I'm homesick. And sad. I've been feeling vaguely unhappy as of late, and the feeling has slowly defined itself over the last couple of days, coalescing into clarity when I told my sister on the phone, "It feels like my house, but not my home." You see, I've packed all my belongings, unpacked most of them, changed my address, hung a few pictures on the walls, and scrubbed the showers, but my soul hasn't settled here yet. The part of me that likes to feel cozy, that likes to belong, is still floating around in limbo, looking for a place to perch.
We moved a month ago, and already we've lived some good life here. We've played with our kids, cut down some trees, entertained family and friends, hosted our small group from church. All the things that we did in our old home, plus some new things, we are doing here. But it just doesn't feel right yet. Maybe it's the lingering smell of......whatever that unpleasantness is. My cabinets smell funny, and Arm & Hammer can only do so much. There's a seemingly endless list of pesky little honey-do jobs that need to be done. There are three old toilets sitting in the garage, waiting to be hauled off (thankfully, they are no longer the three toilets sitting in my bathrooms. Husband for the win!). I've unpacked things and can't remember where I put them. I can't figure out where to hang my pictures (brilliant sister who helped with the living room collage, please come back!!).
Complain, complain, complain.
The way I feel right now reminds me of a story I read of a group of people who experienced incredible injustice and cruelty at the hand of a tyrannical megalomaniac.They had done nothing wrong to deserve this treatment, and they had no one and no where to turn for help. But someone knew of their plight, and because of an old promise made almost half a millennium before, they decided to save them. The process of their salvation was painful for everyone involved. It was also unspeakably terrifying, awesome, and powerful. Supernatural events brought the tyrant to his knees and the poor, oppressed people were allowed to leave their house of bondage to wander into the wilderness of freedom.
You've surely guessed by now that I'm talking about the children of Israel, God's chosen people that He freed from slavery in Egypt in order to take them to the Promised Land. Literally, a land He promised to them through their ancestors. You're also probably wondering what their story has to do with mine.
First let me say that my story is small, and insignificant, and puny when compared with the story of the Exodus. I've known this story for as long as I can remember but thanks to fantastic study material written by Jen Wilkin and the teaching of three godly, capable women, this story has gripped me and affected me in ways that it never has before. Those children of Israel have marched right out of my Bible and brought their weary, sandy selves into my living room. Those Egyptians have been hounding me, breathing threats of revenge and death down my neck, while the waves curled away from my toes. That Passover lamb has looked into my eyes the second before it's throat was cut, and I watched the life drain out of it. This isn't a small story. It's HUGE, in every possible way. My story isn't huge, but it's the one I live every day.
Even though the difference in magnitude between my story and the story of Israel's exodus from Egypt is so vast, I still find myself in that story every time I sit down to do my lesson for the week. I see my need to trust. Daily. No matter what. I see my need to obey. Daily. No matter what. I see my great God. Kind. Majestic. Powerful. Terrifying. Just. And this week, this day, I saw how I, just like Israel, was complaining instead of thanking, was nursing my discontent instead of counting my blessings.
You see, about a month after Israel left Egypt through the miraculous wonders that God wrought, they started complaining. "We're hungry. We're thirsty. We wish we had died in Egypt where they had meat pots and bread." I'm not so sure about the meat pots, but I totally identify with the bread. Even more than that I identify with the underlying emotion, and ultimately the underlying sin. By complaining about my circumstances I'm telling God that He isn't doing it right, that I don't like His plan for me and I want things done differently, preferably right away. I liked my old house that smelled nice and where I could find everything. Maybe I should just go back there and leave this smelly, disorganized soulless shell of an abode. But not really. Israel wanted a smooth transition from Egypt to Canaan. I want to instantly feel at home in this new-to-me house. We both want the same things. We want security, and we want it on our terms.
Thank God He doesn't operate that way. I'm His child, so I can always, without a doubt, know that He is working in my life in ways that will manifest and magnify His glory and will draw me into deeper relationship with Him by making me more like His most precious, perfect Son. He did the same with Israel, His chosen people. He took them through 40 years of uncomfortable and formative desert dwelling before they every set foot on promised ground. Who knows how long it's going to be, and all the things that God will do with me and for me before I feel at home in this house. Maybe I never will. Maybe this longing for earthly comfort isn't such a good thing. I can feather my nest here, but how long will that last? 20 years in this house? Another 50 or 60 years in this body? Nothing here is permanent. And so what I really truly want, and what I prayed for tonight, was that this longing I have for home will be transformed into a longing for heaven, my real home, my Promised Land.
In the end, it's all I really want.
-Ashley
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Useful Beauty
I've been thinking about beauty and functionality lately, particularly as it relates to my dishwasher. Yes, my dishwasher. We recently moved into a 25 year old house complete with the original appliances in the kitchen in all of their 1990 almond-colored glory. In addition to the fact that they looked old, decrepit, and dirty, they just weren't beautiful. So we opted to replace them with new ones (big surprise?). Although the appliances were old the granite countertops were new, so we chose a microwave, range, and dishwasher in stainless steel finished to a slate gray. Gorgeous. The range is a beast, complete with a 5th burner and cast iron griddle pan that weighs more than both my children combined. The microwave pops the perfect bag of popcorn. We're talking 4-5 unpopped kernels every time. (My husband and I are kind of popcorn snobs, and we also don't get out much. Unpopped kernels are big news around here.)
The dishwasher is an entirely different piece of machinery, with her own quirky little personality. For one thing, it sings a little song at the end of the wash cycle. It's a vast improvement over the foghorn-like tone of the buzzer on my dryer, but still a little....strange. But it's the interior where things get really funky. The top rack is much like what I had at my previous house, so no problems there. The utensil baskets hook onto the front exterior of both top and bottom racks, and because of their contour make it difficult to load a bunch of silverware, unless you use those weird grated basket lids. The bottom rack is another thing altogether. One side has racks at a normal height and spacing, but the other side the racks are spread so widely apart that only certain items can easily be loaded there. I'm all about getting the dishwasher as full as absolutely possible before running it, so these racks have really had me stumped.
Okay, I know. Funky dishwasher racks. First world problems. Believe me, I'm very thankful for the dishwasher. Very.
When we purchased the dishwasher we did so for two reasons. First, because we wanted a machine to clean our dishes for us, and we knew it could get the job done. Second, because it matched the other appliances, which looked good with the granite, and in turn made the entire kitchen more appealing. Useful and beautiful.
I realize now that I sacrificed some utility on the altar of beauty. If I had been hugely concerned about the ease of loading my dishes I would've opened the door of every available dishwasher and inspected the racks until I found the one that seemed most functional, regardless of the exterior color, button placements, handle options, etc. But I didn't. I chose the appliances to match the granite, and went with it.
Functionality, usefulness, and practicality are constantly fighting against attractiveness, beauty, loveliness. The more time I can invest in something, the lovelier it can be. For instance, take the posts I write. The creation of each post is a sacrifice of my time, and the reading of it is a sacrifice of yours, two facts that I take seriously. I don't have time to waste on this endeavor. If I'm going to write something, I want it to be good. So I wait until I have something to say, and then I work on how I say it for as long as it takes to make it good enough for me to feel like you might want to sacrifice some time to read it. And when you do, I truly appreciate it. When you leave comments about how you connected with what I wrote, I'm over the moon. Because that's when I know that the beauty I strove for in what I wrote met with usefulness in some small part in your life, and that makes both of our sacrifices completely worthwhile.
All of that being said, I am considering taking on a new endeavor, something crazy that I don't have much time for, which might not result in any beauty or practicality for anyone. I am thinking about joining the NaNoWriMo challenge next month.
If you've never heard of it, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, which just so happens to be November. The challenge is to write a 50,000 word novel in the 30 days of the month. Doesn't sound too hard, until you start breaking it down. Let's see, 50,000 words in 30 days....that's roughly 1,667 words each day. Still doesn't sound too bad, right? And then you start doing it. And for a little while it goes beautifully, amazingly well. You are soaring along this current of words that come roaring out of your brain and gushing out through your fingers. The novel is writing itself and the exercise is pure fun. But then the doldrums set in. The story stalls, your characters get lost, and you have a permanent ache in your stomach as you try to figure out, "Where am I going with this?" The rest of the process is hard. It's work. You scrape your brain for every single one of those 1,667 words on some days, and you use little cheats like expanding all contractions just so you can meet that final word count. When it's done the relief in your bones is all you can feel, because your brain has permanently seized up in order to accomplish this feat.
For what?
No one is going to read that novel, no one is even going to know about that novel, unless you tell them, unless you offer it to them. There's no guarantee it's any good (for a novel written that quickly by an amateur, you can pretty much bet it won't be). So why go to all of that trouble? That strain? That work? When the product is mostly likely going to benefit no one, and certainly won't be beautiful.
Because some things are neither beautiful, nor functional. Some things just are. They are a self-contained effort that you do just because you want to, because even though it's painful and hard, it's also hugely rewarding. Maybe it's a selfish or foolish waste of time. That's for you to decide for yourself. For me, it's an excuse to indulge in something I love, which is writing just for the pure joy of playing with words, for shaping and being shaped by them. I guess it really is something beautiful after all.
It's time to stop playing with these words for now. My very beautiful daughter needs some practical attention from her mother.
The dishwasher is an entirely different piece of machinery, with her own quirky little personality. For one thing, it sings a little song at the end of the wash cycle. It's a vast improvement over the foghorn-like tone of the buzzer on my dryer, but still a little....strange. But it's the interior where things get really funky. The top rack is much like what I had at my previous house, so no problems there. The utensil baskets hook onto the front exterior of both top and bottom racks, and because of their contour make it difficult to load a bunch of silverware, unless you use those weird grated basket lids. The bottom rack is another thing altogether. One side has racks at a normal height and spacing, but the other side the racks are spread so widely apart that only certain items can easily be loaded there. I'm all about getting the dishwasher as full as absolutely possible before running it, so these racks have really had me stumped.
Okay, I know. Funky dishwasher racks. First world problems. Believe me, I'm very thankful for the dishwasher. Very.
When we purchased the dishwasher we did so for two reasons. First, because we wanted a machine to clean our dishes for us, and we knew it could get the job done. Second, because it matched the other appliances, which looked good with the granite, and in turn made the entire kitchen more appealing. Useful and beautiful.
I realize now that I sacrificed some utility on the altar of beauty. If I had been hugely concerned about the ease of loading my dishes I would've opened the door of every available dishwasher and inspected the racks until I found the one that seemed most functional, regardless of the exterior color, button placements, handle options, etc. But I didn't. I chose the appliances to match the granite, and went with it.
Functionality, usefulness, and practicality are constantly fighting against attractiveness, beauty, loveliness. The more time I can invest in something, the lovelier it can be. For instance, take the posts I write. The creation of each post is a sacrifice of my time, and the reading of it is a sacrifice of yours, two facts that I take seriously. I don't have time to waste on this endeavor. If I'm going to write something, I want it to be good. So I wait until I have something to say, and then I work on how I say it for as long as it takes to make it good enough for me to feel like you might want to sacrifice some time to read it. And when you do, I truly appreciate it. When you leave comments about how you connected with what I wrote, I'm over the moon. Because that's when I know that the beauty I strove for in what I wrote met with usefulness in some small part in your life, and that makes both of our sacrifices completely worthwhile.
All of that being said, I am considering taking on a new endeavor, something crazy that I don't have much time for, which might not result in any beauty or practicality for anyone. I am thinking about joining the NaNoWriMo challenge next month.
If you've never heard of it, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, which just so happens to be November. The challenge is to write a 50,000 word novel in the 30 days of the month. Doesn't sound too hard, until you start breaking it down. Let's see, 50,000 words in 30 days....that's roughly 1,667 words each day. Still doesn't sound too bad, right? And then you start doing it. And for a little while it goes beautifully, amazingly well. You are soaring along this current of words that come roaring out of your brain and gushing out through your fingers. The novel is writing itself and the exercise is pure fun. But then the doldrums set in. The story stalls, your characters get lost, and you have a permanent ache in your stomach as you try to figure out, "Where am I going with this?" The rest of the process is hard. It's work. You scrape your brain for every single one of those 1,667 words on some days, and you use little cheats like expanding all contractions just so you can meet that final word count. When it's done the relief in your bones is all you can feel, because your brain has permanently seized up in order to accomplish this feat.
For what?
No one is going to read that novel, no one is even going to know about that novel, unless you tell them, unless you offer it to them. There's no guarantee it's any good (for a novel written that quickly by an amateur, you can pretty much bet it won't be). So why go to all of that trouble? That strain? That work? When the product is mostly likely going to benefit no one, and certainly won't be beautiful.
Because some things are neither beautiful, nor functional. Some things just are. They are a self-contained effort that you do just because you want to, because even though it's painful and hard, it's also hugely rewarding. Maybe it's a selfish or foolish waste of time. That's for you to decide for yourself. For me, it's an excuse to indulge in something I love, which is writing just for the pure joy of playing with words, for shaping and being shaped by them. I guess it really is something beautiful after all.
It's time to stop playing with these words for now. My very beautiful daughter needs some practical attention from her mother.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
What is that smell?
It's early Saturday evening. I'm sitting in a restaurant with my family, trying to juggle eating a rice bowl and coaxing my daughter to eat as well while she stands on my lap. I've not felt well all day, and that feeling of un-well-being is only compounded by the bodily and mental tiredness brought on by an afternoon of shopping with a 4 year old and 1 year old for diapers, toilet paper, and paint hardener (we are moving and need to dispose of our ridiculous number of leftover paint cans). This moment with my daughter standing on my lap, dropping bites of rice and chicken on me while crumpling a quesadilla in her chubby fist is not what I want to be doing. It's not where I want to be. I want to be looking pretty and riding alone with my husband on our way to a movie. Or shopping for something that I can't find in a home improvement store. Or just asleep. I just don't want to be Mommy right now. Because right now being Mommy is unpleasant and messy and just plain hard.
And then for some reason I lean toward my daughter and sniff her arm. Her smooth, pudgy, warm little arm. And that smell changes my entire demeanor. Her sweet baby smell disappeared a long time ago and was replaced by her own special scent of toddler. Her whole life is right there on her skin. Body wash and snacks and sheets and dirt and everything else. Her gorgeous little being is right there, right beside my face, and when I breathe it in I don't want to be anybody else doing anything else. Because how empty would my heart be without this little girl who is joyous and joyful, even with her occasional (okay, sometimes frequent) fits of temper and stubbornness? Who could I love as much as I love her handsome blue-eyed brother across the table, with his own amazing gifts and challenges and quirks? His charming absurdities and qualities that make him one of the most delightful people I know?
Knowing what I know now, and knowing who I know now, these precious little people, how could I really un-wish that for myself? Being in this moment is all I ever really wanted or planned for in my life. Okay, I didn't really plan on queso on my jeans and having to do a balancing act just to eat my dinner. But I also didn't plan on the intensity and depth of love I feel for these two. Because I didn't know. I couldn't know.
Kids have plenty of smells associated with them, most of which are unpleasant and unwelcome. But sometimes those smells are sweet and endearing, reminding parents why we wanted this in the first place, why we wake up everyday to it, why we would do it all over again. Sometimes, a smell can change a moment and save your day.
-Ashley
And then for some reason I lean toward my daughter and sniff her arm. Her smooth, pudgy, warm little arm. And that smell changes my entire demeanor. Her sweet baby smell disappeared a long time ago and was replaced by her own special scent of toddler. Her whole life is right there on her skin. Body wash and snacks and sheets and dirt and everything else. Her gorgeous little being is right there, right beside my face, and when I breathe it in I don't want to be anybody else doing anything else. Because how empty would my heart be without this little girl who is joyous and joyful, even with her occasional (okay, sometimes frequent) fits of temper and stubbornness? Who could I love as much as I love her handsome blue-eyed brother across the table, with his own amazing gifts and challenges and quirks? His charming absurdities and qualities that make him one of the most delightful people I know?
Knowing what I know now, and knowing who I know now, these precious little people, how could I really un-wish that for myself? Being in this moment is all I ever really wanted or planned for in my life. Okay, I didn't really plan on queso on my jeans and having to do a balancing act just to eat my dinner. But I also didn't plan on the intensity and depth of love I feel for these two. Because I didn't know. I couldn't know.
Kids have plenty of smells associated with them, most of which are unpleasant and unwelcome. But sometimes those smells are sweet and endearing, reminding parents why we wanted this in the first place, why we wake up everyday to it, why we would do it all over again. Sometimes, a smell can change a moment and save your day.
-Ashley
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Straight to Grace
It's a rare morning in summer. Rare because there is a breeze, and the sun isn't broiling my skin (yet). My husband is mowing the yard, and I am spending time with the kids on the driveway, pulling them in the wagon, helping the littlest play on her brother's ride-on firetruck. Because my daughter is occupying her brother's toy, I decide to pull out his tricycle so he will have something to ride on as well.
There's a history with this tricycle. It's still shiny and almost new, with a minimal layer of dust and only a tiny bit of rust. That's because since we gave it to our son at Christmas two years ago he has ridden on it a grand total of, say, 5, maybe 6 times. The art of pedaling has up to this point eluded him, and he doesn't seem interested enough in riding it to apply himself to learning how to do it. My husband and I have the base line opinion of: It's okay. Riding toys just aren't his thing. He would rather run anyway. All of those things are true. But what is also true is that it bugs me, A LOT, that my son still doesn't, still won't ride the tricycle. So every now and then I get the brilliant idea to drag the thing out of the garage, plunk his butt in it, and give him a lesson in how to ride a tricycle. It usually ends in frustration and tears. This morning was no different.
In the moment, when he was sitting there, grasping the handle bars, whining, protesting and crying, I told myself the problem was with him. That he just needed to suck it up and try harder. Tears don't get you anywhere, I said. He whined some more. I got angrier. By some miracle he finally managed to ride a few more feet and I decided that was enough for today. He hadn't learned anything about riding a tricycle, but he had learned plenty about his mother.
On the one hand, my son certainly needs to learn to keep trying something, even when it is hard, especially when it is hard. He needs to know that there is value just in the trying, whether he succeeds or not. And he definitely needs to experience the pleasure that comes with overcoming a difficulty, solving a problem, learning a task.
But those weren't the lessons I was teaching him this morning. By acting harshly and speaking angrily, I was teaching him that success is all that matters. I was teaching that lesson at the cost of his tears, of his joy, of his desire to try something new. He will probably never ride that tricycle, unless I tell him to, because every association he has with it is bad. But the tricycle isn't really the point at all. The point, the problem, really, is that I am so caught up with my own frustration, my own desire for him to do this one thing, that I completely lose sight of the fact that he's a little boy who needs encouragement, and patience, and love. He needs to see me smiling, helping, motivating, not scowling and belittling.
I kind of hate that tricycle, because it seems like such a lighting rod for some of the worst acts of motherhood that I commit. A big part of me would like to throw it in the trash can and be done with it. But that wouldn't teach my son to persevere. And it definitely wouldn't get rid of the real problems, which are my own pride and selfishness, my unkindness and anger. If only it were so easy as throwing them in the trash can and being done with them.
This is a moment when I have to preach the gospel to myself again, and hope that next time I will remember it first, and respond with grace to my son. I need to remind myself that Jesus died because of my pride, selfishness, unkindness, and anger, so that I can be free of them. No single effort on my part can effectively kill those ugly sins that spring so easily from my heart. But Jesus is my Savior and so again today, I know that He has saved me from those things. And He will continue to save me from those sins, because I am His.
After I told my son he could stop riding the tricycle I hugged him. I told him I loved him. And I apologized to him. I wish I could undo all the unkindness that came before, but by God's grace I was able to make it right after the fact. Maybe next time I will remember to skip all the ugly and go straight to grace.
-Ashley
There's a history with this tricycle. It's still shiny and almost new, with a minimal layer of dust and only a tiny bit of rust. That's because since we gave it to our son at Christmas two years ago he has ridden on it a grand total of, say, 5, maybe 6 times. The art of pedaling has up to this point eluded him, and he doesn't seem interested enough in riding it to apply himself to learning how to do it. My husband and I have the base line opinion of: It's okay. Riding toys just aren't his thing. He would rather run anyway. All of those things are true. But what is also true is that it bugs me, A LOT, that my son still doesn't, still won't ride the tricycle. So every now and then I get the brilliant idea to drag the thing out of the garage, plunk his butt in it, and give him a lesson in how to ride a tricycle. It usually ends in frustration and tears. This morning was no different.
In the moment, when he was sitting there, grasping the handle bars, whining, protesting and crying, I told myself the problem was with him. That he just needed to suck it up and try harder. Tears don't get you anywhere, I said. He whined some more. I got angrier. By some miracle he finally managed to ride a few more feet and I decided that was enough for today. He hadn't learned anything about riding a tricycle, but he had learned plenty about his mother.
On the one hand, my son certainly needs to learn to keep trying something, even when it is hard, especially when it is hard. He needs to know that there is value just in the trying, whether he succeeds or not. And he definitely needs to experience the pleasure that comes with overcoming a difficulty, solving a problem, learning a task.
But those weren't the lessons I was teaching him this morning. By acting harshly and speaking angrily, I was teaching him that success is all that matters. I was teaching that lesson at the cost of his tears, of his joy, of his desire to try something new. He will probably never ride that tricycle, unless I tell him to, because every association he has with it is bad. But the tricycle isn't really the point at all. The point, the problem, really, is that I am so caught up with my own frustration, my own desire for him to do this one thing, that I completely lose sight of the fact that he's a little boy who needs encouragement, and patience, and love. He needs to see me smiling, helping, motivating, not scowling and belittling.
I kind of hate that tricycle, because it seems like such a lighting rod for some of the worst acts of motherhood that I commit. A big part of me would like to throw it in the trash can and be done with it. But that wouldn't teach my son to persevere. And it definitely wouldn't get rid of the real problems, which are my own pride and selfishness, my unkindness and anger. If only it were so easy as throwing them in the trash can and being done with them.
This is a moment when I have to preach the gospel to myself again, and hope that next time I will remember it first, and respond with grace to my son. I need to remind myself that Jesus died because of my pride, selfishness, unkindness, and anger, so that I can be free of them. No single effort on my part can effectively kill those ugly sins that spring so easily from my heart. But Jesus is my Savior and so again today, I know that He has saved me from those things. And He will continue to save me from those sins, because I am His.
After I told my son he could stop riding the tricycle I hugged him. I told him I loved him. And I apologized to him. I wish I could undo all the unkindness that came before, but by God's grace I was able to make it right after the fact. Maybe next time I will remember to skip all the ugly and go straight to grace.
-Ashley
Thursday, June 25, 2015
The Business of Summer
When catching up with friends lately, it's been typical for each of us to ask, "What have you been up to this summer?" They have great answers like, "I'm having a baby!" and, "I'm going on a mission trip!" or, "We just bought a house!" When it's my turn to reply, I blank. Completely. Vacation was almost two months ago and I'm still harking back to it. "Well, you know, we traveled the first week of May..." Lame.
The truth is that nothing very exciting or earth-shattering is going on for me this summer. The things that do happen look pretty much the same from day today, until I get right down on eye level with them, and hold my breath, and don't blink, and then I see some things that are amazing.
What am I doing this summer? Here's what I wish I could remember to say.
I'm watching my baby girl learn to walk in that hurtling, crashing, forward motion full of hope that she finds my arms before she hits the floor. She does. And then one day, really soon, she's not going to launch herself into my arms. She's going to push off from them. And that part of the business of summer will be done. She will officially know how to walk, and all her life will change.
I'm watching my son run, run, everywhere in shoes that surely belong on a circus clown and not his feet. How he doesn't trip and fall all over himself, I don't know. But he doesn't. He runs and jumps and moves like the deer that venture into my yard, wrecking my roses and somehow still making me thankful for a glimpse of them. And when they appear, the nervousness so obvious in their twitching tails and flaring nostrils, I call to my boy to come, quick, but be very quiet, and we stand together and watch these beautiful, destructive creatures. For a moment he is still, and then he's off again, springing away on those skinny little legs, bounding with energy. No one told me that part of the business of parenting is learning that you will constantly watch your child moving away from you, in tiny steps, then leaps and bounds.
I'm being amazed by the magic of witnessing a hummingbird feeding from the blossoms on my hosta plants, which have exploded into a riotous entanglement of leggy stalks and broad leaves all along the front of my house. Just watching those plants grow a little (or a lot) each day has been a small but sure pleasure since those first strange purple fingers began clawing their way through the soil into the sunshine. And now to see these enigmatically beautiful birds coming right up to my window and passing from flower to flower is a moment pregnant with wonder and amazement, bred in my grandmother's living room as everyone stopped whatever they were doing in order to watch the "hummer" at the feeder outside the window. The business of appreciating beauty, no matter how small or momentary, is best learned early.
I'm working with my husband every day to keep our family fed, our house clean, our souls and minds and bodies nourished with love and forgiveness and gospel and grace. I'm doing the mundane, the boring, the essential to keep life here afloat. Most days I think a lot about what I do, and don't spend nearly enough time thanking the ONE who allows me to do it, who gives me the strength for it, who pours grace all over me and my family when I fail. Which I do. A lot. A nutrient rich breakfast is nothing if it's served from a surly, closed hand. So this summer I'm learning, and learning, and learning, the business of loving, because I'm loved.
So the business of my summer is growth. Growing flowers. Growing kids. Growing awareness of grace. Everywhere, in everything, there is a way to grow in grace.
-Ashley
The truth is that nothing very exciting or earth-shattering is going on for me this summer. The things that do happen look pretty much the same from day today, until I get right down on eye level with them, and hold my breath, and don't blink, and then I see some things that are amazing.
What am I doing this summer? Here's what I wish I could remember to say.
I'm watching my baby girl learn to walk in that hurtling, crashing, forward motion full of hope that she finds my arms before she hits the floor. She does. And then one day, really soon, she's not going to launch herself into my arms. She's going to push off from them. And that part of the business of summer will be done. She will officially know how to walk, and all her life will change.
I'm watching my son run, run, everywhere in shoes that surely belong on a circus clown and not his feet. How he doesn't trip and fall all over himself, I don't know. But he doesn't. He runs and jumps and moves like the deer that venture into my yard, wrecking my roses and somehow still making me thankful for a glimpse of them. And when they appear, the nervousness so obvious in their twitching tails and flaring nostrils, I call to my boy to come, quick, but be very quiet, and we stand together and watch these beautiful, destructive creatures. For a moment he is still, and then he's off again, springing away on those skinny little legs, bounding with energy. No one told me that part of the business of parenting is learning that you will constantly watch your child moving away from you, in tiny steps, then leaps and bounds.
I'm being amazed by the magic of witnessing a hummingbird feeding from the blossoms on my hosta plants, which have exploded into a riotous entanglement of leggy stalks and broad leaves all along the front of my house. Just watching those plants grow a little (or a lot) each day has been a small but sure pleasure since those first strange purple fingers began clawing their way through the soil into the sunshine. And now to see these enigmatically beautiful birds coming right up to my window and passing from flower to flower is a moment pregnant with wonder and amazement, bred in my grandmother's living room as everyone stopped whatever they were doing in order to watch the "hummer" at the feeder outside the window. The business of appreciating beauty, no matter how small or momentary, is best learned early.
I'm working with my husband every day to keep our family fed, our house clean, our souls and minds and bodies nourished with love and forgiveness and gospel and grace. I'm doing the mundane, the boring, the essential to keep life here afloat. Most days I think a lot about what I do, and don't spend nearly enough time thanking the ONE who allows me to do it, who gives me the strength for it, who pours grace all over me and my family when I fail. Which I do. A lot. A nutrient rich breakfast is nothing if it's served from a surly, closed hand. So this summer I'm learning, and learning, and learning, the business of loving, because I'm loved.
So the business of my summer is growth. Growing flowers. Growing kids. Growing awareness of grace. Everywhere, in everything, there is a way to grow in grace.
-Ashley
Monday, May 11, 2015
Lessons Learned
My vacation last week provided a lot of material for me to write about. There was the glorious reality of the beauty of the ocean that I already expected from pictures on the Internet. The joy of sharing lunch with my daughter under an umbrella on the sand. The realization of my infinite smallness and infinite worth as I gazed at those tiny coarse grains, knowing that God's children are innumerable to me, and intimately known to Him. More practically, I came away with several food experiences to share, some good, some bad. Big Al's Diner on Roanoke Island has the best guacamole I've ever tasted, and Duck Donuts is worth every penny you spend there. Goombay's and The Rundown are over-priced and under-seasoned, though the koi pond at The Rundown was a treat (and a hazard!!) for the kids.
As I lived through these experiences and mulled over them during the (very long) ride home, I had trouble deciding what aspect of the vacation I wanted to write a post about. Writing about each one would help me to process through them and see them more objectively, but would probably bore you to tears, my dear readers, or scare you away forever. After all, this isn't an online diary. What a scary thought, indeed.
The part of my time away that had the biggest impact on me was the book I took with me. The Hardest Peace: Experiencing Grace in the Midst of Life's Hard by Kara Tippetts was an unexpected gift from my mom, who recently began following Kara's blog, Mundane Faithfulness. Mom joined that community of readers right before Kara died of cancer. Knowing the outcome of Kara's fight profoundly changed how I read her book. Instead of enjoying a breezy read in the warm, beachy sunlight, I found myself curled next to my husband on a deck chair made for one, weeping at the harsh realities of this woman's life, and marveling at her steady commitment to know and experience Jesus and His love ever deeper through it all. In each chapter, Kara unflinchingly told her life story, beginning with childhood and continuing on through her salvation, marriage, diagnosis, and treatment. I've never read anything more real.
Every chapter was like a one-two punch. The hard truths of finding herself with a husband, 4 young children, and cancer. The glorious shining of her faith in Jesus, her reliance on Him. I was saddened. I was convicted. I was made hungry to know Jesus more. I was terrified that this could happen to me, another young mother of young children with dreams and plans and health.
I was also emboldened. In writing this blog I feel both the desire and the burden to be complete. To have my life together, to know what I'm talking about, to be full of wisdom and gracious speech. My reality could not be more different. I'm a believer in Jesus Christ and His finished work on the cross, but many days I struggle to keep my head above the water and continue to believe the gospel. I begin to look at my life so myopically and see my imperfections looming so large that I forget I am looking at them in the shadow of the cross. Wisdom and graciousness is what I want to be true about my life. Anger, selfishness, pride, and a deep need for continuing grace is the truth.
What I learned from Kara is that if I am going to write something I must be honest about it. I must look at things as they are, and not try to gloss over the rough edges, or turn a blind eye to realities that I just rather not see. I learned that to write from a place of strength is really to write from a well of weakness, a well that is open and ready to receive the strength of Jesus, the only true strength that there is. If I am going to write on completeness, I must write in honesty. Honesty that acknowledges I am a daughter of the King, imperfections and all. It wasn't my goodness that drew Him to me, it was His grace that drew me to Him.
I've been freed from the need to present a pleasant, cleaned-up, holy facade. That doesn't mean all my dirty laundry gets hung out in my front yard, but it does mean I won't pretend to be something I am not.
I'm not perfect.
Neither are you.
Jesus is.
I love Him.
That's my reality.
-Ashley
As I lived through these experiences and mulled over them during the (very long) ride home, I had trouble deciding what aspect of the vacation I wanted to write a post about. Writing about each one would help me to process through them and see them more objectively, but would probably bore you to tears, my dear readers, or scare you away forever. After all, this isn't an online diary. What a scary thought, indeed.
The part of my time away that had the biggest impact on me was the book I took with me. The Hardest Peace: Experiencing Grace in the Midst of Life's Hard by Kara Tippetts was an unexpected gift from my mom, who recently began following Kara's blog, Mundane Faithfulness. Mom joined that community of readers right before Kara died of cancer. Knowing the outcome of Kara's fight profoundly changed how I read her book. Instead of enjoying a breezy read in the warm, beachy sunlight, I found myself curled next to my husband on a deck chair made for one, weeping at the harsh realities of this woman's life, and marveling at her steady commitment to know and experience Jesus and His love ever deeper through it all. In each chapter, Kara unflinchingly told her life story, beginning with childhood and continuing on through her salvation, marriage, diagnosis, and treatment. I've never read anything more real.
Every chapter was like a one-two punch. The hard truths of finding herself with a husband, 4 young children, and cancer. The glorious shining of her faith in Jesus, her reliance on Him. I was saddened. I was convicted. I was made hungry to know Jesus more. I was terrified that this could happen to me, another young mother of young children with dreams and plans and health.
I was also emboldened. In writing this blog I feel both the desire and the burden to be complete. To have my life together, to know what I'm talking about, to be full of wisdom and gracious speech. My reality could not be more different. I'm a believer in Jesus Christ and His finished work on the cross, but many days I struggle to keep my head above the water and continue to believe the gospel. I begin to look at my life so myopically and see my imperfections looming so large that I forget I am looking at them in the shadow of the cross. Wisdom and graciousness is what I want to be true about my life. Anger, selfishness, pride, and a deep need for continuing grace is the truth.
What I learned from Kara is that if I am going to write something I must be honest about it. I must look at things as they are, and not try to gloss over the rough edges, or turn a blind eye to realities that I just rather not see. I learned that to write from a place of strength is really to write from a well of weakness, a well that is open and ready to receive the strength of Jesus, the only true strength that there is. If I am going to write on completeness, I must write in honesty. Honesty that acknowledges I am a daughter of the King, imperfections and all. It wasn't my goodness that drew Him to me, it was His grace that drew me to Him.
I've been freed from the need to present a pleasant, cleaned-up, holy facade. That doesn't mean all my dirty laundry gets hung out in my front yard, but it does mean I won't pretend to be something I am not.
I'm not perfect.
Neither are you.
Jesus is.
I love Him.
That's my reality.
-Ashley
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Vacation Plans
My little family is planning a vacation. It's our first big time away since our daughter was born a year ago, so of course I am concerned about remembering to pack all of the required baby paraphernalia. To be honest, I'm a bit of an obnoxious uber-planner whenever I travel, baby or not, complete with extensively detailed lists of everything we could possibly need. If my husband were in charge of the packing he would throw a few outfits and a pair of shoes into a bag for each person, grab some diapers and the formula, and be ready to go without any attendant anxiety. Bless his heart. How I envy him.
But I'm the one in charge of packing, so everyone in the house is stuck with Psycho-Planner Mommy until the moment we leave. I probably owe my son an ICEE from Target at this point.
Even with all of my forethought and notes and lists, there is one elusive, but very important item, that I am consistently forgetting: the joyous fact that we are going on vacation!!! It's so obvious that I completely overlook it, or just bury it beneath the mound of work that I impose on myself in order to get ready to actually go. Because not only do I like to wash all the laundry in order to be able to pack whatever I want/need, I also like to clean my entire house so I come home to a nice fresh space. And all of that busyness and planning and doing and stressing makes me feel necessary, important, indispensable. What it actually makes me is tired, tiresome, and trying.
Since we started planning the vacation and the initial excitement wore off, I have been swallowed up in details. For maybe one minute I have stuck my head above the fray that I created and realized how exciting it is to experience a new place with the three people I love the most and find the most joy in spending time with. I haven't concentrated on the fact that I get to introduce my daughter to the beach, and watch my son wade out into the ocean with his dad (the OCEAN?!). Even the car ride has potential. Sure, it could be miserable. The mini's in the backseat might fuss and whine the entire way, and that would be unpleasant for all of us. But bathroom stops are inevitable, and that's always a chance to see a few cool spots off the interstate in some little town in the middle of nowhere. The ride could be a lot of fun (especially since I stole all the cool toys and am saving them expressly for that purpose). Maybe we will find a great rest stop with trees and grass and space for my son to run off some energy. Or we might stop at an ice cream shop with wrought iron tables and chairs and brightly striped umbrellas out front, and I can introduce my girl to the deliciousness that is butter pecan ice cream. Who knows what adventures are out there?!?
What I am realizing now, as the preparation is at a fever pitch and departure is imminent, is that I have forgotten to be thankful. This vacation is a gift to me, from my husband, and I have chosen to turn it into a chore. It's a chance to give my kids new experiences, good, bad, and everything in between, and I've focused on what they are going to wear. Why did I bury my head in all of those petty details? Sure, we've got to wear something, but is it a life or death issue if it's cute, or even matches? Sheesh. The smallness of it all, in the face of such a grand and loving gesture. But my husband is good at this. He's been doing it for almost ten years now, extending grace and love to me in the face of my ungracious thanklessness. He learned it from our Father, who has done the same for him, and me, over and over again.
I'm about to go shopping to buy a few last minute necessities. But I think I can try to keep my head above it all and operate under thankfulness now, instead of being driven by the need to plan every last detail. I think that now I can extend a little grace to myself and enjoy this experience that we call vacation.
Maybe I'll stop by Target and get that ICEE after all.
-Ashley
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Been There, Done That...
...Bought the T-shirt, right? Not so nowadays. If one wants to properly mark a significant life event, one buys a sticker and slaps it on the rear end of a vehicle, preferably the one that person customarily drives. T-shirts are so 1990's. (Confession: a small, very repressed part of me still wants an airbrushed t-shirt from Gulf Shores with my name and a friends emblazoned across it. Oh and there have to be dolphins. Dolphins that are leaping in the shape of a heart over a red rose suspended above the ocean at sunset. Perfect.) And keychains? Don't even get me started. Nope, it's all about the stickers now if you want to let people know where you've been, what you like, what you do.
I'm not sure if the proper terminology would be "bumper sticker" anymore. I rarely see them actually affixed to the bumper. If you're cool, you position the sticker in the lower right hand corner of your rear window. This placement prevents dangerous driving practices, such as checking your rear view mirror and being overcome by the irrational fear that your highly stylized initials are following you. The lower right side of the back window also makes it easier for your passenger to read the sticker(s) on other vehicles to you as you drive, because we all know that reading any kind of text while driving is hazardous to our lives. Hence the large, flashing orange signs placed along the interstate to remind us of this very fact. If your stickers represent the members of your family (including the 13 family pets), the lower left corner of the rear window is the traditional choice. If you are supporting your favorite sports team, you will have no less than 3 stickers of varying sizes and colors placed randomly anywhere over the entire back end of the car. Drivers of pickups favor the space immediately on either side of the license plate. Any closer to the edge of the tailgate and someone might think that you should actually be driving a sedan.
In the beginning of the car flare craze, the stickers were easily readable, even by circumspect drivers such as myself, who never avert their eyes from the road, even to check on their two small children in the back seat. They are both confined to car seats on opposite sides of the vehicle. What could possibly go wrong?? Original, bona fide bumper stickers could easily fit not only John 3:16 in the King James Version but also the name and phone number of your church in a font that you could distinguish at three car lengths. But lately I have noticed a trend in these ingenious little badges. They are becoming smaller and more inscrutable. The difficulty in deciphering the message of the sticker is less a function of the font size and more a matter of the actual numbers and letters inscribed on it. (I cannot even comment on stickers that resort merely to colors to convey their meaning. That's what flags are for, people.)
It is not unlikely, in fact, it is very likely, in the course of a 10 minute drive to the grocery store for a pint of ice cream...er...I mean, bunch of organic kale, that you will see at least 5 of these incomprehensible symbols. 26.2. 13.1. OBX. Now people are just getting snarky with these things, taking us back to algebra with all these meaningless numbers and letters. But if you tailgate closely enough you will see the tiny explanation of the sticker. 26.2 miles. Oh great, this one runs marathons. What's he doing in a car, anyway? Why isn't he running? 13.1 miles. Okay, they get a pass. They only ran half the marathon, came to their senses, and are most likely now driving home to eat that pint of ice cream. OBX. OBX?!? Is this a new species of African antelope on display at the zoo? Nope. Turns out this one refers to the Outer Banks off the coasts of the Carolinas. So these people visited the Outer Banks, spent some time, ate some seafood, and loved it enough to slap those letters on the back of their vehicle which is now four hundred miles away from any banks, outer or otherwise.
But this is the one that gets me hooked. I don't know if it's the enigmatic boldness of the letter "X," or the sheer rush of genius that I feel every time I see those 3 letters grouped together and know what they mean, but I am now intrigued more than I am befuddled by these small circles traveling all over the country on the hatchbacks, tailgates, and trunk lids of various vehicles. In a way these stickers are now less about what they mean to the driver of the car they decorate, and more about the community of fellow drivers. Now they connect us, through our experiences, to one another. Even as we are ensconced in our own cars, we can discover a little bit about the lives of the people hurtling past us at 70 miles an hour.
However, for those of you sporting the 26.2, or even the 13.1 stickers, we are going to have to find some other kind of common ground.
-Ashley
I'm not sure if the proper terminology would be "bumper sticker" anymore. I rarely see them actually affixed to the bumper. If you're cool, you position the sticker in the lower right hand corner of your rear window. This placement prevents dangerous driving practices, such as checking your rear view mirror and being overcome by the irrational fear that your highly stylized initials are following you. The lower right side of the back window also makes it easier for your passenger to read the sticker(s) on other vehicles to you as you drive, because we all know that reading any kind of text while driving is hazardous to our lives. Hence the large, flashing orange signs placed along the interstate to remind us of this very fact. If your stickers represent the members of your family (including the 13 family pets), the lower left corner of the rear window is the traditional choice. If you are supporting your favorite sports team, you will have no less than 3 stickers of varying sizes and colors placed randomly anywhere over the entire back end of the car. Drivers of pickups favor the space immediately on either side of the license plate. Any closer to the edge of the tailgate and someone might think that you should actually be driving a sedan.
In the beginning of the car flare craze, the stickers were easily readable, even by circumspect drivers such as myself, who never avert their eyes from the road, even to check on their two small children in the back seat. They are both confined to car seats on opposite sides of the vehicle. What could possibly go wrong?? Original, bona fide bumper stickers could easily fit not only John 3:16 in the King James Version but also the name and phone number of your church in a font that you could distinguish at three car lengths. But lately I have noticed a trend in these ingenious little badges. They are becoming smaller and more inscrutable. The difficulty in deciphering the message of the sticker is less a function of the font size and more a matter of the actual numbers and letters inscribed on it. (I cannot even comment on stickers that resort merely to colors to convey their meaning. That's what flags are for, people.)
It is not unlikely, in fact, it is very likely, in the course of a 10 minute drive to the grocery store for a pint of ice cream...er...I mean, bunch of organic kale, that you will see at least 5 of these incomprehensible symbols. 26.2. 13.1. OBX. Now people are just getting snarky with these things, taking us back to algebra with all these meaningless numbers and letters. But if you tailgate closely enough you will see the tiny explanation of the sticker. 26.2 miles. Oh great, this one runs marathons. What's he doing in a car, anyway? Why isn't he running? 13.1 miles. Okay, they get a pass. They only ran half the marathon, came to their senses, and are most likely now driving home to eat that pint of ice cream. OBX. OBX?!? Is this a new species of African antelope on display at the zoo? Nope. Turns out this one refers to the Outer Banks off the coasts of the Carolinas. So these people visited the Outer Banks, spent some time, ate some seafood, and loved it enough to slap those letters on the back of their vehicle which is now four hundred miles away from any banks, outer or otherwise.
But this is the one that gets me hooked. I don't know if it's the enigmatic boldness of the letter "X," or the sheer rush of genius that I feel every time I see those 3 letters grouped together and know what they mean, but I am now intrigued more than I am befuddled by these small circles traveling all over the country on the hatchbacks, tailgates, and trunk lids of various vehicles. In a way these stickers are now less about what they mean to the driver of the car they decorate, and more about the community of fellow drivers. Now they connect us, through our experiences, to one another. Even as we are ensconced in our own cars, we can discover a little bit about the lives of the people hurtling past us at 70 miles an hour.
However, for those of you sporting the 26.2, or even the 13.1 stickers, we are going to have to find some other kind of common ground.
-Ashley
Monday, March 16, 2015
Holland vs. Armadillo
Armadillos. I don't like them. Where I live they are frequent roadkill, and if there is anything uglier or more disgusting than a living armadillo, it's a dead one. In addition to that, they can carry and transmit leprosy, a freakish fact I learned only after my yard had been ruined by these pests. What was previously a pretty nice lawn (okay, it was mostly weeds, but at least we kept it maintained) is now a mine field of divots with their accompanying mounds of red clay. The entire middle section of my front yard is decimated. Apparently we have an unusually high population of whatever food source these armadillos go for. Lucky us.
But holes in the yard were just the beginning. We were upgraded from 24-hour buffet to an extended stay motel, complete with all-you-can-eat grubs, ants, and earthworms. We discovered the first burrow under the cypress trees in our side yard. Burrow is such a benign word for deep, dark, scary hole. Not a comforting sight when you have a curious outdoor-loving little boy like I do. After my husband attempted to drown the armadillo in its den, the malicious beast burrowed again, directly beneath our son's slide. Not cool.
One night I surprised our resident pest as I walked out to the mailbox. Armadillos are either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. This one didn't scuttle away until I was about 12 feet away from it. When I returned to the house and told my husband I had spotted the vermin he jumped into action, grabbing a flashlight, laundry basket, and gun. Of course, our 4 year-old son was thrilled about going night hunting with his dad. A momentary lapse of judgment put the laundry basket in our son's hands, but reason returned and instead he tromped out the door manning the flashlight. Unfortunately this exciting mission proved fruitless, as the quarry sought shelter either in the woods or a neighboring yard. But did this second attempt on it's life warn it off permanently? Oh no. The holes continued to multiply.
And then one day, sweet revenge. The armadillo met the fate of so many others before it, right across the street from our house. I've never been so happy to see roadkill. Granted, the joy over the death of the marauding animal waned quickly as the corpse lingered for days as a feast for the local carrion birds, but still I was glad that we could reclaim our yard and return it to its former weed-covered glory.
But the saga wasn't over. Soon after the death of our first invader we noticed that the number of holes in our front yard had increased again. The first armadillo dug deeply over the majority of the lawn. The successor concentrated on the middle part of the yard, completely destroying all appearance of grass (weeds) with a multitude of shallow holes. Imagine my chagrin at this new development.
One night a few weeks ago my family and I were driving home after dark when we suddenly spotted an armadillo in a yard just one street over from ours. We just knew it had to be the same one that frequented our place. Could we drive past such a perfect opportunity to deliver our vengeance? Oh no. My husband stopped the car and jumped out, to the mixed cacophony of my laughter and our children's wails. The little one was crying from sleepiness, the older, so he says, because I was laughing. Either I laugh so infrequently that he wasn't sure what was happening, or the sound of it is truly terrifying. Not flattering for me in either case.
But back to my husband and the armadillo. My husband rushed around the back of the car, but once he stepped into the yard he began to feel a little awkward. First of all, he was planning to kick the armadillo, but then what? Keep kicking? Secondly, we don't even know the people who live at this house. He decided to go for a swift kick and almost made it, but the (again, brave or stupid) animal made a get-away right before my husband connected. Too bad. I still think it is pretty epic that he almost kicked an armadillo.
And that's how things remain. We, the hapless victims of this disease-infested creature. The armadillo, growing fatter by the minute on our plethora of creepy-crawly delicacies. You just thought it was cute when Simba ate that grub in The Lion King. Not so adorable in real life. Maybe I will find a way to slip a poisoned earthworm to the armadillo. That'll show it "Slimy, yet satisfying."
-Ashley
But holes in the yard were just the beginning. We were upgraded from 24-hour buffet to an extended stay motel, complete with all-you-can-eat grubs, ants, and earthworms. We discovered the first burrow under the cypress trees in our side yard. Burrow is such a benign word for deep, dark, scary hole. Not a comforting sight when you have a curious outdoor-loving little boy like I do. After my husband attempted to drown the armadillo in its den, the malicious beast burrowed again, directly beneath our son's slide. Not cool.
One night I surprised our resident pest as I walked out to the mailbox. Armadillos are either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. This one didn't scuttle away until I was about 12 feet away from it. When I returned to the house and told my husband I had spotted the vermin he jumped into action, grabbing a flashlight, laundry basket, and gun. Of course, our 4 year-old son was thrilled about going night hunting with his dad. A momentary lapse of judgment put the laundry basket in our son's hands, but reason returned and instead he tromped out the door manning the flashlight. Unfortunately this exciting mission proved fruitless, as the quarry sought shelter either in the woods or a neighboring yard. But did this second attempt on it's life warn it off permanently? Oh no. The holes continued to multiply.
And then one day, sweet revenge. The armadillo met the fate of so many others before it, right across the street from our house. I've never been so happy to see roadkill. Granted, the joy over the death of the marauding animal waned quickly as the corpse lingered for days as a feast for the local carrion birds, but still I was glad that we could reclaim our yard and return it to its former weed-covered glory.
But the saga wasn't over. Soon after the death of our first invader we noticed that the number of holes in our front yard had increased again. The first armadillo dug deeply over the majority of the lawn. The successor concentrated on the middle part of the yard, completely destroying all appearance of grass (weeds) with a multitude of shallow holes. Imagine my chagrin at this new development.
One night a few weeks ago my family and I were driving home after dark when we suddenly spotted an armadillo in a yard just one street over from ours. We just knew it had to be the same one that frequented our place. Could we drive past such a perfect opportunity to deliver our vengeance? Oh no. My husband stopped the car and jumped out, to the mixed cacophony of my laughter and our children's wails. The little one was crying from sleepiness, the older, so he says, because I was laughing. Either I laugh so infrequently that he wasn't sure what was happening, or the sound of it is truly terrifying. Not flattering for me in either case.
But back to my husband and the armadillo. My husband rushed around the back of the car, but once he stepped into the yard he began to feel a little awkward. First of all, he was planning to kick the armadillo, but then what? Keep kicking? Secondly, we don't even know the people who live at this house. He decided to go for a swift kick and almost made it, but the (again, brave or stupid) animal made a get-away right before my husband connected. Too bad. I still think it is pretty epic that he almost kicked an armadillo.
And that's how things remain. We, the hapless victims of this disease-infested creature. The armadillo, growing fatter by the minute on our plethora of creepy-crawly delicacies. You just thought it was cute when Simba ate that grub in The Lion King. Not so adorable in real life. Maybe I will find a way to slip a poisoned earthworm to the armadillo. That'll show it "Slimy, yet satisfying."
-Ashley
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Downton Abbey Season 5 Finale
I'm a bit reluctant about writing this post. Finale! How imposing! And so I am retreating to more familiar and comfortable ground and will be composing this much as I would an email to Mom. As that was the catalyst for the blog, I think it is a fitting way to finish my reviews of this season of Downton Abbey.
But before I do that, I want to say Thank You! to all of you who have read my posts, given me feedback, and been so encouraging. Choosing to write this blog was much more challenging, time consuming, and intense than I realized it would be at the outset. It was also a great joy. To combine my love of writing with my interest in Downton was a pleasure, but sharing that with my friends (and making new friends in that process!) was such a treat. So again I say, thank you.
On to the review!
Mom,
To be honest, I didn't like this episode nearly as much as I did others during the season, particularly episodes 5-7. The sweetness of it all just got to be too much for me, and at the end I felt much the same way that I do after a real holiday season, glutted up to my eyeballs with desserts and in need of a month of fasting. Or at least a No-Candy January. If the episode had been of regular length, the balance of dramatic tension and moments of happy fulfillment would have been much more equal. But once the Christmas party started the episode began to unravel, much like Robert's ability to think coherently, bless him. I'm not surprised to find that inebriation only magnifies the good qualities of Robert, and makes him into a friendlier and more expansive version of his most jovial self. Not that I would recommend he remain in a state of liquor. I love him best when he is stone cold sober.
The one thing that struck me the most during the episode and has stayed with me throughout the day is....those shockingly green brocaded walls in the dining room of Brancaster Castle! When contrasted with the medieval exterior (I would not have been surprised to see King Arthur and his knights charging out of the gates), the interior is fantastically, staggeringly luxe and opulent. Did you see the chandelier in the library? And the paneling in the stairwell? Who lives in a place like that?! And what's more, who rents a place like that just to have somewhere they can go and shoot at birds?!!? Lord Sinderby, that's who, the man who practices adultery but eschews divorce, the man who only recognizes the worth of his daughter-in-law after she prevents ruination and despair from raining down upon his bald head. Lovely Rose, sprung from thorns, what a clever heroine you were! And how much you truly love your husband and dear mother-in-law, else you would have had no reason to prevent the truth from having it's way.
It was kind of delicious to see Thomas slip so easily back into his role as sneaker and schemer, at the behest of the Mistress of Mischief, Lady Mary, and aided by the silent but deadly Baxter. What an intriguing trio! What devilry might they wreak next season?
I was bored by Anna's predicament for the first seven episodes this season, irritated when the writers took the lazy way out and threw her into jail in episode eight, and so I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when she and Bates had the exact same conversation in jail that they had when he was incarcerated. And did you notice that neither Bates nor Anna has ever denied murdering Vera and Mr. Green, respectively?? At least not that I can recall. These are two of my favorite characters! Why, oh why can't the writers do something interesting with them?? If they give her a limp next season, I'm throwing in the towel. (I laughed out loud at Thomas' comment regarding Mr. Bates willingness to cut off his arm in order to help Anna. Wobbly at both ends. Ha!)
How lovely was Edith? Motherhood has made her bloom. She is content, easy-going, playful, confident. It's been a long time coming. Her moment with Robert was both sweet and awkward, which was perfect considering their relational history. I think now that both Robert and Cora will view their middle daughter with more respect and admiration, and hopefully give more expressions of love. That's all Edith ever really needed. She needed to feel, not just know, that she was loved.
The costumes were gorgeous. Almost overwhelmingly so. How much more lavish and beautiful can these women get? But the men had the upper hand in their shooting tweeds. I think all men should forsake camouflage in favor of tweed. It is far more gentleman-like and refined. Play clothes with style. And the drabness of those clothes mingled with the mist and heather of the outdoor scenes was a welcome respite for my eyes before plunging into the next round of evening wear. (Good grief, Mary's beaded evening gown!! As she said herself at the fashion show, "Oh yummy!")
There were some wonderful juxtapositions during this episode. The echo of a gun shot becoming the ring of prison gates. The grand attire and bad manners of the dinner at Brancaster against the simplicity and friendliness round the kitchen table at Downton. And, for the 437th time, Edith's maternal instinct beside Mary's....well, what exactly does Mary feel for George??
Apparently Mary and Edith have a supernatural power that can only be employed through the use of piano music and song. Whenever we have seen these two in duet, lost men have come home. First Matthew and William in Season Two, now Bates during the Christmas party. Nice, but cheesy. I infinitely preferred the former moment. The latter was merely a pale echo.
One moment that I will not deride the writers for cashing in on was the use of the Christmas party as the setting for Carson's proposal to Mrs. Hughes. I think I felt much like Mrs. Hughes. I wanted it to happen, but I didn't necessarily expect that it would. And I love that instead of becoming even more stiff and formal in his moment of declaration and request, Carson became just like any other lover beseeching the hand of his beloved. Oh! The sweetness. But did she really have to call him a booby? I'm not ready for them to have terms of endearment yet. Let's at least drink the glasses of punch first.
I feel sorry for Isobel and Lord Merton. They genuinely care for each other, but those wicked sons would never let them be happy. So in the end I think she made the right choice. There's always hope for Dr. Clarkson! Granny certainly thinks so. I would really like to see more of him in Season Six. Even though he can be a bit cranky, he's familiar and comforting, and his little mustache is just so cute!
I do not feel sorry for Prince Kuragin. If he had channeled his intensely passionate nature into his marriage, I seriously doubt that his meeting with his wife after 5 years of separation would've been as bitter and cold as it was. What an awful evening that must have been for all of them! Granny was a little bit pathetic (blasphemy, I know!) in her solicitude on behalf of Princess Irina. But she certainly owed that woman an apology! I'm glad that Granny and Isobel can continue their amusing friendship unhindered by romantic attachments on either side.
I know there was much more to this episode, but these are the things that chiefly struck me. Well, one more thing. If Mary manages to catch another man just by wearing gorgeous clothes, looking superior, and being rude, I'm going to throw up a little bit in my mouth. It's Edith's turn. Let her have a chance at a real relationship with a man who isn't encumbered by facial bandages, a sling, or an insane wife. Sheesh!
-Ashley
But before I do that, I want to say Thank You! to all of you who have read my posts, given me feedback, and been so encouraging. Choosing to write this blog was much more challenging, time consuming, and intense than I realized it would be at the outset. It was also a great joy. To combine my love of writing with my interest in Downton was a pleasure, but sharing that with my friends (and making new friends in that process!) was such a treat. So again I say, thank you.
On to the review!
Mom,
To be honest, I didn't like this episode nearly as much as I did others during the season, particularly episodes 5-7. The sweetness of it all just got to be too much for me, and at the end I felt much the same way that I do after a real holiday season, glutted up to my eyeballs with desserts and in need of a month of fasting. Or at least a No-Candy January. If the episode had been of regular length, the balance of dramatic tension and moments of happy fulfillment would have been much more equal. But once the Christmas party started the episode began to unravel, much like Robert's ability to think coherently, bless him. I'm not surprised to find that inebriation only magnifies the good qualities of Robert, and makes him into a friendlier and more expansive version of his most jovial self. Not that I would recommend he remain in a state of liquor. I love him best when he is stone cold sober.
The one thing that struck me the most during the episode and has stayed with me throughout the day is....those shockingly green brocaded walls in the dining room of Brancaster Castle! When contrasted with the medieval exterior (I would not have been surprised to see King Arthur and his knights charging out of the gates), the interior is fantastically, staggeringly luxe and opulent. Did you see the chandelier in the library? And the paneling in the stairwell? Who lives in a place like that?! And what's more, who rents a place like that just to have somewhere they can go and shoot at birds?!!? Lord Sinderby, that's who, the man who practices adultery but eschews divorce, the man who only recognizes the worth of his daughter-in-law after she prevents ruination and despair from raining down upon his bald head. Lovely Rose, sprung from thorns, what a clever heroine you were! And how much you truly love your husband and dear mother-in-law, else you would have had no reason to prevent the truth from having it's way.
It was kind of delicious to see Thomas slip so easily back into his role as sneaker and schemer, at the behest of the Mistress of Mischief, Lady Mary, and aided by the silent but deadly Baxter. What an intriguing trio! What devilry might they wreak next season?
I was bored by Anna's predicament for the first seven episodes this season, irritated when the writers took the lazy way out and threw her into jail in episode eight, and so I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when she and Bates had the exact same conversation in jail that they had when he was incarcerated. And did you notice that neither Bates nor Anna has ever denied murdering Vera and Mr. Green, respectively?? At least not that I can recall. These are two of my favorite characters! Why, oh why can't the writers do something interesting with them?? If they give her a limp next season, I'm throwing in the towel. (I laughed out loud at Thomas' comment regarding Mr. Bates willingness to cut off his arm in order to help Anna. Wobbly at both ends. Ha!)
How lovely was Edith? Motherhood has made her bloom. She is content, easy-going, playful, confident. It's been a long time coming. Her moment with Robert was both sweet and awkward, which was perfect considering their relational history. I think now that both Robert and Cora will view their middle daughter with more respect and admiration, and hopefully give more expressions of love. That's all Edith ever really needed. She needed to feel, not just know, that she was loved.
The costumes were gorgeous. Almost overwhelmingly so. How much more lavish and beautiful can these women get? But the men had the upper hand in their shooting tweeds. I think all men should forsake camouflage in favor of tweed. It is far more gentleman-like and refined. Play clothes with style. And the drabness of those clothes mingled with the mist and heather of the outdoor scenes was a welcome respite for my eyes before plunging into the next round of evening wear. (Good grief, Mary's beaded evening gown!! As she said herself at the fashion show, "Oh yummy!")
There were some wonderful juxtapositions during this episode. The echo of a gun shot becoming the ring of prison gates. The grand attire and bad manners of the dinner at Brancaster against the simplicity and friendliness round the kitchen table at Downton. And, for the 437th time, Edith's maternal instinct beside Mary's....well, what exactly does Mary feel for George??
Apparently Mary and Edith have a supernatural power that can only be employed through the use of piano music and song. Whenever we have seen these two in duet, lost men have come home. First Matthew and William in Season Two, now Bates during the Christmas party. Nice, but cheesy. I infinitely preferred the former moment. The latter was merely a pale echo.
One moment that I will not deride the writers for cashing in on was the use of the Christmas party as the setting for Carson's proposal to Mrs. Hughes. I think I felt much like Mrs. Hughes. I wanted it to happen, but I didn't necessarily expect that it would. And I love that instead of becoming even more stiff and formal in his moment of declaration and request, Carson became just like any other lover beseeching the hand of his beloved. Oh! The sweetness. But did she really have to call him a booby? I'm not ready for them to have terms of endearment yet. Let's at least drink the glasses of punch first.
I feel sorry for Isobel and Lord Merton. They genuinely care for each other, but those wicked sons would never let them be happy. So in the end I think she made the right choice. There's always hope for Dr. Clarkson! Granny certainly thinks so. I would really like to see more of him in Season Six. Even though he can be a bit cranky, he's familiar and comforting, and his little mustache is just so cute!
I do not feel sorry for Prince Kuragin. If he had channeled his intensely passionate nature into his marriage, I seriously doubt that his meeting with his wife after 5 years of separation would've been as bitter and cold as it was. What an awful evening that must have been for all of them! Granny was a little bit pathetic (blasphemy, I know!) in her solicitude on behalf of Princess Irina. But she certainly owed that woman an apology! I'm glad that Granny and Isobel can continue their amusing friendship unhindered by romantic attachments on either side.
I know there was much more to this episode, but these are the things that chiefly struck me. Well, one more thing. If Mary manages to catch another man just by wearing gorgeous clothes, looking superior, and being rude, I'm going to throw up a little bit in my mouth. It's Edith's turn. Let her have a chance at a real relationship with a man who isn't encumbered by facial bandages, a sling, or an insane wife. Sheesh!
-Ashley
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
It's Your Turn!
This week I am blessed to be spending several days with my mom. To maximize the time I have with her (which never feels like enough) I am going to take a break from writing about Downton this week, and hand it over to you, my kind readers. So please share your comments about Episode 8 with me. I certainly look forward to reading them!
Friday, February 20, 2015
Would You Rather?
Mealtimes are a big part of each episode of Downton Abbey. It makes sense that it is so. Otherwise, the stories involving the kitchen staff would be superfluous. And what would the show be without Mrs. Patmore and Daisy? (For what it is worth, I would have been happy for the family to fast the entire fourth season, if it meant less Ivy/Alfred/Daisy/Jimmy drama.)
Some meals are (a little) more relaxed, like breakfast and tea time at the Abbey. Others are more formalized, such as tea at Granny's and, of course, dinner at Downton. Most of the actors do a lot of serving, sipping, and deft wielding of knife and fork, but not much biting and chewing. Set lights probably do all sorts of interesting things to the food before them.
So my question for you this week is this: If you could eat a meal at any venue of Downton, with any of the cast members, what meal would it be, with whom, and where?
I would choose dinner at the Abbey with as many of the cast members as could fit around the table. I would be seated within earshot of Granny, and have Rose on one side of me and either Tom or Isobel on the other. And, of course, I would be wearing an absolutely divine dress and have perfectly styled hair. I don't ask for much. Really.
I look forward to your answers!
Some meals are (a little) more relaxed, like breakfast and tea time at the Abbey. Others are more formalized, such as tea at Granny's and, of course, dinner at Downton. Most of the actors do a lot of serving, sipping, and deft wielding of knife and fork, but not much biting and chewing. Set lights probably do all sorts of interesting things to the food before them.
So my question for you this week is this: If you could eat a meal at any venue of Downton, with any of the cast members, what meal would it be, with whom, and where?
I would choose dinner at the Abbey with as many of the cast members as could fit around the table. I would be seated within earshot of Granny, and have Rose on one side of me and either Tom or Isobel on the other. And, of course, I would be wearing an absolutely divine dress and have perfectly styled hair. I don't ask for much. Really.
I look forward to your answers!
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Downton Abbey S:5 E:7
Our faithfulness has again been rewarded as Downton Abbey delivers another solid, and in most points brilliant episode this week. Most of the plot lines are being moved along slowly enough or have encountered enough difficulties that we aren't sure exactly how the season will end. What delicious suspense! I can hardly wait to see what happens! I will be so sad when it is over.
But where to begin? With Granny, of course, and the many interesting facets we continue to see developing in her character. Earlier in the season we saw her through the eyes of a man who once (and still) wanted to run away with her. The faded, but still intoxicating bloom. We've always known her to be as solid as any fortress, equal to all assaults upon her family's fortune and reputation and have long been entertained by her quick-witted and well-turned remarks, reveling in her ability to put anyone in their place. In this episode we saw another side of Granny. We saw a woman who had been lonely, and found a friend in an unlikely place. A woman who, against her own grain, found common ground with a commoner, and survived the admittance of it. Granny is not brought lower by her esteem for and appreciation of Isobel. Instead, her honesty and objectivity reaffirms for us that this great lady is made so by her ability to look at life and see it as it truly is. How unfortunate that Mary knows her grandmother so little, and for the most part projects her own calloused feelings onto her.
But what else would we expect from Mary, who throughout the season has grown increasingly smug, egotistic, and unfeeling. We are all relieved to see the Mary/Tony/Mabel debacle finally come to a resolution, but if we are so it must be because Tony and Mabel are happy together, not because Mary is released from a relationship that had grown tiresome to her. Certainly, Tony was acting a bit silly by not taking her at her word and breaking their attachment, but he acted from honorable motives. A lack of communication between Mary and Tony before the time in Liverpool was responsible for his misguided notions of how she viewed her honor, and her lack of awareness of the depth of his regard for her as a woman of reputation. It took Blake's ridiculous scheming to finally bring matters to a head and give Tony an honorable way out of Mary's life and into a happy marriage with Mabel. But I have just one question: What was Tony doing at the cinema with Mabel, if he felt honor-bound to Mary? Hmm.
One note on Mabel. She grew on me, and quickly. My first impulse was to dislike her, intensely, but I couldn't help but be magnetized by her easy-going honesty and general friendliness after the initial sting of being thrust into company with her rival, Mary. Mabel is what Sarah Bunting could have been, had Ms. Bunting benefited from a more thorough education in good behavior.
Doesn't it make you laugh that after all of his work to break up Tony and Mary so that he might try to win Mary for himself, Blake gets shipped off to Poland? I believe that 90% of his effort was done purely from selfish motives, but I think the other 10% was a genuine affection for Mabel and Tony as his friends, and his desire to see two people who really love each other happily married. Perhaps deep down Blake is actually a romantic. Mary certainly isn't, so I don't think we will see her journeying to Poland.
The next, or rather, the first blaring head line of the episode was Edith's disappearance, the subsequent outing of her secret by Mrs. Drew, and her reclamation by Cora in London. Edith did an exceptional job of standing her ground, thinking on her feet, and not being swayed by even the rude comments of a visitor at dinner. This Edith bared her beautiful shoulders in a daring evening dress, but not to charm us. No, she was showing us just how strong they can be, as she takes on not only the running of a publishing company, but also the raising of her daughter. Edith and Marigold are to be installed at Downton, but only on Edith's terms. If Isobel knew all the particulars of the situation, I just know that she would give a hearty "Bravo!" As do I.
While Edith showed us a stronger and more resilient side of herself, the real heroine of the story was Cora. Cora, who made Granny and Rosamund squirm. Cora, who fought for her daughter, but gave her a choice. Cora, who showed us in ways that we have not seen since Sybil's death, just how much she loves her children. But she didn't just shine in her role as a mother. Her compassion for Robert as he grappled with the imminent death of Isis was exactly what was needed to continue healing the previous rift in their marriage. Her welcome of Isis into their bed was such an act of kindness to Robert. But best of all, it was believable. Three cheers for Cora!
I continue to enjoy the easy friendship between Robert and Tom. As Tom is wrestling with decisions about his future, Robert is standing beside him, extending a hand of fellowship and love, but a hand that will not hold him should he choose to go. Perhaps this display of honest acceptance will enable Tom to choose Downton and the family over life in America. Either way, the parting will be on cordial and affectionate terms, something that Robert could have never dreamed of during Sybil's brief marriage to the liberal Irish chauffeur.
If Tom does go, I can imagine he will have many more conversations with Sybie like the one on the bridge. Parent asks question, child asks "Why?". Repeat ad infinitum. As a mother of young children, I can't help but giggle.
As expected, Rose and Atticus chose to defy the odds and join their fates against whatever the world might throw at them. Unfortunately, in coming years, we know that can be quite a lot. For now, their biggest challenges are Rose's unpleasant but thankfully absent mother, and Atticus' cautious father. Although still very young, Rose has matured in many ways since her engagement to Jack Ross, and I believe Atticus is a solid choice.
A less happy couple at the end of the episode is Lord Merton and Isobel. And why? Because his spoiled, elitist sons would not look beyond themselves to consider their father's happiness. They did no credit to the man who had surely thought through all of the social and relational implications of marrying someone from the middle class. The did not trust his wisdom, nor her character. They didn't even give her a chance, They cut her legs right out from under her, but at least they did it when she was surrounded by people who love her and would defend her. While Lord Merton mildly admonished his sons, Tom literally stood up for her, then received the backing of the Lord of the manor. What possessed those two to wound such a generous and warm-hearted woman is beyond me. I'm not sure how that will end, but I think the marriage is doomed. Who would want such wicked stepsons as they?
I continue to enjoy the easy friendship between Robert and Tom. As Tom is wrestling with decisions about his future, Robert is standing beside him, extending a hand of fellowship and love, but a hand that will not hold him should he choose to go. Perhaps this display of honest acceptance will enable Tom to choose Downton and the family over life in America. Either way, the parting will be on cordial and affectionate terms, something that Robert could have never dreamed of during Sybil's brief marriage to the liberal Irish chauffeur.
If Tom does go, I can imagine he will have many more conversations with Sybie like the one on the bridge. Parent asks question, child asks "Why?". Repeat ad infinitum. As a mother of young children, I can't help but giggle.
As expected, Rose and Atticus chose to defy the odds and join their fates against whatever the world might throw at them. Unfortunately, in coming years, we know that can be quite a lot. For now, their biggest challenges are Rose's unpleasant but thankfully absent mother, and Atticus' cautious father. Although still very young, Rose has matured in many ways since her engagement to Jack Ross, and I believe Atticus is a solid choice.
A less happy couple at the end of the episode is Lord Merton and Isobel. And why? Because his spoiled, elitist sons would not look beyond themselves to consider their father's happiness. They did no credit to the man who had surely thought through all of the social and relational implications of marrying someone from the middle class. The did not trust his wisdom, nor her character. They didn't even give her a chance, They cut her legs right out from under her, but at least they did it when she was surrounded by people who love her and would defend her. While Lord Merton mildly admonished his sons, Tom literally stood up for her, then received the backing of the Lord of the manor. What possessed those two to wound such a generous and warm-hearted woman is beyond me. I'm not sure how that will end, but I think the marriage is doomed. Who would want such wicked stepsons as they?
Now to move below stairs.
I am so relieved to see smiles and friendship between Anna and Bates once more. And to be seeing more of him! This return ticket business is troublesome and not yet over, I am sure. But they seem to be ready to move past it emotionally and think toward the future again.
However, shame on them for being so harsh toward Baxter. Of course they do not understand the entirety of her situation, but I thought that their characters were bent toward forgiveness over censure, or at least would allow the benefit of the doubt. To see them snubbing her is painful. And if Mr. Bates plans to spend any more time in the shoe room, he might as well move in there! Has anyone else noticed how often he and Anna are shown in that room?
How interesting it is to see Thomas defending Baxter against the rudeness of the Bates', and not the other way round. In this episode Thomas was not only mild-mannered, he was friendly. And helpful! And kind. He has many, many offenses to atone for, but for now he seems determined to do better by the people who have done right by him. Perhaps accepting himself for who he is (better or worse) has enabled him to do that for others. Whatever has brought on the change, I am all for it. Lady Mary seems ready to step in as the resident snake in the grass, anyway.
Daisy has never been a favorite character of mine, due to her incessant whining. But she's a fixture in the kitchen, and apparently the people who work with her daily feel such affection for her that they hatched a plan to get her out to Mr. Mason's farm so that he could convince her to continue her studies. Can we all say, "Yay Mr. Mason's back!" He has been adorable to me from the beginning.
The visit to the farm was such a lovely moment in this episode, particularly as it gave me ample opportunity to size up the common room in the farmhouse and decide I want an exact replica of it.
I am so relieved to see smiles and friendship between Anna and Bates once more. And to be seeing more of him! This return ticket business is troublesome and not yet over, I am sure. But they seem to be ready to move past it emotionally and think toward the future again.
However, shame on them for being so harsh toward Baxter. Of course they do not understand the entirety of her situation, but I thought that their characters were bent toward forgiveness over censure, or at least would allow the benefit of the doubt. To see them snubbing her is painful. And if Mr. Bates plans to spend any more time in the shoe room, he might as well move in there! Has anyone else noticed how often he and Anna are shown in that room?
How interesting it is to see Thomas defending Baxter against the rudeness of the Bates', and not the other way round. In this episode Thomas was not only mild-mannered, he was friendly. And helpful! And kind. He has many, many offenses to atone for, but for now he seems determined to do better by the people who have done right by him. Perhaps accepting himself for who he is (better or worse) has enabled him to do that for others. Whatever has brought on the change, I am all for it. Lady Mary seems ready to step in as the resident snake in the grass, anyway.
Daisy has never been a favorite character of mine, due to her incessant whining. But she's a fixture in the kitchen, and apparently the people who work with her daily feel such affection for her that they hatched a plan to get her out to Mr. Mason's farm so that he could convince her to continue her studies. Can we all say, "Yay Mr. Mason's back!" He has been adorable to me from the beginning.
The visit to the farm was such a lovely moment in this episode, particularly as it gave me ample opportunity to size up the common room in the farmhouse and decide I want an exact replica of it.
It was also nice to see Baxter, Molesley, and Daisy so relaxed. Baxter looked lovely in her navy sweater and hat, and the buttons on the sleeves of her coat were a very pretty detail. Daisy's saffron-colored frock would be hard for most women to pull off, but it brightened her and strengthened the impression of a young woman waking up to the world and all it's possibilities. Even as a small part of a minor plot line, this was one of my favorite parts of the episode.
A few random notes:
Screens for the food. Apparently the entire English countryside is preparing for a return of the 4th plague because these screens were everywhere! Being placed on dishes by Molesley. Hanging on the walls in the Downton kitchen. Covering a cake on the farmhouse table. People, get your food screens!
George is being drugged. Otherwise he wouldn't be sitting quietly (listlessly?) on Mary's most likely bony and uncomfortable lap. This is a little boy. He would be inside the fireplace or at least wielding the poker at his friendly Uncle Tom.
Entrepreneurship. What if Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Bates, and Anna all leave Downton and go into business together?! That would be a wildly successful series spin-off, I think. They could call it Upchurch Cottage. (Hee hee)
Good breeding. Cora, Mary, and Edith attempting conversation over the noise of the train without shouting at one another. Granny's pursed lips and look of censure leveled at Larry Grey. Molesley's giggling. Okay, that isn't good breeding but it was hilarious.
Attire. Rose's liquid blue afternoon dress. Cora's stunning green evening gown. Edith's shoulders (!). Mary's hair ribbon. Granny's long dress contrasted against all the shorter ones at the train station.
A pinkie ring, Atticus? Really?
Lastly, Anna was cleaning Lady Mary's jewelry in the servants' hall. Because that seems wise.
That is all for this week. Thanks for reading and Happy Viewing!
-Ashley
.
A few random notes:
Screens for the food. Apparently the entire English countryside is preparing for a return of the 4th plague because these screens were everywhere! Being placed on dishes by Molesley. Hanging on the walls in the Downton kitchen. Covering a cake on the farmhouse table. People, get your food screens!
George is being drugged. Otherwise he wouldn't be sitting quietly (listlessly?) on Mary's most likely bony and uncomfortable lap. This is a little boy. He would be inside the fireplace or at least wielding the poker at his friendly Uncle Tom.
Entrepreneurship. What if Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Bates, and Anna all leave Downton and go into business together?! That would be a wildly successful series spin-off, I think. They could call it Upchurch Cottage. (Hee hee)
Good breeding. Cora, Mary, and Edith attempting conversation over the noise of the train without shouting at one another. Granny's pursed lips and look of censure leveled at Larry Grey. Molesley's giggling. Okay, that isn't good breeding but it was hilarious.
Attire. Rose's liquid blue afternoon dress. Cora's stunning green evening gown. Edith's shoulders (!). Mary's hair ribbon. Granny's long dress contrasted against all the shorter ones at the train station.
A pinkie ring, Atticus? Really?
Lastly, Anna was cleaning Lady Mary's jewelry in the servants' hall. Because that seems wise.
That is all for this week. Thanks for reading and Happy Viewing!
-Ashley
.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Downton Abbey S:5, E:6 A Poem
This episode is definitely my favorite of Season 5, and possibly of the entire series. I wept watching it. I wept sharing my favorite scenes with my husband. I think the writers and actors of Downton reached a higher level of excellence in this week's installation. With only two episodes left in the season, I can hardly wait to see what will happen next!
When the episode ended, I did not feel equal to writing about it. I still don't. But I promised you that I would, and so I did. Here is what I have to offer.
A blue sky smiles on Downton's spires
And cheers for happiness of them
Who call it home above, below,
Lord and ladies, maids and men.
But news of death is brought to her.
A life is shattered from within.
Loneliness weds desperation.
The stolen flower cannot win.
Cold beauty plays coy games with hearts,
With fashion, and tradition.
A point-to-point with human pawns,
Devoid of feeling and compassion.
A secret found by one who knows
What secrets must be kept.
A ticket cannot give the proof
Of innocence from death.
A cup of tea to hold at bay
What cannot be contained
Within a man, unseated prince,
Unrequited, but unchanged.
A marriage torn by apathy;
Neither one acquitted.
But love is faithful to forgive.
What was broken is now mended.
Friendless victim of himself
Alone, unwell, in pain,
Accepts the proffered charity,
Finds friendship in the rain.
Investment in the future,
With money or the mind,
Has others thinking past the present
With an offer to unite.
When the episode ended, I did not feel equal to writing about it. I still don't. But I promised you that I would, and so I did. Here is what I have to offer.
A blue sky smiles on Downton's spires
And cheers for happiness of them
Who call it home above, below,
Lord and ladies, maids and men.
But news of death is brought to her.
A life is shattered from within.
Loneliness weds desperation.
The stolen flower cannot win.
Cold beauty plays coy games with hearts,
With fashion, and tradition.
A point-to-point with human pawns,
Devoid of feeling and compassion.
A secret found by one who knows
What secrets must be kept.
A ticket cannot give the proof
Of innocence from death.
A cup of tea to hold at bay
What cannot be contained
Within a man, unseated prince,
Unrequited, but unchanged.
A marriage torn by apathy;
Neither one acquitted.
But love is faithful to forgive.
What was broken is now mended.
Friendless victim of himself
Alone, unwell, in pain,
Accepts the proffered charity,
Finds friendship in the rain.
Investment in the future,
With money or the mind,
Has others thinking past the present
With an offer to unite.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Let's Play a Game...
I have had the privilege and pleasure of conversing with several of my fellow fans and kind readers about Downton Abbey in general and this season specifically since starting this blog a few weeks ago. The interaction is always informative, enlightening, and most of all enjoyable! I wish that I could have the same chance with each of you! In that same spirit and with the desire to create a sense of community I would like you to play a game with me.
Each week I will ask a question regarding an aspect of the show. I will give you my answer within the post, and then you may share yours in the comment section below. I do hope that you will play along! I know that I very much look forward to reading each answer.
For our game this week I would like you to answer this question:
What is/are your favorite scene(s) from any season of Downton Abbey, past or present?
I have two favorites, both involving Matthew & Mary, both from Season Two.
First, I love the scene when Mary meets Matthew at the train station to give him the toy dog as a good luck charm. Matthew has come back into her life (looking very handsome in uniform!) and she has realized just how much she missed out on when she turned down his proposal. For his part, he is still in love with her, in spite of rejection, war, time, and Lavinia. This scene is all about the eyes and the restrained facial expressions, the billowing steam and the sounds of a soon-to-depart train. So much that each wants to say, so much that they should not and can not. The deficiencies are so deliciously satisfying.
Second, the scene when Matthew and William return to Downton after being MIA for several days on the front. When I watched this season for the first time I almost ached with hope that Matthew would stride into the room, healthy and whole, while Mary was singing the love song in front of the recuperating officers. Imagine my joy when the writers gave me exactly what I wanted! My delight over this scene has yet to be matched.
Please do play along! I can hardly wait to read your responses!
As always, Happy Viewing!
-Ashley
Each week I will ask a question regarding an aspect of the show. I will give you my answer within the post, and then you may share yours in the comment section below. I do hope that you will play along! I know that I very much look forward to reading each answer.
For our game this week I would like you to answer this question:
What is/are your favorite scene(s) from any season of Downton Abbey, past or present?
I have two favorites, both involving Matthew & Mary, both from Season Two.
First, I love the scene when Mary meets Matthew at the train station to give him the toy dog as a good luck charm. Matthew has come back into her life (looking very handsome in uniform!) and she has realized just how much she missed out on when she turned down his proposal. For his part, he is still in love with her, in spite of rejection, war, time, and Lavinia. This scene is all about the eyes and the restrained facial expressions, the billowing steam and the sounds of a soon-to-depart train. So much that each wants to say, so much that they should not and can not. The deficiencies are so deliciously satisfying.
Second, the scene when Matthew and William return to Downton after being MIA for several days on the front. When I watched this season for the first time I almost ached with hope that Matthew would stride into the room, healthy and whole, while Mary was singing the love song in front of the recuperating officers. Imagine my joy when the writers gave me exactly what I wanted! My delight over this scene has yet to be matched.
Please do play along! I can hardly wait to read your responses!
As always, Happy Viewing!
-Ashley
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Downton Abbey S:5, E:5 Holy Plot Line, Batman!
***Correction from last week: Mabel Lane-Fox was engaged to Tony Gillingham, not Evelyn Napier. Slightly more believable, especially in light of Tony's conduct last week. Thanks loyal viewer and reader for pointing out the mistake.***
We are better than halfway through the season. Some story lines have stalled, others seem to be resolved, and still others have yet to reveal their end. A perfect combination to keep us watching faithfully, expectantly, fanatically!
Granny usually dresses like a fortress up in arms and ready for battle, but her slate blue afternoon dress with the drape across the chest was gorgeous! She possibly outshone Mary in that one. Isn't it adorable that she still wears 10 inch feather plumes on her hats, no matter how old fashioned they are? Her attire is as grandiose as her manner. Anything less just wouldn't be right.
On the topic of attire, Edith's clothing is sad again, and the lively headscarves are gone. All that remains are her incredibly pretty evening dresses. While Edith is back in earth-tones, Mrs. Drew had on a startlingly blue blouse that even under a sweater was beautiful. And with her red hair and sharp eyes it was quite a powerful combination. That woman is not to be messed with. The tension between the Drews and between Mrs. Drew and Edith can't last much longer. In that relationship the wife is stronger than the husband. Even though he feels compassion for Edith I don't think he will stand against his wife.
Mary's dress at dinner with Blake and Ms. Lane-Fox was actually, truly ugly, back necklace or not. By contrast Rose looks adorable in an apron. Maybe it's her thin waist, or sweet face, or the fact that a girl who used to be completely self-centered and selfish is actually doing good for others. Rose is learning about pain, compassion, and hope, and what it means to feel on behalf of someone else. Her new acquaintance is handsome and has a fantastic name: Atticus Aldridge. Foreshadowing here: he's a Jew. Why? Because it's 1924 and the Nazis are coming. The Grantham's need a link stronger than the fact that Cora's father was Jewish, something that ties them directly to the coming conflict and makes them intimate sympathizers with the persecuted Semites. My guess? Downton becomes a refuge for fleeing Jews.
Robert voluntarily brought up the subject of Ms. Bunting with Tom over drinks before dinner one evening. What?! We know he hates her, is galled by her, forbade her from his house. But this is proof of how much he loves Tom. At least in his own way. His advice was kind and good, and I'm glad that Tom eventually took it (Can it really be as easy to get rid of her as driving away in the pouring rain? Probably not.) Robert is coming around to himself again, and I think in an episode or two he will be in sharp relief instead of a vague and hazy version of himself. YAY! Further proof of this is his interest in the building project in the village. Responsible, progressive, economically sound decision-making. It's all we've ever wanted for this dear, lovable, exasperating man.
Robert voluntarily brought up the subject of Ms. Bunting with Tom over drinks before dinner one evening. What?! We know he hates her, is galled by her, forbade her from his house. But this is proof of how much he loves Tom. At least in his own way. His advice was kind and good, and I'm glad that Tom eventually took it (Can it really be as easy to get rid of her as driving away in the pouring rain? Probably not.) Robert is coming around to himself again, and I think in an episode or two he will be in sharp relief instead of a vague and hazy version of himself. YAY! Further proof of this is his interest in the building project in the village. Responsible, progressive, economically sound decision-making. It's all we've ever wanted for this dear, lovable, exasperating man.
Why was Ms. Bunting ever in the show? Yes, she reminded Tom of what he really believes. Yes, she encouraged Daisy to expand her horizons and educate herself. But what has REALLY been accomplished by her character? We don't know that Tom has truly decided on life at Downton. We don't see Daisy making any significant changes to her life. Maybe Tom will settle down in his head and heart and be content. Maybe Daisy will take Mr. Mason up on his offer and move to the farm. But for now, Ms. Bunting was just an annoying dinner guest who potentially set a lot of change in motion. Maybe.
So Thomas is trying to chemically alter his preference for men? Oh my. Baxter is still inexplicably solicitous, and Thomas is as nasty as he's ever been, biting everyone's heads off. My goodness what if he and Edith somehow ended up together?! After all, he did rescue her from the burning bedroom. Nefarious homosexual under-butler turned heterosexual knight in shining armor? Interesting plot twist at the very least.
First footman Molesly had a good taste of his own medicine last episode, and even though he begged off the actual distinction, he looked hurried most of this episode. And what was that line about wanting to be one of many workers? We haven't forgotten about the entire season he spent bemoaning his lot in life while forced to be a common laborer. Fickle Molesly. But sweet Baxter has completely fallen for him, evident in not only her constancy to him even when he is whiney and wishy washy, but LO AND BEHOLD SHE SMILED!! Just as I suspected, it was lovely.
Let's talk holey plot lines for a minute. Why did we witness the dinner with Blake, Mabel Lane-Fox, and Mary? Mary didn't need to be there. In fact, Blake would have accomplished his goal of encouraging Mabel back into Tony's arms much more easily had Mary NOT been there!! But we rarely see action that does not directly involve one of the leading cast members, so there Mary is, dining with a woman who hates her and a man who is scheming to marry her. Those two women are both shrewd enough to discern that and they should have called Blake on it right away. He's only doing this for himself. He wants Mabel to accept Mary's cast-off lover so that he, Mary's cast-off suitor, can try to convince her to be with him. Messy. And aren't we glad that we now know how Charles likes his beef prepared? Ugh. Sometimes he and Mary are so perfect for each other, as they are both so self-satisfied and self-involved. Again, ugh.
I LOVED that it was almost constantly raining. The shapes and colors of their umbrellas are so pretty! And such a good opportunity for meeting a new love interest (Rose) and saying goodbye to an old one (Tom). Rain is definitely romantic, especially when no one ever looks sopping wet.
I'm still not interested in Anna, Bates and the investigation into Green's death. But I DID love the exchange between Mary and Bates regarding Anna's questioning by the police. Mary really put the screws on him, didn't she? I just wish we could see more of the Anna and Mr. Bates that we loved. Oh well. I think I'm getting Robert back so it might be an even trade.
However I cannot count Robert innocent when it comes to the ghastly situation between Cora and Bricker. What kind of a man allows his wife to invite another man who is obviously interested in said wife to their home when he, the husband, will be away for the night?!?! He would take better care of his dog!! I have a feeling that Mr. Bricker has a history of seducing attractive, lonely wives of rich and disinterested men. He seemed completely unabashed by his behavior, and not very offended by Robert's reaction. I do have to cheer for Robert getting a few good punches in, even if it left him embarrassingly winded. If he isn't careful and doesn't stop punishing Cora, the next time she's approached by a potential paramour she might be more willing. But what about that display of her girlish naivete, trying to make small talk with Robert as they received guests to their cocktail party? No one in this triangle is innocent.
So Thomas is trying to chemically alter his preference for men? Oh my. Baxter is still inexplicably solicitous, and Thomas is as nasty as he's ever been, biting everyone's heads off. My goodness what if he and Edith somehow ended up together?! After all, he did rescue her from the burning bedroom. Nefarious homosexual under-butler turned heterosexual knight in shining armor? Interesting plot twist at the very least.
First footman Molesly had a good taste of his own medicine last episode, and even though he begged off the actual distinction, he looked hurried most of this episode. And what was that line about wanting to be one of many workers? We haven't forgotten about the entire season he spent bemoaning his lot in life while forced to be a common laborer. Fickle Molesly. But sweet Baxter has completely fallen for him, evident in not only her constancy to him even when he is whiney and wishy washy, but LO AND BEHOLD SHE SMILED!! Just as I suspected, it was lovely.
Let's talk holey plot lines for a minute. Why did we witness the dinner with Blake, Mabel Lane-Fox, and Mary? Mary didn't need to be there. In fact, Blake would have accomplished his goal of encouraging Mabel back into Tony's arms much more easily had Mary NOT been there!! But we rarely see action that does not directly involve one of the leading cast members, so there Mary is, dining with a woman who hates her and a man who is scheming to marry her. Those two women are both shrewd enough to discern that and they should have called Blake on it right away. He's only doing this for himself. He wants Mabel to accept Mary's cast-off lover so that he, Mary's cast-off suitor, can try to convince her to be with him. Messy. And aren't we glad that we now know how Charles likes his beef prepared? Ugh. Sometimes he and Mary are so perfect for each other, as they are both so self-satisfied and self-involved. Again, ugh.
I LOVED that it was almost constantly raining. The shapes and colors of their umbrellas are so pretty! And such a good opportunity for meeting a new love interest (Rose) and saying goodbye to an old one (Tom). Rain is definitely romantic, especially when no one ever looks sopping wet.
I'm still not interested in Anna, Bates and the investigation into Green's death. But I DID love the exchange between Mary and Bates regarding Anna's questioning by the police. Mary really put the screws on him, didn't she? I just wish we could see more of the Anna and Mr. Bates that we loved. Oh well. I think I'm getting Robert back so it might be an even trade.
However I cannot count Robert innocent when it comes to the ghastly situation between Cora and Bricker. What kind of a man allows his wife to invite another man who is obviously interested in said wife to their home when he, the husband, will be away for the night?!?! He would take better care of his dog!! I have a feeling that Mr. Bricker has a history of seducing attractive, lonely wives of rich and disinterested men. He seemed completely unabashed by his behavior, and not very offended by Robert's reaction. I do have to cheer for Robert getting a few good punches in, even if it left him embarrassingly winded. If he isn't careful and doesn't stop punishing Cora, the next time she's approached by a potential paramour she might be more willing. But what about that display of her girlish naivete, trying to make small talk with Robert as they received guests to their cocktail party? No one in this triangle is innocent.
Did you see Granny had a cocktail on the table in front of her when she was talking to Edith? A cocktail! I wonder if Carson had to excuse himself for a little lie-down after he served it to her. First the king on the radio, now Granny is sipping cocktails. Maybe there really is a chance that Marigold will find herself ensconced in the nursery alongside Sybie and George. But can we really hope that for her? A life of luxury but little love?
And on the topic of love, where is Lord Merton? A forthright and endearing declaration of love one episode, complete absence the next. Is he waiting on Isobel's good pleasure? Perhaps. But we need resolution soon on that one. If Granny dangles many more suffering Russian refugees before Isobel she will be lost to Lord Merton forever.
Now that Lord Merton finally asked to marry Isobel Granny finally realizes the gravity of the situation and drags Clarkson into the business all over again. And bless his sweet, impartial self, he sees that Isobel and Lord Merton are actually well-matched companions. But wouldn't it be infinitely more romantic if he declared his love for Isobel and they spent the rest of their lives working in the village hospital together? Granny is right, that the relatively inactive life of a lady does not suit Isobel. But wasn't it hilarious for Granny to describe a life so similar to hers in such negative terms? I guess Granny isn't inactive. She's always meddling in the business of somebody or other.
To the writers I say, enough dawdling! What's going to happen to Marigold? What is Thomas really doing? What is going to happen between Mary and Tony? Is Bates going to be arrested? Is Anna? And a host of other questions. We need answers people! Hop to it!
Happy viewing!
-Ashley
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Downton Abbey S:5 E:4 Temper, Temper!
This episode really deserved a second viewing for me to properly catch every detail and nuance, but time didn't permit that luxury. So I give you what I caught the first time around.
To begin with, I feel that this season is well on it's way to becoming the best since Seasons 1 and 2, which I love equally but for different reasons. Each plot line has slowly come into it's own and all of the numerous stories are now brought to the peak, ready to plunge over the edge and into whatever messy consequences might lay below. This manner of subtle, measured story-telling, drawing us along and into the various plots is reminiscent of Season 2, when the to and fro of Mary and Matthew's war time courtship had our hearts falling and rising like the tide. The opulence of the costumes and settings brings us back to the glory of prewar Downton in Season 1, when the gorgeous outfits vied for our attention along with the witty scripting. In Season 5 Downton has found herself again, and we can all settle back and enjoy the feeling of coming home. That is until we jump to the edge of our seats again and nervously nibble a scone while we wonder what in the world Thomas is doing in the bathroom. (I have my ideas but will reserve my comments until more details have been revealed)
Mary was quite busy this episode, walking the estate with Lord Grantham and Tom, scurrying up to London for a dress show with Aunt Rosamund, dining unexpectedly with Pigman Blake, and, oh yes, attempting to dump Tony. How well that went for her. When Mary broke things off with Matthew at the end of Season 1, he was angry, but he respected her decision and gave her time and space (joining the army and going to France helped with that). In contrast, Tony became instantly aggressive and possessive, forcefully telling her that this was just something that they would get through together, then impatiently indicating that she was to join him in leaving the garden. Poor Tony thinks that he is the one holding the leash in that relationship. I wonder how long before she puts him down for good. Incidentally, did you notice that when Tony wears a hat and conceals all that gorgeous curly black hair that he is instantly less attractive? No wonder we've mostly seen him with a bare head up to this point. Watch for hats now. A lot of hats.
Blake is slowly worming his way back into Mary's life, bringing with him the unexpected and unpleasant Mabel Lane-Fox, ex-fiance of the lovely Evelyn Napier. Mary was surprised to discover how earthy Miss Lane-Fox really was, as was I. She was over-dressed and under-mannered, and it was easy to see that Mary (rightly) perceived her to be beneath her. And, really, beneath Evelyn. Whatever did he see in her? Or in Mary, for that matter??
As for Blake, he is shrewd. And snake-ish. He's a good match for Mary as a business partner, but not necessarily as a spouse. I think he will continue to come around, and if all goes well, we might even see a very middle class fist-fight between he and Tony. My money would be on Blake. After all, he saved the pigs.
I was amused that Edith's gloomy face was remarked on not once but twice during the course of the show. Show me an evening that Edith hasn't been glum!! I think there might have been five in the course of the entire show when she was not discontent, disgruntled, peevish, or jealous. The evenings with Stralin don't really count because she constantly wore a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look around him. However, Edith really does have a reason to be unhappy, even if it is mostly her fault. The forced separation from Marigold is going to drive Edith to an unwise and rash course of action very soon, and will most likely lead to the entire story coming out and a third (however unlikely) addition to Downton's nursery.
Granny was completely out of her element during this episode. For one thing, Granny does not go to speak to someone, she has them brought to her. She does not walk along a busy public street, she is driven along it to the doorstep of her destination. But in this episode Granny took it upon herself to visit Prince Kuragin in the dark and damp church basement, which led to one of the most awkward and sad dialogues this season has yet offered. The entire situation was so bizarre and out of character for the Grand Lady that I felt like I was watching it sideways. The conversation itself was stilted, but the sadness was palpable. The poor man misses his wife, and the woman he formerly loved is touched enough by his grief that she decides to locate the poor woman. We've seen this type of kindness in Granny before, such as when she awarded the prize to Mr. Molesly Sr for the most beautiful bloom in the village, and when she attempted to protect William from conscription into the army. But to bring herself so literally into contact with something that she would normally consider beneath her notice shows a certain tenderness, as well as the effect that Isobel has had on her over the years of their acquaintance. And I am sure that Isobel is indeed very proud of her cousin and friend.
The disproportionate triangle made up of Robert, Cora, and Bricker continues to shift shape, with the angles between the various parties widening and narrowing in proportion to their interest in each other. Cora conceals her aggravation with Robert less and less, and Bricker has basically declared himself to be in pursuit of Cora, whatever that would mean. Robert knows what's going on, but not really, because he refuses to see the merits and value of his own wife. To him she is just another part of the estate that is to be managed and maintained. I think he feels more real affection for Isis. Bricker knows that now, but not initially. What made him think that he could pay such attention to Cora, and be so successful? He had no specific knowledge of Robert and Cora's marriage and their level of commitment to or happiness with each other. But from the moment Bricker met Cora he has grown increasingly bold in his verbal appreciation of her beauty and intellect. And even though she continues to receive his compliments with wide and innocent-seeming eyes, Cora is no fool. How long will she let this go on? How long will Robert? Or, perhaps Granny? Someone is going to finally wake up to the inappropriateness of this man and his intentions toward Cora and put an end to it. I hope.
As for Robert and Ms. Bunting, I am starting to believe that they are two sides of the same coin, only he has better manners. She was very possibly raised in a barn. To continue to goad a man in his own house while eating his food at his dinner table is quite beyond the realm of rudeness. She might as well spit in his face and be done with it. I can't imagine why she told Tom that she was flattered to be asked back. She obviously considers everyone there to be priggish and proud, an unnecessary part of society. Her disdain for the family that accepted Tom and has continued to love him and provide a place for he and his daughter should make him question what it is that actually attracts him to her. Yes, they share the same political ideals and desires for the betterment of society. But while Tom is capable of holding his own opinion while functioning in a world that he does not completely agree with, Ms. Bunting can't seem to keep that wide mouth shut, forcing her opinions on anyone unlucky enough to step close enough. No wonder Lord Grantham shouted at her and threw his napkin on the table and stormed out of the dining room. I can't imagine that anyone will be stupid enough to invite her back after that. So now Tom can and must choose.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I do not care for Lord Merton. At all. Not any. But after his boy-ish awkwardness and sweet, genuine appeal to Isobel for her hand in marriage, I can't help but feel a certain fondness for him. I should have known it would come to this, as soon as I saw that he lived in a pretty house. So far this season has caused me to dislike Tony, cheer for Blake, take an interest in Edith, and grow a soft spot for Lord Merton. All of this I can do without a grudge. But if they attempt to make me feel any sort of sympathy or liking for Ms. Bunting, I think I'll throw up and then go back to rooting for all my old favorites.
Speaking of old favorites, the only major story line that has failed to gain any traction with me is the growing unrest regarding the death/murder of Mr. Green. Anna certainly didn't help Mr. Bates' case by scouting along Piccadilly while in London. I was happy to see Anna and Mr. Bates smiling at each other again, but it's probably just the calm before another storm breaks over their heads. After enduring that for a couple of seasons already, I just can't find it in me to care much. Perhaps if I could see more of Bates going about his day, in his normal life, and not only in relation to the impending doom. But no, all my sympathy lies with Anna, what little bit of it there is to be had.
I was so glad to see a re-emergence of the tyrannical Mrs. Patmore. Even though she is an unschooled cook, she has a way with words. Her verbal bludgeoning of Daisy was classic Season 1 material, but her surgical shredding of Carson while in conversation with Lord Grantham was absolute brilliance. Unable to defend himself, Carson's eyebrows got a good workout. They needed it, since there haven't been any Americans underfoot to cause him all sorts of indignation and consternation. Three cheers for Mrs. Patmore and Carson's ever-agile eyebrows.
Next week's episode should be pretty fantastic.
Happy viewing!
To begin with, I feel that this season is well on it's way to becoming the best since Seasons 1 and 2, which I love equally but for different reasons. Each plot line has slowly come into it's own and all of the numerous stories are now brought to the peak, ready to plunge over the edge and into whatever messy consequences might lay below. This manner of subtle, measured story-telling, drawing us along and into the various plots is reminiscent of Season 2, when the to and fro of Mary and Matthew's war time courtship had our hearts falling and rising like the tide. The opulence of the costumes and settings brings us back to the glory of prewar Downton in Season 1, when the gorgeous outfits vied for our attention along with the witty scripting. In Season 5 Downton has found herself again, and we can all settle back and enjoy the feeling of coming home. That is until we jump to the edge of our seats again and nervously nibble a scone while we wonder what in the world Thomas is doing in the bathroom. (I have my ideas but will reserve my comments until more details have been revealed)
Mary was quite busy this episode, walking the estate with Lord Grantham and Tom, scurrying up to London for a dress show with Aunt Rosamund, dining unexpectedly with Pigman Blake, and, oh yes, attempting to dump Tony. How well that went for her. When Mary broke things off with Matthew at the end of Season 1, he was angry, but he respected her decision and gave her time and space (joining the army and going to France helped with that). In contrast, Tony became instantly aggressive and possessive, forcefully telling her that this was just something that they would get through together, then impatiently indicating that she was to join him in leaving the garden. Poor Tony thinks that he is the one holding the leash in that relationship. I wonder how long before she puts him down for good. Incidentally, did you notice that when Tony wears a hat and conceals all that gorgeous curly black hair that he is instantly less attractive? No wonder we've mostly seen him with a bare head up to this point. Watch for hats now. A lot of hats.
Blake is slowly worming his way back into Mary's life, bringing with him the unexpected and unpleasant Mabel Lane-Fox, ex-fiance of the lovely Evelyn Napier. Mary was surprised to discover how earthy Miss Lane-Fox really was, as was I. She was over-dressed and under-mannered, and it was easy to see that Mary (rightly) perceived her to be beneath her. And, really, beneath Evelyn. Whatever did he see in her? Or in Mary, for that matter??
As for Blake, he is shrewd. And snake-ish. He's a good match for Mary as a business partner, but not necessarily as a spouse. I think he will continue to come around, and if all goes well, we might even see a very middle class fist-fight between he and Tony. My money would be on Blake. After all, he saved the pigs.
I was amused that Edith's gloomy face was remarked on not once but twice during the course of the show. Show me an evening that Edith hasn't been glum!! I think there might have been five in the course of the entire show when she was not discontent, disgruntled, peevish, or jealous. The evenings with Stralin don't really count because she constantly wore a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look around him. However, Edith really does have a reason to be unhappy, even if it is mostly her fault. The forced separation from Marigold is going to drive Edith to an unwise and rash course of action very soon, and will most likely lead to the entire story coming out and a third (however unlikely) addition to Downton's nursery.
Granny was completely out of her element during this episode. For one thing, Granny does not go to speak to someone, she has them brought to her. She does not walk along a busy public street, she is driven along it to the doorstep of her destination. But in this episode Granny took it upon herself to visit Prince Kuragin in the dark and damp church basement, which led to one of the most awkward and sad dialogues this season has yet offered. The entire situation was so bizarre and out of character for the Grand Lady that I felt like I was watching it sideways. The conversation itself was stilted, but the sadness was palpable. The poor man misses his wife, and the woman he formerly loved is touched enough by his grief that she decides to locate the poor woman. We've seen this type of kindness in Granny before, such as when she awarded the prize to Mr. Molesly Sr for the most beautiful bloom in the village, and when she attempted to protect William from conscription into the army. But to bring herself so literally into contact with something that she would normally consider beneath her notice shows a certain tenderness, as well as the effect that Isobel has had on her over the years of their acquaintance. And I am sure that Isobel is indeed very proud of her cousin and friend.
The disproportionate triangle made up of Robert, Cora, and Bricker continues to shift shape, with the angles between the various parties widening and narrowing in proportion to their interest in each other. Cora conceals her aggravation with Robert less and less, and Bricker has basically declared himself to be in pursuit of Cora, whatever that would mean. Robert knows what's going on, but not really, because he refuses to see the merits and value of his own wife. To him she is just another part of the estate that is to be managed and maintained. I think he feels more real affection for Isis. Bricker knows that now, but not initially. What made him think that he could pay such attention to Cora, and be so successful? He had no specific knowledge of Robert and Cora's marriage and their level of commitment to or happiness with each other. But from the moment Bricker met Cora he has grown increasingly bold in his verbal appreciation of her beauty and intellect. And even though she continues to receive his compliments with wide and innocent-seeming eyes, Cora is no fool. How long will she let this go on? How long will Robert? Or, perhaps Granny? Someone is going to finally wake up to the inappropriateness of this man and his intentions toward Cora and put an end to it. I hope.
As for Robert and Ms. Bunting, I am starting to believe that they are two sides of the same coin, only he has better manners. She was very possibly raised in a barn. To continue to goad a man in his own house while eating his food at his dinner table is quite beyond the realm of rudeness. She might as well spit in his face and be done with it. I can't imagine why she told Tom that she was flattered to be asked back. She obviously considers everyone there to be priggish and proud, an unnecessary part of society. Her disdain for the family that accepted Tom and has continued to love him and provide a place for he and his daughter should make him question what it is that actually attracts him to her. Yes, they share the same political ideals and desires for the betterment of society. But while Tom is capable of holding his own opinion while functioning in a world that he does not completely agree with, Ms. Bunting can't seem to keep that wide mouth shut, forcing her opinions on anyone unlucky enough to step close enough. No wonder Lord Grantham shouted at her and threw his napkin on the table and stormed out of the dining room. I can't imagine that anyone will be stupid enough to invite her back after that. So now Tom can and must choose.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I do not care for Lord Merton. At all. Not any. But after his boy-ish awkwardness and sweet, genuine appeal to Isobel for her hand in marriage, I can't help but feel a certain fondness for him. I should have known it would come to this, as soon as I saw that he lived in a pretty house. So far this season has caused me to dislike Tony, cheer for Blake, take an interest in Edith, and grow a soft spot for Lord Merton. All of this I can do without a grudge. But if they attempt to make me feel any sort of sympathy or liking for Ms. Bunting, I think I'll throw up and then go back to rooting for all my old favorites.
Speaking of old favorites, the only major story line that has failed to gain any traction with me is the growing unrest regarding the death/murder of Mr. Green. Anna certainly didn't help Mr. Bates' case by scouting along Piccadilly while in London. I was happy to see Anna and Mr. Bates smiling at each other again, but it's probably just the calm before another storm breaks over their heads. After enduring that for a couple of seasons already, I just can't find it in me to care much. Perhaps if I could see more of Bates going about his day, in his normal life, and not only in relation to the impending doom. But no, all my sympathy lies with Anna, what little bit of it there is to be had.
I was so glad to see a re-emergence of the tyrannical Mrs. Patmore. Even though she is an unschooled cook, she has a way with words. Her verbal bludgeoning of Daisy was classic Season 1 material, but her surgical shredding of Carson while in conversation with Lord Grantham was absolute brilliance. Unable to defend himself, Carson's eyebrows got a good workout. They needed it, since there haven't been any Americans underfoot to cause him all sorts of indignation and consternation. Three cheers for Mrs. Patmore and Carson's ever-agile eyebrows.
Next week's episode should be pretty fantastic.
Happy viewing!
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