Eve of Destruction

Every now and again, a movie comes along that sticks with me.

Sometimes it's new. Other times it's a rediscovered classic. Like All About Eve.

If you haven't seen it, I invite you to dig in. 

Surprisingly, it was Mr. Ginley's idea to pick it up from the library. He'd seen a snippet of it on TV and was intrigued. It's not the sort of film he would normally like. All through the picture he kept asking if it had a happy ending. 

"Does somebody kill that b****?" he asked several times.

Maybe we've watched too many episodes of Midsomer Murders. In any case, he enjoyed it as much as I.

The basic story revolves around an aging star and a young understudy who finagles her way into the older actress' circle of friends.

No car chases. Nothing blows up. But it's such a rich collection of characters, well-paced and finely written, we found it irresistible. 

I guess we weren't the only ones who liked it. All About Eve received 14 Academy Award nominations, winning six, including Best Picture. 

Released in 1950, directed by Joseph Mankiewicz, the film starred the legendary Bette Davis and a 20-something Anne Baxter, supported by a brilliant cast that included George Sanders and Celeste Holm. It was one of the first 50 films chosen to be preserved by the U.S. Library of Congress' National Film Registry.

By the way, if you want to know if the b**** gets hers, you'll just have to watch it yourself. 

No spoilers here!

Don't Bug Me

We were watching TV last night, when all of a sudden, Mr. Ginley jumped up and yelled, "What's that?"

Fearing a home invasion of some sort, I was on my feet at once.

"Where, where?" I cried.

"There, on the ceiling. Get the thing and kill it."

For the uninitiated, in this case, he was referring to the fly swatter. Which, of course, I couldn't instantly lay hands on.

Rushing over, he grabbed it, muttering about my inability to find anything, and took a swipe at the fluttering target, which had landed conveniently on the wall.

He missed.

"What is it?" he asked again.

"It's a moth," I identified. 

By this time, it had reached the ceiling. He handed me the swatter.

"Kill it!" he commanded.

I got a chair, stood up to my full 5'1" height, and waved ineffectively at the ceiling.

"I can't reach it," I said, overstating the obvious.

A few more expletives were muttered as he grabbed the weapon, climbed the chair and successfully smote the intruder. It tumbled onto the easy chair.

"Get a tissue! Get a tissue! Get rid of it!" he ordered.

I executed my duties as swiftly as I could, feeling the satisfying crunch of the now-deceased insect. 

Disposing of the body, I returned the chair to its place, and we were free to go about our business, bug-free.

Let's just say, I was very glad I didn't tell Mr. about the yellow jacket I spied in the light fixture by the back door when I came home the other night. I dispatched the little stinger by leaving the light on, thereby to roast in his own juices.

I'll dispose of the carcass later. As in, the next time we change the light bulb.

Oh, that's right. I can't reach that high.

Oops. 

The Eyes Have It

"For God's sake, call the eye doctor," Mr. Ginley directed. "You're driving me nuts."

This, after I was unable to read something off the back of a DVD.

He was tired of being my eyes, I suppose. And I really couldn't blame him.

So, last week, back I went to the eye doc to (hopefully) see what was up. The world had become a gauzy place, a little at a time over the past few months. I bought stronger cheaters, but they only helped close up -- I still struggled with street signs and night driving. 

At first, I chalked it up to the dry eyes my doctor diagnosed. But different/better drops didn't work. Clearly, something else was afoot.

What I learned is I have "secondary cataracts." There are two lenses in your eye. The one in front is what they do the cataract surgery on. What routinely happens is the lens in the back clouds over, causing difficulty in seeing. 

The solution is a laser procedure that will take about five minutes in my doctor's office. Each eye is done separately on different days. There is no prep and nothing to do afterward. So, it is a pretty simple solution. Just one I hadn't anticipated...although I was assured by the doctor's assistant that I'd been warned of this when I was given the lowdown on my cataract surgery two years ago.

There's no doubt in my mind my doctor did tell me this. But I'm also certain I was so focused on the cataracts, I figured I'd worry about any other scenarios when I got there. 

So here I am, down the road.

Yes, it's actually a simple solution. It's nice to know I won't need a seeing eye dog. And it will be wonderful to see well again.

I just hate these reminders I'm not the youngster that lives in my head -- but an alter cocker after all.

A Day for the Ages

Last Saturday dawned bright and warm, lovely weather for my son's wedding.

It was to take place in the late afternoon at the Mohicans, a beautiful, rustic setting for their nuptials. 

We departed on our journey, giving ourselves plenty of time to arrive, get settled and relax before the big event.

"Be sure to print out directions before you go," my son advised. "The cell service is spotty to non-existent." So that's what we did. 

Unfortunately, the directions Google gave us left much to be desired. With me driving and Mr. Ginley navigating, we were fine until we came to a dead end and Mr. Ginley said, "It doesn't have a turn here, it just says to keep going for twenty-six miles." 

As he tried to determine which was the way to go, I turned left. Naturally, me being me, I should have turned right, a move which I corrected after going five miles in the wrong direction.

We managed to regain our bearings and were doing okay until we got to the dirt roads. 

"Leave it to my son to get married in a place we'd need a Conestoga wagon to get to," he groused.

Fortunately, we managed to get behind someone who seemed to know where they were going. I followed. It turned out to be my sister. Who was using her GPS. 

We had time to enjoy a quick glass of ice water at the cabin we were staying at with my brother-in-law and his family before we quickly dressed and drove back to the venue.

It was a lovely setting. The weather was fine, Jill was beautiful, Joe was dapper. They exchanged vows in the open air, saying the words they wrote to each other. The bride cried and laughed through hers. The groom fared a little better. Both sets of vows were adorable and sweet, full of love and joy and hope.

Then they were pronounced man and wife.

After a year of isolation, it felt wonderful to be fully vaccinated and able to share this day with family and friends. In person and (when possible) unmasked. 

Hitting the dance floor with the bride for Abba's Dancing Queen was a highlight. And Kevin's toast. Kevin is like our second son -- he and Joe have been friends since childhood. 

I enjoyed meeting my new daughter-in-law's people, in person. Her mom and grandparents, her dad, her great uncle Dave. 

When it was all said and done, we headed back to the cabin, the couple to their treehouse. 

It was a lovely day.

The next morning, I got up at my usual, very early time and sat out back, listening to the birds, watching a few, and soaking up the cool, lovely setting until the others woke up.

And yes, we used GPS on the return trip. And made it back just fine.