Julie and Julia and a little gem from my Mama

I meant to see it in the theatre. Then I meant to see it at the cheap theatre. Then I put it high on our Netflix queue. Then we kept getting movies that featured explosions and aliens with weird ears. I cannot imagine who might have been behind that.

Finally (after some queue manipulation under the cover of darkness) J&J arrived yesterday. Tonight I tore myself away from Everest: Beyond the Limit (no small feat - that's some good TV) and watched the movie with C and K.

I could really relate (!) to both women searching for meaning and searching for themselves. I was excessively obsessed with Julie's general lack of weight gain after consuming a metric ton of butter. When I was able to take my mind off of that, I was almost equally as obsessed with how impossible it would be for a vegetarian to take on such a task. I think I wouldn't stop at boning and trussing the duck -- I would probably become consumed with efforts to re-animate the damn thing.

So... learning how to cook may not be my path to greater self-actualization. I thought my garden would be but I have a terrible feeling that herniated discs and earth-moving don't go hand in hand. It's a shame, really. I do love to dig holes. So be it. On with the quest.

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The gem from my Mama? It's a long lost note from my Grandma Campbell (known solely as "Grandma" while I was growing up -- how must that have felt for my other Grandma?). I could go on and on about how she loved, spoiled, perplexed, and amused me but I think the note speaks for itself:

Dear Robin,
I hope the sewing project goes well.

Sorry not to see you, but summer or spring will be a fine time to travel ----- they are predicting several inches of snow and these fool Texas drivers haven't a clue about safe driving in snow.

Love ya!
Grandma

I'm not sure what I was sewing (I thought I hadn't had a fit of domesticity until I had babies -- something she, unfortunately, did not live to see) but I am happy to know that's where I inherited my penchant for multiple hyphens. The note could only be more fitting if she had used the term "derned" in it at least once. It should also smell a tad more like vinegar (she ironed everything with a spray of vinegar and water -- mind you, I can't remember a time when a natural fiber touched her body -- and her house took on the aroma) like everything she ever sewed for me (and there were so many things she sewed for me) that arrived smelling like pickles.

Auld Lang Syne and all that. Love you Mama. Love you Grandma. Love you all.

Dern it.