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MOTHER'S DAY: The Saddest Day Of The Year
I just received a sympathy card reminding me of something I'd prefer to have forgotten. My mother Helena died a year ago today. Sure, she had to go eventually (though 67 seemed cruelly young) but did she have to go so close to Mother's Day? How I hate those cheery posters selling gifts and cards and things-to-make-mum-smile that go up everywhere I look this time of year! She's the one to blame or credit with my going into the arts. Same with my little brother Jon. She was emotionally explosive, highly cultured, off the wall- an actress at heart- and with her death, our nuclear family lost its muse. My dad, myself and my two brothers still get together regularly, but it's simply not the same without her energy. So in honour of a showbiz personality who never found her way into showbiz- a creator of creators if you will- here's the eulogy I gave 12 months ago. On the one hand, it's so personal, it might interest no one outside my own family. On the other, it's the biggest story anyone can tell. A human life...
Mum once gave me a birthday card that showed one cow advising another: “On your journey through life, don’t forget to stop and eat the roses.” And that was very much her style. A piece of practical advice, sincere concern for my well-being, and a zany twist. As her son, I ought to know her as well as anyone, but I wouldn’t claim I understood her completely. Still, the time I came the closest was four years ago, going through the old home movies to make a video of her life. And there were boxes of Helena. Whenever little Helena sneezed or said hello or crossed a room, it seems her Daddy took a picture. If not her Daddy then her husband, if not her husband then her son. And it hit me that she wasn’t just my mother, she’d been a centre of attention her whole life. She was the one the camera’d turn to. She’s the one who’d see the camera and go “Hi!” She loved attention. Revelled in it. So I put in these shots of herself and her family, her friends and her dogs, in the places she’d lived, on the travels she’d made, which got gradually bigger and better the more time went on. I cut it to one of her favourite songs, and gave it to her for her birthday. And I guess she hadn’t looked upon her life as a success until she watched it all together in order like that, 'cos she was useless for an hour. Floods of tears. It became her favourite video, and the one she’d show to anyone who visited. Twice, if possible. That’s my happiest memory of mum. She loved the movie of her life. And we were all a part of its making. The last home movie mum appeared in was Christmas last year. She was fun to be with, upbeat, gracious, everything she’s good at. But it turns out she already knew the cancer was returning. I asked her “How did you not show it, and I don't just mean on camera, but to us here in the room?” She answered simply: “I’m an actress. I’m a great actress.” And she was. She had a sweater at one time that carried the 2 masks of the actor: the comic face and the tragic face. I always thought that fit her perfectly. She was either very happy or very angry and there wasn’t much between. She might pretend to be happy to see you when in fact she couldn’t stand you. These extremes of her personality made her endlessly unpredictable, and also endlessly entertaining. We never knew what she was going to come up with next. She got that off-the-wall vivacity from her mother. She had started out in Melbourne surrounded by Hoffmanns, Hausers & Werners, and carried many of their trademarks all her life. A love of dogs, good food, good wine, good conversation & good arguments. Love of culture: she read novels by the truckload, went to plays, went to the movies, knew the names of all the actors, and could make agreeable conversation with anyone. I don’t think it’s any accident that two of her three sons ended up in the arts. Still, Helena had a practical side as well. She earned a Pharmacy Diploma, working here and overseas throughout her 20s. Once the puppy fat came off her, she got popular with the boys. Then before long she had married one, and within a few more years was raising her own. I think she always had a fantasy of living as an independent woman- she used to say “If I had my time over again, there’s no way I’d have kids!” But we’re not sure quite how seriously to take that. She’s the one who insisted on having more children, and for Coco the dog to have puppies and to keep two of those. Deep down I don’t think she minded too much hanging out with the family she'd bred. When asked why she married our Dad all she'd tell us was “he was persistent” but there was obviously a lot more to it than that. She did admit telling her mother, the day of her wedding: “Mum, I love him,” then she’d add “Isn’t that sickening?” She would much prefer to tell us he had green teeth when they met, and that his face was a Bensley face just like his mother’s, “like a pancake with 2 raisins for eyes.” Yet she never seriously questioned the arrangement. Rex and Helena worked and played together, took big risks together, raised three children and three dogs, and made and spent a fortune together. Two apparently mismatched people in a marriage that stayed as solid as a rock for 40 years. She was a good ally in business, managing the overseas accounts at Multi-Contact for a decade and a half. She helped him socially in many a roomful of strangers, with her talent for starting conversations from nothing. I remember him describing how she went up to some stranger at a function, said “Hello. I’m Helena Williams,” as she would. And then of all the left field things to say, she came out with “So what do you think of the slide in the dollar?” And it turns out this bloke actually worked in the currency market, and went on for the next half an hour about it!” She had a knack for saying the most perceptive things out of the blue, and none of us ever understood quite how she did it. She often worried we were running out of money, but despite some stressful times, it never occurred. She was always drawn to water, especially since a psychic told her she must always live near water lest she shrivel up like a prune, and fortunately she had a husband who could afford it. She loved the waterfront at Seaforth where we lived for many years, she loved to swim among the fish at Heron Island, navigate the French canals, ride in the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race spectator fleet, and meet the whales of Hervey Bay. She maintained a swimming habit right from girlhood into her 60s. One of my most enduring images of her is getting tickets to Heron Island from my Dad as a birthday present, and clapping her hands with glee like a little girl. We could make each other laugh: we made a culture of our own: the weekly comedy hour over Sunday dinner, birthday cards ghost-written from the dogs. She added commentary to home movies of me as a child dancing adorably with a beer carton on my head. She’d say: “The things you do with kids. That’s not funny. Putting a beer carton on his head? That’s stupid! Absolutely ridiculous.” Her moods could be fiery, sunny, jaw-droppingly caustic, and usually funny as long as you weren’t in the crosshairs. She proudly called herself a Jewish mother, even though she was only one quarter. Well into my 30s, I still had to call her whenever I drove interstate to reassure her I hadn’t died on the road that day. She cooked... reliably, but always like a pharmacist. If the recipe said you use 4.5 ounces of flour in something, then 4.5 ounces precisely went in. Not 4.6, not 4.4. At least you knew what you were getting, and the 7 things she cooked she cooked very well. Leftovers were invariably divided into individually sealed containers, marked with our names and what they were and when they were cooked. She was concerned about our health and our good looks. Her girlhood memories of being taunted on the diving board with the words: “Jump, Porky, jump!” led to such helpful hints for us as: “You look so fat if you eat another thing you’ll burst!” She kept her own place in a state of Germanic cleanliness, and when she came around to visit, she’d insist on cleaning ours too. Just before her first big operation last year, I said “You know, mum, I just realised something. Even if you lived a hundred years, we’d still never hear you say “Boys, don't change a thing. You’re simply perfect the way you are.” She laughed and said “I always want you to be better!” Nevertheless, despite our failings and our flaws, I think it’s clear she loved the family she’d created. She wept when Rambo, the last dog she ever had, was put to sleep. She burst into tears when I left for L.A, saying “I said I wasn’t going to cry…” She cried as we receded out the door before her last big operation. Not too long before her illness was diagnosed, I had asked her if she had any regrets. There were her kids who, in her words, had given her joy and despair, and she regretted the last few years at Multi-Contact when she should have returned to pharmacy, but on balance, she couldn’t think of anything big, and said in fact, “if I had my time over again, I don’t think I could have done as well.” She was slightly amazed that she’d managed to pack so much in. By the end, she had travelled in time and in space: from Melbourne prior to World War Two up through the ‘56 Olympics, Houston Texas for the moon landings, Sydney for the opening of the Opera House, Germany during reunification, and Sydney once again for the Olympics. Big euphoric historic moments: she was right there in amongst them, time and again. In the early years of this century, she saw the first of the megaliners dock at Circular Quay beneath her city apartment, and the Airbus A380 flying in. By which time, nothing short of a comet crashing into the sea would have impressed her. No new year’s fireworks were as good as Sydney 2000. No apartment had a view as good as home. When a whale was in the harbour, she’d say “I’ve seen them from up close”. She’d seen it all. But still, she didn’t want to go. Her final performance was done for her family alone. It’s been said that there’s a moment when the parent becomes the child in the relationship. But that never happened here. She wouldn’t allow it. Staying classy to the end, she insisted on sitting up when Jon and I went in to see her at the hospice. When I kissed her good bye, she spoke up through the pain and the morphine and the total lack of energy in her body to say: “Thank you. You’re very kind. You’re good boys.” What more could I want from my mum? Submitted by videowilliams on May 8, 2007 - 7:06am. |
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aaah Dave, thank you for sharing.
What a wonderful Mother you were given. What a wonderful gift.
The woman who gets to spend 40 years with you is going to have a wonderfu life. It's guaranteed, for her, based on the way you cherished your Mother.
hmmmmm, what a man!
Like a Stallion...
Thank You Jackie
And what a wonderful lady you are! That comment's just what I needed to hear.
First of all, it says you read this- and it's not a small thing to read.
Secondly, it says the women of this world (for whom I'd like to come over as cool) won't just think "Mama's Boy!"
Thirdly, it was written from the heart, so I'm glad it spoke to yours.
Thank you, Dave
I am in tears.
You are a blessed man to have had such a spirited person raise and love you.
I see where you got your creative energy, your humor, and your zest for life.
Sobbing...
Thank you, Dave
I Am Touched
I am touched that you're touched, cici. And you've summed it all up perfectly, as ever. Now be careful with that sobbing or you'll set me off as well...
Eric, I look forward to your full comment, but I must admit that Liz and Jackie both make a good point: I really was blessed. You lost your mother as a child, which must be worse. Nevertheless, we do have this perspective in common: we both want Mother's Day to be over as soon as possible.
She had a beautiful life
It must have taken a lot of effort to ... just write that at the time you wrote it. My parents are still living right now... and I cant describe how much I love them, nor they me. He's over 70, she's 70. I know ... the inevitable will come one day, but I dont want to think about it. I wouldnt know how to deal with it. I wouldnt know what to do. There, just thinking about it... I automatically shut down.
see, gotta wrap it up. I just wanted to post this comment, to say that its very fortunate she had the chance to live such wonderful life, packed full of precious moments with everything and everyone she held dear. And .. you're also fortunate you got to give her that favorite video, and did so many things in time, while there was time. In a world where death is the only certaintity, having lived a full life and having done everything you set out to do, is really the most anyone can expect out of.. whatever this trip is.
Yup.
... good. I can definitely see why you would be sad on mother's day. But at the same time, there's so many things you can be proud of about her, and even smile about, any day. Thanks for sharing..
A Complete Life
You're right in all you say there, Marco. It was very hard to write that at the time. Nevertheless, I can remember telling people "This is sad, but not a tragedy. She had had an awesome life. And there was nothing left unsaid." Plus she got to see that video while alive. It's a shame she couldn't have seen her send-off too- we took a cruise on Sydney Harbour to scatter her ashes (at her request) which really was moving.
Anyway, pulling back to the big picture now, my writing mentor often talks about her "life script" which I find a brilliant way to put the journey in perspective. This reminds me of a sign I saw the other day that said:
"My life has a superb cast but I can't figure out the plot."
The plot does finally become clear, but only at the end, when you're no longer on this earth to appreciate it. It makes the head spin and the heart sore... we are really not set up to comprehend death.
a mother's love...
I am weeping.
comprehending death
Death...which both encompasses endings and beginnings. Such an enormously complicated concept.
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the sheered not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink form the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
I Can't Top That
Oh Dawn, don't edit a single word of your first post. I want to keep it. You leave nothing for me to add. xoxo back at ya! Do you remember that World's Worst Pickup Line I quoted to you once:
"You remind me of my mama. I love my mama."
I hesitate to say it, but it seems to me you share that list of qualities you just gave her. ("Paging Dr. Freud!") Of course, before we get too Oedipal about it, there are some quite marked differences too. She was strictly PG-rated in her humour, a crappy cook, and never tried to turn her natural acting talent into a career. She went the child-bearing route instead... Lucky for me!
Goodluck abounds
Dave: "She went the child-bearing route instead... Lucky for me!"
Words Of The Prophet
I really have to buy "The Prophet".
And had better amend my comment up there to Marco to "we are really not set up to comprehend death- unless our name is Khalil Gibran".
online resources
It's in the public domain.....you can find The Prophet in its entirety on several websites...just Google (dontcha just love the internet!)
Shucks
Dawn: "Lucky for all of us, Dave!"
Aw, shucks. You're making me look like this:
Dawnism?
Dawn: "Actually, I have a special bookshelf filled with these kinds of resources...."
Back in the 70s, Francis Coppola told his protege George Lucas: "Forget the movies. Religion is where the real money is at." So George went off and came up with The Force! The rest is history...
It seems to me you're on the same track in customising your own religion. "Dawnism" perhaps?
How flattering...I'm an "ism"!
My philosophies do work their way into my writings....my last writing project is a fairytale/fantasy piece which had an anti-violence/anti-war twist (this would have to be severely polished for public consumption). Traditional fairytales are so violent....
Fairy Tale Violence
Dawn: "Traditional fairytales are so violent...."
Oh yes, they're macabre as hell. Tarantino ain't got nothin' on the Brothers Grimm! What with witches that eat children, the Sandman who takes them away in their sleep, the Pied Piper who serenades them to their deaths, and Suckathumb, that Edward Scissorhands-lookin' dude who cuts off the fingers of naughty children who insist on sucking their thumbs.
Actually, my mum was pretty good at telling stories like that too:
"Don't drink water straight out of the tap. Worms will come out of it into your mouth."
"Don't put those little plastic toys from Christmas bon-bons in your mouth. A little Chinese man's probably had them up his bum!"
...Looking back she might have been joking, but as kids we didn't know it. Gosh, the things that parents tell their kids to try and keep 'em in line!
great sense of humor
Dave: "A little Chinese Man probably had them up his bum!"
Dawn...oh my goodness! You are so deep. I love you.
REACT TO: "And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb."
Like a Stallion...
Gosh Stallion...
Now I'm the one with red cheeks.
Blessed Female Energy
Sorry I went AWOL on you all for a few hours: I had literally passed out across the keyboard! Getting all this empathetic female energy feels so good- it's the very thing my Dad and my two brothers lost last year.
Dawn, that holes-in-the-stomach story is a good one. Steven Spielberg bites his nails- whichever one of us meets him first will have to tell him!
Maybe Jessica will meet the Maestro first. Oh what a beautiful comment! Thanks so much. All those physiological responses you describe now visit me. And yes, I thought you'd be a Mother's Day hater too. Once again, you've got it worse, though, since your Father's Days must be as bad or worse.
You know, I've read- and now I know- that creativity springs most powerfully from a combination of emotional pain and intellectual strength. This is what marks out people like you, Jess, and well, probably all of us here.
Oh, all too much! I'm gonna write my next blog here on cars or football... this one on motherhood has really gone far deeper than I planned. Can you imagine getting into such a d & m discussion at OTL? No, neither can I.
Prozac martinis, anyone? I think we've earned them.
Story Sharing
Thanks, shyam!
Just as you worried your travelling post might be too India-centric, I worried that this one would be too Williams-centric. It turns out to be the opposite- we're fascinated by the nitty-gritty details of each other's different lives- which, for me at least, is a wonderful surprise. Mum would be thrilled to know her story had spread to India!
Mixed Feelings
"Solitary trees, if they grow at all grow strong; and a boy deprived of a father's care often develops, if he escapes the perils of youth, an independence and vigour of thought which may restore in after life the heavy loss of early days."
-Winston Churchill
It's amazing you turned out as well as you have given that awful upbringing, Jess. Or perhaps it's the reason you have.
By the way, when my mother died, I felt a little boy jumping up and down inside me, crying "Yippee! I'm free! I'm free!" I knew I wouldn't have to put up with her endless criticisms any more. It was mixed in with a larger grief, but it was there.
We all have issues with our parents- even the good ones.
wouldn't have known mother's day was coming
If you hadn't posted a blog, Dave, I would have remained blissfully ignorant that this day had arrived again this year. I do nothing for mother's day. I ignore it.
Contrary to what one might think, my mom prefers it that way...
Cold Mamas & Papas
Jesus, Dawn, that's cold. Not of you but of her. It reminds me of just one other person I know...
Jean-Pierre, a French friend, was abandoned by his father before he was born. His papa basically found out that Elizabeth (JP's mama) was pregnant and pissed off. He must have been plenty angry with her, as they never spoke again.
Years went by, while Jean-Pierre was raised by his mother. As an adult he went looking for his father, finally tracking him down and going to his home. This man opened the door. Jean-Pierre introduced himself:
"I'm your son. It's taken me years to track you down. I would like to get to know you."
His father answered:
"Well, I don't want to know you."
And slammed the door.
special breed of intellectual
Jean Pierre's father...that's pretty bad. My parents aren't that bad, but then...
My parents don't work towards a strong emotional bond towards their children. They are very strongly intellectual. Though, ironically, since my sister, Lei, stayed in Hawaii, she's managed something more workable. But she doesn't celebrate mother's day either.
My birthday's coming up...another ambivalent day. My parents, since I left home, don't send card, call, or even email to mark the date of my birth. It took me awhile to allow myself to make it a special day just for me.
Odd One Out
Happy 30th, Dawn!
You know, I'm starting to feel like the odd one out here. Uncle Carl, my mother's brother- who dumped his wife and (grown-up) kids five years ago to live with his German secretary- told me once he thought my family was unusual. He judged us to be an unusually tight little nuclear family. His bitch of a secretary girlfriend thought it had stunted my growth.
Maybe we were, and maybe it did...
Maybe I'm only growing up now.
stunted growth
Now...er, what part of you is stunted, Dave?
Yes....my, um, 30th...thanks!
I actually don't believe in perfect families...there are always skeletons in the closet. I've been an "orphan" for a long time, "adopted" into families for holiday celebrations and what not. Plus, in my relationships, I've seen the inside of many families. Not to sound cynical since I don't know your family...and maybe you would prove me wrong.
If by "growing up now" you mean "late bloomer"....join the crowd. I definitely fit into that category. There are lots of reasons for being a late bloomer.
Families, Late Bloomers & Swizzle-Sticks
What part of me is stunted? Ha! Dawn, just the emotional part, since...
My 8====D's so big the head has only seen the balls in pictures.
My 8====D's so big that I was standing in Australia and got a blow-job in Tasmania.
My 8====D's so big you're standing on it.
My 8====D's so big it takes four fat women and a team of Clydesdales to jack me off!
...Need I go on? OK, enough about my family jewels. Let's talk about families...
I once stayed with a lovely American family who were so polite at dinner it spun me out:
"Would you pass the pepper, please, Dad?"
"Certainly Susan!"
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
I thought: "Whoa- do people actually live like this?" Certainly wasn't my experience at home.
Uncle Carl's two sons by his first marriage have both told me that they loved to come to dinner at our place because we used to speak our minds. Nothing was hidden. No one worried about protecting each others feelings. This was Disneyland to them!
My mentor Ro has made the observation that the best TV writers she knows, herself included, all seem to come from large extended dysfunctional families. Certainly this describes my mother's lot in Melbourne. They're all crazy- and can't leave each other alone. I love the Hoffmanns. Mum, on the other hand, couldn't wait to get away, which is why she insisted on raising her family in Sydney.
Finally, I'm glad to hear that you consider yourself, like me, to be a late bloomer. This puts you in good company, with actors like Harrison Ford, or writer-directors like Oliver Stone, both of whose biographies I've read and found inspiring. How I wish youth-obsessed Hollywood had more respect for this breed!
Are you sure it's not 8==D?
Well, I never had a family that boringly polite....but I usually see through that stuff anyway. I'm too sensitive. All that tension underneath....eeeeek! Can't take it. I'd just be like: "God! you guys, just have a fight or something already!"
As to being a late bloomer...I see that as an asset! It takes some life experience to create great art. I see on Marco's "On the Lot" blog, people getting excited about working outside of the system. Wonderful! The system equates youth with money.
Storytelling from our vantage point can be an advantage. Here in America, we have a bunch of Baby Boomers, of which I am the very tail end, coming into their retirement and with enormous disposable incomes. Anyone that taps into that market taps into a gold mine.
btw....did you know that SAG's "senior" committee is 40 and above? Ridiculous!
Intellectual Orgasms
Ah, the tension underneath polite exteriors... you picked it, Dawn! That's what my Brisbane cousins (Carl's lot) still complain about to this day. Did you ever see "The Ref" with Kevin Spacey, Judi Davis and Denis Leary? It skewers that neurotic prosperous upper middle class just perfectly!
And I love your observations about the wisdom of age as well. The attitude of Hollywood, and for that matter, Australian TV, reminds me of the premise of Logan's Run: if you're over 30, onto the Wheel Of Death you go- we have no use for you any more! You're so perceptive that I'm having intellectual orgasms about it:
8=====E=mc2=====D>00000
that looks messy, I hope you have a towel.....
Logan's Run...yep, terrific movie...also Omega Man...basically any 70s science fiction where Charlton Heston gets to chew the scenery... ;-)
Our society doesn't respect the wisdom of age. It's sad. But we can work to change that...
I need a Circus Tent, not a Towel!
Hey, what's this "we" baby? You may be a tail-end Baby Boomer- I'm a Generation X! Mind you, if I could choose I'd be a baby boomer too: you guys got to change the world, at least in your own minds- we got to clean up the mess. As for Generation Y (birth dates from 1982 onward), well, they're just aliens to me.
Of course, as I stated in one of my better posts over at the other place, "the only two ages that matter are living and dead." And far more important than a birth date, IMHO, is whether you've had kids or not. The moment you have, why you're the older generation. If you haven't, you can hold onto your youth.
Bringing this discussion back to family, I have a godmother in Melbourne- Caroline Hoffmann- who is 50something now but still breaks hearts because her girlish prettiness and coquettishness have not deserted her. The rules on what is young and old are being rewritten before our eyes!
And oh yes, 70s movies rock. They're still the best. The French had their nouvelle vague in the 60s, then America had its big creative orgasm in the 70s. The Godfather I & II, Chinatown, All The President's Men, The Exorcist, The French Connection, Jaws, Star Wars, Close Encounters, Superman, Apocalypse Now... there are simply too many to list!
A circus tent seem kinda braggadocio...
...don't you mean a drink umbrella garnish....
generation x
Sorry Dave...didn't mean to lump you into an "old age" category...perhaps it was your stubborn old-age-i-won't-change attitude that influenced me....
Those of us who have not had kids (and have reached the age where its not likely to happen....another very long broken hearted discussion) have to settle for other means. And truthfully, to say you influence the world through family alone is rather limiting. The artist as shaman can bring to the village that which he has learned through experience. All the children in his village are his children.
Of course, your 70s movie list is amazing....
There is an incredibly underrated new movie I need to add to my Myspace list...Idiocracy by Mike Judge...an incredibly intelligent movie subverted into a screwball comedy. It didn't do well, despite critical acclaim, because Fox, in its infinte corporate wisdom, didn't like the anit-corporate message and did not give it the PR it deserved.
(really big wang icon)
I will check out Idiocracy- you're not the first to recommend it.
Shyam, while I can't speak for Dawn, I have to tell you that it takes me 5 to 10 minutes to come up with a witty riposte, so this internet mode of bantering suits me fine!
And in terms of having children, Dawn, you've done right by the planet. Human population growth is the "elephant in the room" which no environmental group (apart from a few like Sustainable Population Australia here or Californians For Population Stabilisation in your state) wants to touch. Shyam quoted "A small family is a happy family" in one of his posts, which I presume to be a slogan used in India to encourage smaller families. Getting more people is the last thing this world needs!
It's a problem for me, since my sperm is so strong that I jack off and there's a kid there in the morning! Garnish umbrella indeed...
self indulgence
Gee Dave...it rather saddens me that your masturbatory techniques are contributing to over population...perhaps you could save the world with a different outlet....
Getting A Grip
I know what you're thrusting at there. Channel my masturbatory urges (and skyscraper-sized swizzle-stick) into my work. Actually, Spielberg once said an interesting thing in that regard:
"I become celibate when I'm working. I get into the rhythm of fucking my movie."
Another observation he made was that he and Lucas and Scorsese (whose Taxi Driver I forgot to list among those 70s classics) were all "young, single and childless" when they were doing their best work.
The Romans had a saying- "libri aut liberi" (books or children)- recognising that one could generate knowledge OR children. George Bernard Shaw obviously agreed, explaining that "people of high character and intelligence cannot be plagued with children... The child at play is noisy and ought to be noisy: Sir Isaac Newton at work is quiet and ought to be quiet."
Yes, I like your shaman analogy. All my audience are my children...
getting a grip: 8==||||=D
Dave: The rules on what is young and old are being rewritten before our eyes!
I read that whole post too hastily last night (plus that extra glass of sake made my head go wheeeeee!)....cause you certainly weren't talking about influencing the world through family. What the heck was I reading. Though i do stand by my statement (artist as shaman, etc.) as a response to something from my own head.
Now, as to the thrust of your post...yeah, I have girlfriends that went the traditional baby family route and they become over time very conservative. It's in the attitude and behavior.
I love the above observation, which I agree with very much. Supposedly, there is an "age appropriate" clothing style for my real time age which I don't like to wear at all. When I stand next to women my age, I feel out of place. Nor do I think I should behave in an "age appropriate" manner. Some ideas just seem strange to me. Caroline Hoffman sounds like an inspiration for women of any age!
In my lucid moments, I am glad I haven't had children. It's a mixed bag....the biological imperative is very strong...though not the ticking time bomb it used to be. But I definitely agree about overpopulation. I hadn't ever heard of "libri aut liberi" or the other related ideas...those are provocative.
Creative work is its own orgasm....
reincarnut
A real time battle with Dave?....oooooh! That's scary...
The Edge
A friend of mine once observed that when you map a family tree, mothers & fathers connect to sons & daughters all the way through, apart from at the edges, where the members had no children. It's those edges that define its shape- the edges are the most interesting part!
__________&__________
________&_&_&________
______&_&_&_&_&______
____&_&_&_&_&_&_&____
_________[ll]___________
As for a real time battle with Dawn, hmmm... I think of words like "kamikaze" and "blitzkrieg." I would need to gird my loins ahead of time. Something like this:
8=[][][]=D
maybe you'd go into hiding...like this: 8~~D
I really like that visual metaphor about the edges...nice!
(_x_) :: (')(')
...which of course translates as:
"Kiss my ass, sugar-tits!"
But I'm glad you like my family tree analogy. You redeem yourself with that.
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