Yes. This is a picture of a diminutive woman praying at the side of her bed.
Her name is Mother Abigail Freemantle.
She’s 106 years old, and still makes her own bread.
Driving in the car yesterday and Crowded House comes on with “Don’t Dream It’s Over.”
Normally, classic-slash-retro rock (generally anything dating from 1960-1987) is an anathema to me. My nightmare is getting stuck in bumper to bumper traffic in the summertime beside some yahoo playing Q107 with the windows down. When this happens – and it does, I tellya, far more often than you’d imagine – I always visually scan my car in hopes of finding something I can throw through their window that would both punish them and render their stereo useless in one fell swoop. I never actually throw anything, it’s the catharsis the fantasy brings that’s important. Thinking about throwing something prevents me from throwing, you see?
(Aside: Further, I’m a horrible station-switcher. I’m awful, especially so while driving. I need to have a song to sing to. I don’t care about the news, I don’t care about the weather, I just need to sing a singable song. The only exception to this rule would be whilst listening to The Vinyl Cafe with Stuart McLean on CBC, in which case everybody just better shut the hell up.)
Back to Crowded House.
In 1994, a four-part mini-series was televised which was based on Stephen King’s novel, The Stand. Appropriately, it was titled The Stand (I know, right?) I still have the four VHS tapes my then-boyfriend used to record it for me, Acura commercials and all. Now, there are several cringe-worthy moments in the show, most of them parts intended to be frightening, like Jamey Sheridan turning into the mullet-sporting, jean-jacketed Devil (Randall Flagg) himself, and being forced to engage in dialogues such as:
Randall Flagg: Oh! I never even introduced myself, did I? Pleased to meet you, Lloyd. Hope you guess my name.
Lloyd Henreid: Huh?
Randall Flagg: Oh, uh… nothing. Just a little classical reference.
Shudder. Is that bad, or is that bad?
However, there are some remarkably brilliant and poignant moments as well.
One of the best of these occurs when two young people, Harold Lauder and Frannie Goldsmith, who have lost their families to a mysterious plague, sit together one evening listening to an old, portable record player. In the mini-series, it’s Frannie (a still young, but maturing Molly Ringwald) who brings out the player, however it’s Harold (Corin Nemec of Parker Lewis Can’t Lose fame) who brings it over to Fran’s house in the novel. Here’s the paragraph:
“Music of a dead world.” Doesn’t that take your breath away? And here’s the scene. Click on the link. I’m serious. Do it now. Sometimes, just sometimes, the classics can bring back more than just embarrassing memories of high school dances. Just close your eyes and listen…
There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
Erin's Clishmaclaver 