I am going to have to find a earlier copy of The Man Who Came to Dinner. I watched the Nathan Lane version on Saturday night, and while parts of it were immensely witty, the repeated use of the Lord’s name in vain means that I will not be buying a copy of my own. I cannot imagine that a play which was written in the late 1930’s or early 1940’s would have had that sort of language in it; not so soon after Clark Gable uttered the damn heard ’round the world. Perhaps I am being naïve.
I was much happier with Bringing Up Baby, which I watched after church. I loved both Cary Grant and Kate Hepburn, though it is more than a little unnerving to see her playing such a scatterbrained, adoring wimpette.
I got a nice nap yesterday after the movie. Woke up about 15 minutes before my phone rang; it was Secondborn, inviting me over for orange-cherry pancakes and a bit of family fun. When I walked in, BittyBit was wearing an apron over her playclothes. She had been helping her mom in the kitchen. BittyBubba entertained us mightily after dinner, galloping around the living room in his jammies and a cowboy hat, hollering “Yee-hawww!” several times a minute. He is pretty well potty-trained now and kept updating me with “Gram, I pooped!” after each deposit.
We watched the Tivo’d version of one of the dance competition shows. I cannot keep them straight. They both could do with better [i.e., more modest] costuming and less reliance on bump and grind. The distinctions between hip-hop and crunk are lost on me; I much prefer a fully-clothed waltz or the paso doble.
Grandkids are way more entertaining than TV or Jane Austen or Shakespeare.
Not much knitting Saturday or yesterday. A small stealth project at church, but little measurable progress on Autumn Asters since Friday after dinner.
I put in Bee Season after coming home from the kids’ house. There were parts of it I thought were brilliantly done. I did not care for the language when the son and father fought. [You may safely assume that to be Anglophile understatement.] I do not think a man to whom words were so important, would use language like that. And for me the family dynamics and the mental illness were painful to observe.
All three videos go back to the library today.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!