3 findings tonight (late)
…a surprise of a movie about a microcosm of the New York Jewish community, and a meditation on singlehood and finding love. A 33-year old single girl–happy, successful, loving her life in the literary circles of the city–reluctantly finds herself in the talons of a well-meaning matchmaker who sets her up with…the pickle guy. Even though the movie is over 20 years old it is still accurate and doesn’t hit any wrong notes. It’s very well written, the dialogue is witty, funny, and the acting is great.
I’d never heard this poem by Confucius about a woman waiting for love and it was so beautiful I paused to read it online before continuing the movie:
ripe plums are falling now there are only five may a fine lover come for me while there is still time ripe plums are falling now there are only three may a fine lover come for me while there is still time ripe plums are falling i gather them in a shallow basket may a fine lover come for me tell me his name Chinese Book of Songs
You need to hear the Jewish grandmother recounting why she married her husband, a great story delivered perfectly by Bubbie (Rizl Bozyk).
2) A random piece of writing that I did a couple of years ago that I just found by accident on my laptop. Here are the first 2 paragraphs:
She could still feel the warmth of his body where he had been standing a moment ago. She heard the familiar sound the door made behind him as he left. Her senses were vivid even as she was trying to bury the argument, let it recede into a faint memory. Senses are more stubborn than memory, she thought. She looked through the window, streaked with wayward drops from the unrelenting rain, and her vision played tricks on her. She saw him pruning the trees the way he used to before dinner. He was everywhere in the house. The faint smell of his occasional hand-rolled evening cigarette, the clean cotton scent of his work shirts. They were bound together, regardless of how many times he walked out that door.
She placed the dishes from the counter into the sink and turned on the faucet. She rolled up her sleeves, and, holding her forearms under the warm running water, closed her eyes. Even the troubled times with him weren’t hopeless. The water was still running, she wasn’t really going to wash dishes now, but she needed something to keep her mind from wandering.
This is a linked image (I didn’t download it) to my new favorite artist: Eduardo Recife. He is Brazilian and works on collages with vintage images, and is a typeface designer–another one of my obsessions, have you seen Helvetica? I could write about his work, it causes little sparkling water bubbles in my imagination.