field notes:

11.8.2003

If it's true that everything there is to learn, can be learned from nature, then show me where in nature difficult choices are made, or where difficult things occur and loss follows or else fate is embraced.

Tides ebb and flow, and a tree loses her leaves in the fall, no matter how much she is in love with them. What if the pine were to withhold her cones, not let them fall to the ground? What if she decided that having them near her more truly fills her heart than letting them drop?

I suppose some would tell me that the lesson of nature is that fate must simply be, and that I must learn to accept loss without regret. But if I'm not to feel regret when the leaves turn and fall, then it follows that I shouldn't feel joy when they emerge green again. That can't be right.

Does a tree suffer silently? Perhaps not. But certainly we suffer for them, otherwise why do the seasons evoke such astounding feelings in us. Each day is a cruel cycle of exquisite sunrises and sweetly painful sunsets. We see our lives, our hearts, our dreams mirrored in the daily study of light given and light taken away. An open heart learns there.

posted by Lisa Thompson on 8:20 AM link | comments []

11.7.2003

Mark Rucker, a fellow dramarian from my high school days, and the brother of one of my best friends, has directed a feature film. It's called 'Die Mommy Die,' a romping, campy, murder-mystery spoof. It's been released as part of the Sundance Film Series and is playing at the Metreon in San Francisco, as well as at 9 other theaters in New York and elsewhere.

It's extremely funny: cultish and camp. If you love film, especially movies from the 40's through the 60's, I recommend 'Die.' It stars Charles Busch (who also wrote the screenplay), in drag, playing the leading lady, and features Jason Priestley as a hip gigolo, Frances Conroy (Six Feet Under) as the maid, and Philip Baker Hall as the put-upon husband.

With Busch dragging as Angela Arden, remarkably like Kathleen Turner crossed with John Malkovich, the movie requires that you completely submit to the camp premise or don't even bother to watch. I read a completely clueless review that wondered why the children never noticed that mommy looks remarkably like a man. Hello!?! Once you've surrendered to the fun, there are so many delights. Pay attention to the lighting send-ups. My friend D. loved one dinner table melodrama where as Angela stands up the room light drops except for a small spot on her eyes, and I particularly loved a stairway scene where the wrought iron railing is in high shadow against the wall, perfect except that the shadow heads in the opposite direction from the stairs.

The biggest laugh of the night came late in the action, when revealing lame movie conventions reached its peak as one murderous character dumps a handful of undissolvable capsules into an iced drink, stirs a couple of times, and successfully kills their victim. The best thing about the movie is that it doesn't stay strictly in the past, lampooning cheesy Hollywood films, it brings high sexual farce into the mix with modern dialogue and sensibility that the old films weren't allowed to indulge.

The result is sexy and fun. Afterwards, do what we did--eat Peruvian food at Limon in the Mission District. We enjoyed ceviched halibut and ceviched tuna appetizers with drinks.

posted by Lisa Thompson on 8:06 AM link | comments []

11.6.2003

While I was away winter arrived. My last real entry--before my life erupted in activity that took me away from field notes--says I was swimming in the moonlight. That had been my second swim of the day. I wore a bikini into the water and the sun as I stood on shore was hot on my body. But while I was away winter arrived.

I was at a workshop near Gualala. The camp is set in a coastal mountain valley along the Gualala River, about 10 miles inland. Cold weather hit the morning we drove from here up Highway One. The sun dazzled between once-in-a-while showers, through dark clouds parting, through brilliant blue sky. We fought the cold all weekend, and fought the smoky fireplace in the lodge where our meetings were held all day. I broke in my winter clothes and my winter attitude: an energetic, foot-stamping, hand-blowing, whirling dervish, thrilled-to-be-chilled, wood-burning, candle-lighting, hot-tea-to-warm-my-hands self.

By the time I arrived back home, I was reconciled to the change in the weather. I've accomodated my style. I'm geared up for early sunsets and long, dark evenings, and to the interior journeys of winter. Instead of checking the tide logs for high tide swims, I'm looking now for low tide walks. I'm turning my attention back to birds, and to the muted light of this side of time.
posted by Lisa Thompson on 7:23 AM link | comments []