There's a Dinosaur in My Movie

The last time I watched a movie with a dinosaur in it was when my boys were 2 and 6, that is, until today.  I called mom to see if she wanted to go see a movie at the downtown theater (which is known for showing the more “artsy” type of movies - this should have been my first warning), which looked interesting and right up our alley and entitled "The Tree of Life". It was described as being set in the 50’s in Texas and about family life, faith, and oh, Brad Pitt was staring in it.   How could we go wrong? 

We found our seats, settled in and the lights dimmed as the movie began before us. 

Music, no words, whispers we could barely understand, kids playing kick the can in the street, artsy shots of the sun coming through the trees, sunflowers in the field, more whispers.  This went on for almost forty-five minutes.  I don’t think there was any dialog for almost the first hour. (You’ll have to confirm that for me if when it comes out on DVD, because I will likely not be watching it again anytime soon.)

After many whispers and glimpses into the lives of this family living in Texas, the screen went black for a few seconds and then felt as if I had been transported into a documentary about space, the Grand Canyon, stars, fire, moons, ocean waves, and then there were more whispers.  It was as if the editing department fell asleep on the job and the intern thought it would be funny to splice in footage from the local planetarium as some film student prank.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know that art can be so far outside of the box, that to the average person it appears weird, odd or even uncomfortable.  I get that.  But this?  This wasn’t just outside the box; it was in a whole other zip code and possibly a whole other galaxy. 

When I finally realized and accepted that this was not going to be the movie experience we were seeking, it happened. 

In the distance at the stream’s edge, three dinosaurs appeared, drinking the cool water.  The camera angle then focused in on what appeared to be another small and injured velociraptor lying in the water with labored breathing.  From the other end of the stream, a larger bi-pedal dinosaur, let’s say it was an ovirapotor (remember, I’m the mom of two boys who lived and breathed dinosaurs for many years) came up to the injured dinosaur lying in the water and  shoved it’s foot right onto its head, not once, but three times then ran off.  Just shoot me now.   There are dinosaurs in my movie!!!

I didn’t dare turn to look at mom beside me for fear I’d burst out laughing if our eyes met during what others might have thought was a pivotal moment in the story line.  (Which, by the way, I would suggest you read thoroughly, along with all the reviews, before you venture out to see it.)

Was this art?  Was this a movie real actors and actresses couldn’t wait to be a part of?  I was so confused.

Skip ahead to the last twelve minutes of the movie. (I am going to tell you how it ends, so if you want to have the same baffled feeling we did, stop reading.)  The older son is in present day on his way up an elevator and at the same time he’s going through a stand-alone doorway onto the beach where all of his family and many other people are dressed in their 50’s attire, barefoot in the sand, looking longingly into each other’s eyes.  I didn’t know if I was in heaven or he was going to commit suicide.  I was beyond mystified.  I was flummoxed. 

The movie ended and there was silence.  No music at the end. Nothing.  Silence, except for two people in the back who were applauding.  I thought of seeking them out, because clearly they understood something I most certainly did not and apparently they liked having dinosaurs in their 1950’s Texas movie. 

It’s been almost five hours since it ended and I still don’t know how I feel about what I saw.  It’s thrown my head for a stegosaurus-sized loppty-loop.  Give me a few weeks (or months) and maybe I’ll have another thought about what it was supposed to mean, and if I do, and that’s a BIG if, I’ll let you know.

Select All and Delete

The upper right hand corner of my delete key has a shiny spot on it from where I hit it far too often.   I start a post and then inevitably hit “Select All and Delete”.  Do overs are a good thing.  The clean page feels good to see, but are the words I deleted still there?  Do the letters leave an electronic imprint out in cyber world somewhere?

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Wouldn’t it be convenient to have a delete key in your pocket to use when you say something you shouldn’t?  Just press the key and poof, gone, vanished forever, the words would be erased. Wouldn’t life be so much easier?  If you say something short and ugly just hit  “delete”. Unfortunately that’s not the case and sometimes we say things we wish we could take back. 

However, life doesn’t have a delete key.  Those words stay out there on that person’s heart and yes, sometimes they sting.  Perhaps an apology will help the hurt or a hug will soften the harshness, but those words are out there and fall from our lips and we have to own them.  We can’t just hit the delete key and start over.  It isn’t that simple.

I have said things in a tone I shouldn’t have.  The words stung and I’ve apologized for them, but it can’t always take the sting away and I know that.   I have to own my tone and words and hope that time will fade them and through kind words and a soft tone of my future words, I hope the unkindness will become less painful and fade.  How I wish I could “Select All and Delete” some days.

No U-turns for Me this Week

The past few weeks have been overwhelmingly filled with activities, travel, joy and frustration, new experiences and let’s throw in a little dash of stress for kicks.  I won’t list all of the events that have taken place around us, there’s no need, but as I look back over the events of last month, a common thread has tied them all together and has presented itself to me over and over again.  Perhaps it’s a lesson I refuse to learn or a quality I so admire that I keep bumping into it to remind me of its importance in life.  Patience.

As many of you know, patience is not my strong suit.  I always joke that when God was passing out patience, I stood in line with a strainer and most of it ended up on the floor.  (Now, when I stood in line for Organization, I had a steel bucket and was first in line.) Being patient does not come easy for me like it does my dad.  He can sit and be quiet and wait for hours and never complain.  Never.

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If we are patient, then God has time to work and lay out the road before us and lead us where we need to go.  If we rush, we miss the signs, we miss the turn in the road creating a whole other series of events for ouselves.  You have to make a u-turn, possibly ask for directions, fill up with gas and hope there is another on-ramp to the road you were supposed to be on. We create problems for ourselves by not being patient and thinking we know best.

If we are patient, we may still have the struggles that come in life, but the solutions are easier to see, to feel, to hear.  When we slow down and listen, are consciously patient, we see the flowers that grow beside the stop sign we quickly run through. We can feel the warmth of the sun on our backs when we are tired from the day. We can hear our favorite song playing in the restaurant behind all the chatter and forks clanking.  Being patient requires effort on our part to see things differently, to see what God sees in us and our lives.

We live in a world of instant gratification, instant messages, instant downloads, instant coffee, instant everything.  It’s easy, but is easy always better? I don’t think so.  This week I will be patient and listen and then listen some more.  I will learn this lesson and appreciate all Patience has to offer and try my best not to make any u-turns.