to my young, naïve brain… but, eventually things twisted into slightly more knotty situations as age settled into my bones and wisdom in my soul.  My opinion on all relationships has changed, now that I view them with different, older eyes.  It’s as though shades of gray require time, in order to be revealed.


If you have some suggestions, I’m looking to start another movie and book list, so that when the next long weekend presents itself, I have the chance to re-visit old themes and see what’s new.  They tell me that everything old is new again, so why not me and my perspective?  To quote Curly from City Slickers, “The day ain’t over yet.”  Good thing.  I apparently still have a lot to learn.


The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love.” Margaret Atwood

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