Last Saturday in the Fall
The good news is that Joy Cartwright is feeling much better, and I am grateful. The bad news is that I am feeling pretty crappy. Started feeling very droopy yesterday after, with all those flulike symptoms of dizziness, achy bones, flushed face, sneezing, completed congested head, etc. It’s been a real fun time and I’m trying not to re-gift it to Mrs. Orr.
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Speaking of Mrs. Orr, she took the oldest granddaughters out yesterday for their birthday. They wanted Chinese, and so after they ate, they asked their MeeMaw to take them to a used bookstore they particularly enjoy. Yes, they are definitely our granddaughters with their hunger for the written word. While they were in there, my wife found a beautiful copy of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’ The Yearling and bought it for me. I have several old copies of the book and this was a welcome addition to my collection. The Yearling is my second-favorite book of all time, the #1 spot being MK Rawlings’ last book, The Sojourner.
We couldn’t find the original film version of The Yearling on Roku for free, and didn’t feel like paying $5.00 for a movie we’ve seen so many times, so we decided – against common sense – to try the 1994 remake with the unctuous Peter Strauss. We should have listened to common sense. Whoever wrote the screenplay must have skim-read Rawlings’ Pulitzer Prize-winning novel in five minutes while dreadfully hung-over on the subway enroute to his San Francisco office.. It bears that little resemblance to the book or even the original film version with Gregory Peck and Claude Jarman, Jr. It’s a thinly-veiled feminist screed and yet one more opportunity for Strauss to prove that he’s the noblest persyn/thespian of all time. No, really. Just ask him. Strauss could redeem himself if he would play just one villain. Say, for example, the grandson of a Gestapo officer who decides to become a serial killer in his retirement years, preying exclusively on people who are easily offended, professionally disenfranchised, perpetually entitled, and who announce their preferred pronouns and get confused when trying to select a public restroom. That would go a long way in helping me forgive him for always playing the most treacly, pure-hearted, longsuffering twits in the projects with which he’s involved. Sam Waterson, you’re next.
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It made it up to the high 50s today, which was a welcome relief. Tomorrow is supposed to be about 52F, but it’s going to start raining later tonight and is supposed to rain all day tomorrow, so the bones will be less peaceful than they have been today. At least we were able to get a few chores done outside this afternoon, me keeping within arm’s reach of Kleenix, etc.
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I fuss a lot about the modern world and the evils of technology, but I’ll tell you….when Christmastime rolls around, I change my tune and sing the praises of being able to order gifts online without diving into that cauldron o’ vermin called The Department Store.
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I’m tired, I can’t hear, smell, or taste, and I’ve worked myself into a rage thinking about Peter Strauss and his ilk. It’s time to hit “publish” and call it a day.
Hope all of you are enjoying your last Saturday in the fall of the year.
I’ll leave you with a great song by Iris DeMent.
~ S.K. Orr