Happy New Year

betsey:jane is taking a brief vacation. We'll be back on January 5. Blessings!

Mary's Song

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast
keep warm this small hot naked star
fallen to my arms. (Rest …
you who have had so far to come.)
Now nearness satisfies
the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies
whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps
whose eyelids have not closed before.
His breath (so slight it seems
no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps
to sprout a world. Charmed by doves’ voices,
the whisper of straw, he dreams,
hearing no music from his other spheres.
Breath, mouth, ears, eyes
he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,
all years. Older than eternity, now he
is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed
to my poor planet, caught
that I might be free, blind in my womb
to know my darkness ended,
brought to this birth for me to be new-born,
and for him to see me mended
I must see him torn.

Luci Shaw
(from WinterSong: Christmas Readings by Madeleine L'Engle and Luci Shaw)

betsey:jane will return Wednesday, December 22. In the meantime, we wish you a very merry Christmas!

Tea and Sympathy

 

jane: A cozy table, fragrant teas, great conversation, and a delicious assortment of delectables . . . what a sweet holiday tradition our little book club has created, meeting each December in downtown Wheaton at Suzette's Creperie for its Christmas Tea! And for me, last Sunday afternoon's celebration with everyone couldn't have arrived at a better time.

As we sipped chai tea and devoured scones slathered with clotted cream and lemon curd, I experienced a respite from the acute sadness over an ill family member that burdened me. 

Despite whipping winds and swirling snow outside, I felt warmed by the caring concern that comes from time spent with girlfriends.

Just think, Betsey, how our book club, now going on its second year, has evolved beyond monthly discussions about words on paper (or text on Kindle). We're joined not only by our love of reading, but by our faith, our present or past employer, and our season of life. A season, I might add, that's seen lots of unexpected, unwelcome stuff interjected into it.

Over the months we've been meeting as the Topaz Literary Club, you, Louise, Marty, Virginia, and I have experienced life-changing, even life-threatening challenges.

For instance, I've soldiered through my parents' house fire, my father-in-law's death, my mother-in-law's move into assisted living, and my sister-in-law's cancer battle. Add to that what all the others have been going through!

betsey: I know: unemployment in the family, loss of parents, illness, even the normal “aches and pains” of the second half that are more inconvenience than tragedy, but still a nuisance. But what a joy to reconnect with these women. We all knew each other when, some of us going back to the mid-'80s, but it’s wonderful to sit and look around and see how God has journeyed with us.

jane: God's been present with our group, that's for sure. But Betsey, do you remember exactly why we named ourselves “Topaz”? I'm scratching my head, trying to remember . . .

betsey: You know, I don’t! I mean, we’re all gems, right? Could be that the topaz has some significance. Also, it’s kind of a cool word. Sounds almost Arabic or something.

jane: How different this book club experience has been from my first, which was somewhat disappointing. A dear friend had sweetly invited me to join hers, and the club was comprised of very nice women. But because I lived many miles from their suburban community, I never really felt plugged in. When I became increasingly demotivated by the long drive to meetings, I finally decided to quit. Yet I continued to daydream - and even pray a bit - about gathering women who loved words and ideas, whose faith and wisdom I respected, women with whom I knew I'd connect because we held certain experiences and a life stage in common. The first one I thought of was you, Betsey! When I approached you with my idea of inviting a few compatible women to begin a book club, I was thrilled you agreed to partner with me in this enterprise.  

betsey: When we started talking about it, I was very happy because I felt like I was doing what women of a certain age and socioeconomic level do: join a book club! We’ve even read The Help! (Which I think we all really enjoyed. Guess they’re making a movie out of it . . . I know that from reading People at the salon.)

jane: Oh, did you hear they're finally making a movie out of Devil in the White City, our first book club pick? Our friend Leonardo DiCaprio is to play the lead role of the evil Dr. Holmes. So sorry for you it's not Johnny Depp, knowing how you feel about him . . . !

betsey: Actually, he would be excellent, but Leo should do a fine job too. Love that book! I’ll admit, some books I enjoyed more than others, and there have been some months it felt like “homework.” But especially in recent months

I feel we’ve reached a sweet, deep level of sisterhood.

jane: I marvel at that - and thank God for it. Friendship is such a funny thing. When I was editor of Today's Christian Woman magazine, I had final say on the purchase of friendship articles. And when an author wrote from the assumption our readers all had scads of girly friends with whom they merrily met for mega-shopping blitzes or other fun outings, I took pause and usually rejected the article or asked for a rewrite. Because while there's nothing wrong with having lots and lots of friends, many women don't have that extensive a friendship circle. I didn't want my readers to feel inadequate or somehow lacking. And, truth be told, I couldn't relate to that slant because I'm much more of a few-close-friends woman by nature.

I hold my few friends close to my heart, but gladly embrace the new friendships God brings my way.

And this group is one of those blessings. Even though we meet once a month, our little Gang of Five is grounded by a strong, unspoken support of each other.

betsey: Jane, do you know - I think you do - how many “friendship” articles I’ve read about these women who every year have reunions with their college friends at some resort? I would read these and think, Why don’t I have that? But I’m more content with my friend life than I’ve been in quite a while. This group is part of that. For me it’s a combination of the intellectual and emotional engagement.

(L to R) Louise, Betsey, Jane, Marty, and Virginia

jane: Don't you feel transformed in some way by each woman in our group, Betsey? I've been motivated by Louise's unbridled enthusiasm for reading and her gift for organization. I've been delighted by Virginia's wisdom and intrigued by her perspective. In fact, one of my favorite reads was Virginia's selection of portions of Ovid's Metamorphoses, because it was different and thought-provoking. I've been inspired by Marty's calm and beautiful dignity in the face of a serious trial; she's helped me see God's grace in fresh ways, a grace I've needed to grab hold of during the rough patches in my own life. And you, dear friend, with your insights and love of good writing, and your gift of hospitality that encourages my own.

Through all the friendship feasts and famines through which my journey's brought me, I've decided that in this second half of life, friends are even more crucial. No matter how hard it may be for us to make new friends as we age, we mustn't stop trying. In the end, 

God cares whether we're in a dry season or in a season rife with friendship.

When we invite him into our relational world, he moves on our behalf to provide what we need, when we need it most . . . if we have eyes to see it and hearts to welcome it!

Oh, I love the way our Topaz Literary Club explores culture and faith by discussing interesting books. It's fun and stimulating. But I'm convinced God brought TLC together for something more, and for that I'm so thankful. So here's to more books to read, more encouragement to give, and more tea and scones to consume come next December!

When Christmas Comes "Just the Same . . . "

betsey: Jane, maybe it’s the fact that it’s like 15 degrees outside as I write this, or the loss of brave Elizabeth Edwards, but it’s put me in a pensive, slightly melancholy mood. I was all set to share some cozy thoughts about Christmas and how we had a wonderful tea at my house on Saturday and the snow is so picturesque as seen through our big front window . . . but I got to remembering my most sorrowful Christmas. It was 1990. My dad got sick right around then. He was unsteady, couldn’t walk very well. It was heartbreaking at Thanksgiving, watching him attempt to carve the turkey as he always had done – but he was too shaky and so needed help. Things went downhill from there and he was finally admitted to the hospital for brain surgery.

For years early December – like now – was a sad time for me, because the onset of the holidays reminded me, This was when Dad got sick. I remember seeing a local production of The Nutcracker with a six-year-old Amanda and feeling distracted and unable to enjoy the sweet little dancers and familiar music, because Dad was, possibly, leaving us.

I know some people really struggle with Christmas blues, and that some churches have “Blue Christmas” services for those who feel less than “merry and bright” at the holidays. Do you ever have these feelings?

jane: Without a doubt. Fourteen years ago, almost to this day, Rich and I were sitting in a doctor's office finding out the results of a pathology report that told us he had cancer. I'll never forget that December. 

 

I vividly remember floating through holiday activities, such as my company's annual Christmas party, being “there” but not there, if you know what I mean. One evening I felt so feverish with fear that I leaned my forehead on the chilly window pane of our living-room picture window. As the cool glass eased my anxiety, I watched neighbors in their cars driving up and down our street, hurrying on with their busy, happy holidays. It seemed surreal. How could their lives continue to be so normal when ours were completed turned upside down?

Praise God, our story has a happy ending. But for years, I too found myself melancholy, distracted, at loose ends this time of year. It took me a few years to link those residual emotions to that particular December. 

betsey: It’s interesting rereading my book The Woman with Two Heads, which I wrote while Dad was sick. I have a chapter in it called “George Bailey Was Wrong,” where I talk about the so-called “Christmas spirit” and say that we don’t always feel that happy at Christmas and really, we should have that spirit year-round. I realize how that came from my sadness about my father. But I also think there are some years we actually need Christmas.
 

jane: I agree. We definitely need Christmas, but what we DON'T need is pressure to live up to some idealized concept of Christmas. If we're gut honest, most of us have some serious heartache or financial worry or relational challenge we're dealing with during this season. Even if things are rolling right along, I believe some kind of disconnect will always exist between our longings for a truly authentic season of peace, joy, and reconciliation and our reality. I suspect those longings are echoes of Eden that only heaven will fulfill.

betsey: A few days ago Fritz and I had to do a blitz decorating for the tea we had. We ordered a pizza (which we never do), put on one of our newer Christmas CDs, and started digging into the boxes he had brought up from the basement. I was amazed at how good I felt, how happy I was to be elbow-deep in Christmas mess and saying “hello” to my stuff again, and sharing it all with my husband. It was that joy that comes unbidden. I was tired and feeling burdened, but suddenly joy drifted in like a snowflake.

jane: Ah, joy that changes everything! The Joy to the World that pierces our particular mess and transforms it. That's the presence of Christ. And as I immerse myself in all the wonderful Christmas music that plays in my home, I find that joy growing, no matter what concerns of heart or soul I may be experiencing.

betsey: The line that comes to mind is from the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas: “Christmas came just the same!” I got that book from relatives when I was about eight and remember reading it and being powerfully struck by that. Christmas came just the same. You’re right – you can get a little gleam, a glimpse, a peek through a door at this season. 

 

Christmas comes just the same. And we know why.

On the Road Again

jane: Well, we enjoyed a Thanksgiving without intrusive pat-downs or naked x-rays because we DROVE to Florida (22 hours, count 'em) with two dogs and three audio books to spend the holiday with our extended family. The closest we got to anyone touching "our junk" were a few unwelcome crotch sniffs from our Labrador retrievers.

How were your Thanksgiving travels, Betsey?

betsey: Crowded, of course. And I had an unpleasant surprise encountering the dreaded scanner.

I actually found myself blushing as I turned and raised my arms and imagined this creepy guy in a closed room somewhere in the airport, staring at all the bodies.

On the other hand . . . it’s better than those, um,“pat-downs” we’re hearing so much about. We’d prefer to drive but it just takes too long.

jane: With all this negative talk about the TSA, I'm dreading the next time I need to fly. Rich flies all the time for business, but so far he's avoided the scanner and hasn't experienced any embarrassing body searches. At least not yet.

We've driven to Florida and back so many times now, it's old hat. We always get snarled in Atlanta traffic. When we spot the first “Ron Jon Surf Shop” billboard in southern Georgia, we get excited. Oh, and we take a break at all kinds of truck stops, grabbing bottled water, packaged nuts, and 5-Hour Energy shots to keep us “in the zone.” 

Obviously car travel times really cut into our visits, but there's always some adventure happening on a road trip. On our way home from Florida last March, for example, we got lost following some directions for a shortcut that was to save us an hour -- but cost us one instead.

Without a map – we didn't think we'd need one with our GPS – we got discombobulated with all the “recalculating” going on.

We now have a travel mantra that goes like this: You have to go west to get east; you have to go north to get south.

Yet even with occasional travel snafus, road trips provide huge, uninterrupted chunks of time to catch up and focus on each other. After all, your audience is captive! During these lengthy drives, Rich and I reconnect in ways we can't always find the time to do at home.

betsey: You’re right. Fritz and I still play “Who Am I?” (inexplicably known in some quarters as “Botticelli”). We’re both pretty easily entertained by things we see along the route (“Look, the Toledo skyline!” or “There’s that Swap-o-Rama we always pass!”). We sing hymns, munch on snacks (love those packages of peanut butter and crackers), talk sports and childhood and theology and dreams for the future. And yes, at times we complain and bicker, for what is a road trip without griping?

jane: When I was a kid, my family took two-week vacations every summer. My dad painstakingly plotted out our route and bravely battled interstate traffic to show our family of four the national wonders of Yellowstone and Mesa Verde and the Grand Canyon. On these road trips, my younger brother and I typically fought over who crossed that invisible boundary between us in the backseat, whined "Are we there yet?" and engaged in enthusiastic games of "Pee-wee Punch" that led to tearful accusations of a maimed limb. I'd bring along Archie comics and Edgar Rice Burroughs novels to read.

With no iPods or built-in DVD players in cars back then, you could NOT escape from your family.

betsey: Archie comics! Yes! Jane, you probably remember the article I wrote for TCW about my first trip to New York City. I was about eight and we were visiting my grandparents. We didn’t vacation very much when I was very young, so this was huge – tunnels and tolls and turnpikes and staying in motels, the old-time kind where your door is right on the parking lot. Dad always wore a sport coat and tie and Mom wore a summer dress. We three kids packed into our Ford wagon, fought and snacked (some things never change) and colored. My brother would get carsick a lot. ‘Nuff said.

jane: Oh, I ALWAYS got carsick. My poor parents . . . and our poor car.

Road trips today are so different than those of my youth. Remember Stuckey's and those pecan roll logs? Now Starbucks is at almost every freeway exit. And Cracker Barrel is the Stuckey's of the twenty-first century! Oh, we used to stay at Howard Johnson motels and eat at their restaurant, HoJos.

betsey: My brother always got the “Tommy Tucker” platter at HoJos. I think it was turkey and mashed potatoes. No wonder he got carsick.

jane: But back to road trips, soon after I was married, my seventy-something Nana joined me for the seven-hour drive to the Twin Cities and back. We had a very sweet time together on that intergenerational junket. I relished every minute then, and I'll never forget it.

betsey: I absolutely adored my grandmother and would have loved to spend that time with her, but she died, too young, when I was ten. I do remember a road trip I took with my dad. He decided to drive me back to college after spring break, and it was just he and I in our VW bug in the pouring rain. One of the windshield wipers came loose and I had to stick my hand out the window and hold it much of the way down I-55!

jane: About four years ago, Sarah moved to Orlando, so she and I drove to Florida – yet again! – in her little Ford Focus, its backseat and trunk crammed with all her earthly possessions.

For 20-plus hours, we acted silly, listened to her Beatles CDs, laughed hysterically, snacked, got on each other's nerves, negotiated some scary traffic jams, then laughed some more.

I still treasure that time, because I knew with Sarah moving far from home, our lives would never be the same.

I have to admit, I'm always thankful when we arrive at our destination safely. But I'm also thankful for the opportunity road trips provide for additional bonding with my family.

betsey: And nobody’s groping you as you totter through security. But Jane, I just thought of a brilliant solution for the TSA: Labs! Friendly galoots poking and snuffling at you – why, we’d all be happy American travelers! What a country!

Giving Thanks

"The Harvest" by Robert Zund

For the hay and the corn and the wheat that is reaped,
For the labor well done, and the barns that are heaped,
For the sun and the dew and the sweet honeycomb,
For the rose and the song and the harvest brought home --
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!

For the trade and the skill and the wealth in our land,
For the cunning and strength of the workingman's hand,
For the good that our artists and poets have taught,
For the friendship that hope and affection have brought --
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!

For the homes that with purest affection are blest,
For the season of plenty and well-deserved rest,
For our country extending from sea unto sea;
The land that is known as the "Land of the Free" --
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!
~Author Unknown 

betsey:jane will be back on Wednesday, December 1. In the meantime, we both wish you the warmest and happiest of Thanksgivings. Blessings!

Do You See What I See?

betsey: Jane, are you seeing what I’m seeing? City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style . . . Snow in Minneapolis and your beloved Colorado. Freezing here in our village. The pumpkins on our front porch are bravely holding their own, but pretty soon, like after Thanksgiving, they’ll be left to the squirrels and our wreaths and such will go up.

jane: I'm seeing it, but I'm not liking it. Heck, there's still a week to go before Thanksgiving! Give me more time to enjoy my gourds, my mums, my turkey trinkets, my autumn-colored candles – at least through November!

Give me more time to enjoy my gourds, my mums, my autumn-colored candles!

However, I have a different feeling about Christmas music entirely. I can listen to it all year round. I'm already firing up the Christmas CDs and can't wait till our local college radio station, WETN, starts playing Christmas music 24/7 from Thanksgiving through New Year's Day.

 

betsey: I know, isn’t that nice? I grew up with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Mitch Miller and an audio version of A Christmas Carol playing all season – in fact, I learned Christmas carols that way. Last year we got this weird-but-interesting CD by Sting with old Christmas songs and generally winter-themed music . . . very cool in the bleak midwinter. 

Oh, I love Christmas stuff and probably spend too much on things I only look at once a year. My Plow & Hearth catalog came (do you get that? They have nice stuff) and I have my eye on some of their centerpieces. And wreaths. And hearth rugs. And lit doorway garlands . . . Christmas tends to bring out my latent Martha Stewart.
 

jane: Yes, I'm starting to get inundated with catalogs (including Plow & Hearth) too. But I don't pore over them as I used to. I already have too much Christmas stuff; each year I find myself scaling down instead of piling on. In our smallish house, I'm less tolerant of clutter, even of the cheery Christmas variety. I have a few simple, cherished items I always put up: my lighted Bethlehem village, a special crèche, my Christmas wreaths, my Norwegian candleholders with their decorative rosemaling, the needlepoint stockings I made for our daughters (I even have stockings for our dogs). However, all this self-proclaimed selectivity probably will fly out the window the first Christmas we host with our granddaughter! I suspect having a grandchild in our home will change EVERYTHING about decorating for Christmas. I'll be pulling out stuff I haven't put up in years, stuff I'll look at this year and put back in the box.

betsey: You’re right – the “tacky factor” grows exponentially with young children. Plastic will return to your décor! Maybe even pink and purple!

jane: I don't know if I'll go that far . . . 

 

betsey: The question: When do you decorate?

jane: Betsey, I'm adamant about waiting until after Thanksgiving to begin decorating for Christmas. 

We have never set up a Christmas tree for Thanksgiving. I want to give Thanksgiving its due. 

We have never set up a Christmas tree for Thanksgiving, as many of my friends do. I want to give Thanksgiving its due. So usually the weekend after Thanksgiving weekend, I'll politely ask Rich to haul all the green-colored bins and the fake tree out of our crawlspace, and then the fun (aka work) begins. 

 

betsey: And when do you (Rich) put up your outdoor lights?

jane: You got that right, Betsey! Rich is the one who manages our outdoor lighting. But it varies from year to year, depending on the weather, travel plans, and how the spirit moves. Some holidays we might not even put up lights. One year we didn't even put up a tree. I have to admit, that felt strange, but we were gone for the holidays, so it just didn't make sense to go to all the effort to decorate it with no one home to enjoy it. 

 

betsey: Guess what? I recently saw a house a few streets away that was blazing with lights. Before Veterans’ Day! 

 

jane: That's just not right.

betsey: We generally do ours not Thanksgiving weekend but, like you, the weekend after. It’s amazing the unspoken peer pressure on this: you want to do your lights when the neighbors do, not a minute before and certainly not after. (My own informal rule of thumb: Lights MUST be extinguished by Martin Luther King’s birthday.)

jane: Yeah, there's nothing worse than seeing Christmas lights – and, I might add, dead wreaths – on houses after Valentine's Day. And I HAVE seen that in my own neighborhood.

betsey: And the last question: do you put up your tree when you do the rest of your decorating? 

Every year I vow to go artificial . . . but something deep within me cries out, Don't give in!

We don’t . . . it’s just too much. Also, we buy real trees. Every year when we’re wrangling the thing into the stand, and Fritz has to guy it with rope because it’s listing, I vow to go artificial . . . but something deep within me cries out, Don’t give in!

 

jane: I used to feel that way, Betsey. I was a live tree purist who would look askance at those sell-outs who went artificial! Our family always cut down our Christmas trees (fake in the '50s and '60s was kind of scary; I remember my grandma had this blue metallic flocked tree – yikes!) So when Rich and I married and started our family, we followed suit. I tried to replicate my wonderful childhood memories of taking a sleigh ride out to the cutting fields, picking out the perfect tree, then sipping hot chocolate as my dad strapped our fragrant pine onto the roof of our sedan. 

 

However, a few years into valiantly emulating this tradition, Rich and I experienced a very Clark Griswoldian, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation scenario: Our daughters spent the whole time trudging through the Christmas tree field complaining of freezing and begging to go home. We had an epiphany: It was time to start buying our Christmas tree from a tree lot five minutes from home!

That lasted for several years. But then one day, a cute little artificial tree on sale at Target just spoke to me. Our kids were in college, our vacuum cleaner couldn't handle the constant choking on spent needles (I'd find them in the strangest places, too!), and I got tired of worrying about the tree becoming a fire hazard. I bought that cutie and brought her home, and I've never looked back. 

 

betsey: Yep, I know more and more people who are opting for artificial. At least we don’t go far for our fir – a lot just minutes away. Time was when we did the back-to-nature, “cut down the tree” thing too . . . it was always muddy and the saw was always kind of dull and one year Fritz, after hours of manfully sawing away, started to feel somewhat unwell. And Amanda, six or seven at this time, would crouch at my feet in the front of our tiny hatchback to make room for O Tannenbaum.

But I wonder . . . does having an artificial tree stop the lights fights once and for all? If so . . . Target, here I come!

Don't Fight the Night

jane: Well, it's started. Hibernation Season is officially here. I have to laugh because Daylight Savings Time has been the target of some grumblings from my Facebook crowd. One friend mentioned how it's dark so early, she doesn't want to leave her house. Another commented that during autumn and winter she hibernates like the bears, but unfortunately, unlike them, does NOT emerge thinner in the spring. When I read that, first I laughed out loud and then I winced, because I totally relate. 

This is the season of couch potato-ism, time to crave hearty, carb-filled foods - stews and soups and breads with butter.

And lots of calorie-laden casseroles and pastas, because we're fortifying ourselves for the long, cold winter!

betsey: That’s funny – I made a chicken stew last night (okay, not great). Must be the same impulse. Since I work all day, I’m going to be getting home in the dark, which I can’t stand (although it’s light now in the morning, which is nice). I’ll have to force myself to get out at lunch and walk in the daylight. We’ve started taking vitamin D because everything you read says that we in Northern climes do not get enough of it. I don’t think I have SAD, but I do need to force myself to be active.

jane: Actually, I wonder if I do have a mild form of SAD (seasonal affective disorder). Now that we've set our clocks back an hour and sunset is 4:30ish, I feel as though I'm ready to go to bed by seven. In fact, last Sunday, despite the gift of that extra hour of sleep, Rich and I ate an early supper of green chicken chili with cornbread by candlelight (to up the cozy factor).

Then, when we plopped down in our recliners to watch The Simpsons, Rich promptly nodded off. It was only 6:03 p.m.!

Of course, he got his second wind about an hour later, but when we headed up to bed to read, we were out like lights around nine. We're such old fogies.

betsey: It’s interesting to think about the ancients, like your and my Norse, Celtic and Saxon forebears – they lived in a very dark world half the year, and really, it was that way until the eighteenth century when candles were much better and certainly the nineteenth when gas light came in and streets and homes were brighter!

jane: I must not have inherited the Norwegian gene that helps you thrive during dreary, dark winter nights. Oh, and the one that makes you crave lutefiske and pickled herring – those genes must have skipped a generation or two.

A few Novembers ago, I decided to ward off the early dark by setting up our Christmas window candles well before Thanksgiving and turning them on as soon as night fell. From the outside, our home looked very colonial, very warm and inviting. But inside an unattractive tangle of extension cords sprouted from every front-facing window. Eventually I got tired of the cords and the clutter and gave up on it, but I did miss that glow. It really lifted the gloom.

betsey: We were talking just last night about our Christmas lighting. I’ve decided our usual way of holiday illumination is tacky and too eclectic, so I’m thinking about having our big burning bush done all in blues. 

jane: That would look lovely with your blue house!

betsey: I LOVE blue Christmas lights. And those colored balls that look like they’re floating in the dark, kind of mysterious and magical.

jane: I can't even contemplate dragging the boxes and bins filled with Christmas stuff out of our crawl space yet . . . 

 

You know, when my kids were young, I don't remember being as bothered by long dark evenings as I am now. Winter nights were illuminated by the warmth of bustling family activities - homework and bath time and story-reading and telephone calls and surprise school projects and extra laundry loads. You know, just the daily stuff of life. Now with the empty nest, it's just Rich and me, the dogs, and a very quiet house.

Because there's very little on the TV that Rich and I both enjoy watching, lately

I'll light some candles and put on a CD we haven't listened to in quite a while – a little Bach or a little Miles Davis.

Last night we played some great jazz from Tommy Flanagan, whom we heard play at the famous Village Vanguard in Manhattan several years ago. That helped make the dark hours leading up to bedtime richer, more textured.

betsey: I love your idea about CDs. I grew up listening to Broadway original-cast albums and singing along - I still know all the words to some really obscure songs from the likes of Gypsy. Fritz and I were just talking the other day about getting some of these on CD. Singing along is great for warding off the blahs.

jane: Fun idea! I loved musicals when I was a kid, too: Kiss Me Kate (“We open in Venice, we next play Verona, then on to Pomona . . . ") and Camelot, all those grand, wonderful productions. I just can't imagine Rich getting into singing those show tunes - NO way.

betsey: I think we need to make friends with the night. Where we live we can really see the stars; streetlights don't get in the way.

And the winter constellations - Orion, the Pleiades, Cassiopeia - are magnificent.

So I'm looking forward to welcoming them back. 

jane: Betsey, do you remember me telling you about the telescope my parents gave us because they no longer used it? It's sitting by our upstairs loft window, pointed at our backyard (our neighbors probably think we're spying on them!). It's an expensive instrument with daunting instructions, so we haven't learned how to use it yet. But once Rich orients it to the North Star, we should be able to take it onto the deck on a clear night and stargaze. You and Fritz will need to come over to gawk at the night sky with us some evening - now that could be a really fun winter activity.

I love what you said about making friends with the night.

Instead of bemoaning this season, I need to be celebrating its invitation

to savor the glow of candlelight, to sip hot chocolate, to feel wonder at the stars, to plow through my pile of must-read books patiently awaiting my attention. This time of year provides more opportunities to daydream and plan and pray, even to pay more attention to those circadian rhythms we can so easily ignore.

Speaking of which, I just noticed it's 6:03 p.m. Time to snuff out the candles, brush my teeth, sing a little "Let Me Entertain You," and head for bed!

Leonardo DiCaprio, Jack Bauer, and . . . E.T.?

betsey: Jane, I know you and Rich saw Inception, Leonardo DiCaprio’s big summer hit, over the weekend. What did you think of it? I wasn’t really interested, although I know a lot of people liked it. To me it sounded kind of weird and confusing.

jane: Inception was weird and confusing - and thought-provoking. The time in the theater flew by, at the end we couldn't figure out if DiCaprio's character was still in a dream, and I kept pondering the movie all the next day – signs the film made an impact.

Oh, and Rich stayed awake through it, another barometer of its success.

(We have one friend who told Rich recently, “My husband likes to brag that he's seen the beginning of hundreds of movies!”) So it was worth the $3.50 we shelled out to see it.

betsey: I really do like a lot of what DiCaprio has done over the years. Titanic was on a few Saturday nights ago, and of course I got caught up in the drama, even though I know how it turns out . . . 

 

jane: Ha! I'll never forget when we saw Titanic in the theater. It was probably for my birthday, because I doubt Rich would have wanted to go to this one unless I was exercising “birthday clout.” Anyway, as the opening credits rolled, he turned to me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and said, “Why do I need to see this? I already know how it ends.” Sigh. He was joking, of course . . . kind of.

betsey: I think Titanic is simply riveting and unashamedly “Hollywood” in the grand romantic tradition.

I love “movie movies” that play on a big, sweeping canvas.

By contrast, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape is another of my favorites, but it’s a quiet, small-canvas story of a young man (Johnny Depp, who I think is hot) growing up aimlessly in a nowhere Iowa town. Leo plays his developmentally disabled younger brother in an amazing performance. Catch Me If You Can: very underrated, a departure for Spielberg. Love the circa-1965 “mod” look. And I’ve seen parts, not all, of Gangs of New York, with Daniel Day-Lewis – again, it’s one of those larger-than-life, epic films. Very violent, but Scorsese’s re-creation of mid-1800s New York is masterful. You can tell it’s a set, but somehow that gives it the feel of a tragic play unfolding.

What have you seen recently, either in the theater or otherwise, that you would recommend? What are some of your all-time favorites? (I know this is a really hard question.)

jane: Wow. That is a hard one, Betsey. I always have amnesia when it comes to remembering what I've seen lately. I do know my most recent rentals were Babette's Feast, which was wonderful, and Shutter Island, again with DiCaprio; this film also had an ambiguous ending that kept me guessing. But the movies we've seen lately were simply about pure escapism, such as Salt with Angelina Jolie. While we're not big Angelina fans,  we like action films and we needed a Jack Bauer/24-type fix. Sometimes I'll rent a chick flick while Rich is out of town or watch a movie on hulu.com. Rich is picky; there are very few movies he wants to go see or even rent, so I have to sort of twist his arm. He thinks of Hollywood as “Hollyweird” and accuses it of being too formulaic. And sometimes he's right!

But back to favorites . . . I LOVE Dumb and Dumber; I've watched it a gazillion times and it always makes me laugh out loud. See how highbrow I am? Oh, and

I can watch movies like Forrest Gump and Cinderella Man and The Shawshank Redemption over and over and still find something in them that moves me.

The truth is, my tastes are very eclectic – I love British period dramas, quirky indie films, action films, sci-fi/fantasy, and sweeping epics, if they're well done.

betsey: It’s really interesting to think about what makes a movie compelling for you. Or what makes something offensive. I do think I look for that very cinematic, larger-than-life “movie magic” quality. E.T. does it for me every time. Braveheart and Gladiator – I’m a sucker for doomed, noble heroes. 

 

jane: Russell Crowe - YES! Braveheart and Gladiator are two of my favorite films. And, of course, The Passion of the Christ. But E.T.? No offense, Betsey, but I found it cheesy – and still do, just like I did Richard Dreyfuss and his mountain of mashed potatoes in Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I still remember when Rich and I went to the drive-in to see E.T. and brought along Sarah, who was just learning to talk.

She saw the E.T. character on the screen, stood up in the back seat, pointed at the screen, and shouted out, “E.T. a monkey!”

Out of the mouth of babes . . . 

 

betsey: I really detest “rom-coms” and movies that are supposed to appeal to women. People raved about Julie and Julia but I had no interest. 

jane: Oops . . . I enjoyed it. Watched it with Bible study friends; it made me want to eat.

betsey: On the other hand, give me an inspirational sports movie, clichés
and all, and I’m there every time. I kind of want to see Secretariat, even though it’s gotten mixed reviews. That may be a “rent it,” as they say.

jane: Well, I love using our DVR to record films from cable channel Turner Classic Movies. It's a wonderful way to discover and rediscover some great classics. For instance, not long ago I watched To Kill a Mockingbird, The Red Shoes, and ’70s cult favorite Harold and Maude. And on Halloween I viewed Bette Davis and Joan Crawford in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

 

betsey: What was the first movie you ever saw?

jane: The Wizard of Oz. 

betsey: For me it was The King and I. 

 

jane: Oh, after I watched that on television as a child, I sobbed in bed for hours about how the king had died. I was inconsolable!

betsey: But probably the two films that had the biggest impact on me were Ben-Hur – I truly feel that gave me a yearning for Jesus – and West Side Story, which seemed the ultimate in cool in 1962 but now when you see it looks kind of dated. I did know kids who weren’t allowed to see movies – even Disney – and I felt sorry for them.

jane: Even though my parents were conservative, for some reason they weren't too strict about music and movies. I remember our family went to see Pit and the Pendulum starring Vincent Price. As a teen, I saw films such as Romeo and Juliet (which was a bit scandalous because it contained a discreet “butt” shot of Romeo), 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Ah, Robert Redford, back in the day! In the early ’70s, Wheaton College's student union showed Butch Cassidy, but because the movie celebrated anti-heroes, the college felt it had to hold a discussion of the film for us afterward. How the times have changed.

There are a handful of movies I regret having seen – today I'm more careful about what I view. I typically check out ChristianityToday.com reviews first because I respect their perspective. 

When you think of it, God is the ultimate Storyteller. And

the Bible includes stories of passion and intrigue and violence and adventure – along with the story of his grace and redemption.

In the end, I think my favorite films are ones that use strong visuals and intriguing characters to weave a good story that contains a redemptive theme. 

 

betsey: I am definitely more careful than I used to be – it’s so easy to be a media-and-entertainment junkie in our culture. 

 

jane: And in our industry . . .

betsey: Let’s keep talking about that! Meanwhile, Jane, my new mission is to convince you of the greatness of E.T. But for now, as Ebert and Roeper used to say, the balcony is closed!