This covers the week of 9/29/19 - 10/5/19.
autumnal
The leaves are turning a spangly orange and gold. Coolness is working its way into the warmth of the day.
kindly
I respect how attentive she is to other people. She pauses in the middle of praying to make sure someone has a seat, and to soothe an elderly lady who thinks she's been transported to a date decades earlier.
mailing
The kids find a way to amuse themselves by chucking their shoes through a hole in the net. "Special delivery!" they shout.
multitask
When I return, I find her asleep on the couch with her fingers still suspended in front of her, her freshly painted nails drying. As good a time as any to catch up on some sleep.
pained
She's seized by moments of querulousness, and it's best to let them slide. Her hours are often pinched with pain, and one day washes into another.
purpose
What I touch I must try to make good.
salvaging
It's impossible to start over completely, he says with dimmed eyes, but you do the best you can.
Showing posts with label purpose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label purpose. Show all posts
Sunday, April 26, 2020
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Week in Seven Words #429
awake
She can't figure out why she's having trouble sleeping. Nothing she tries helps her enjoy a night of unbroken sleep. "Is it the way everything's structured?" I wonder. "Is sleeplessness a built-in feature to the way we structure our lives?" She tells me that this is what an insomniac colleague said as well.
broadening
The paths along the stream have become brighter and clearer. Rock bridges and little peninsulas with viewing points have opened up, and yellow flowers grow in bunches by the water.
flourish
In the garden, a young, fair boy brandishes a daffodil and says, "Behold!"
soldierly
I spot a red-winged blackbird. It has gold and red bars on its upper wings that remind me of epaulettes.
tranquilly
A man and his son gaze at a small pond in a quiet part of the woods in the park. The pond is barely ruffled by the stream that flows into it. "This is a mosquito breeding ground," the boy says. "That's what I was thinking!" his dad replies. They laugh a little.
unanswered
He turns the question around on his teacher. "What's your purpose?" he asks. His teacher replies, "I'm still figuring it out."
unequal
The stress reduction tips promoted by his workplace amount to giving employees a plastic spoon and encouraging them to dig into a mountain.
She can't figure out why she's having trouble sleeping. Nothing she tries helps her enjoy a night of unbroken sleep. "Is it the way everything's structured?" I wonder. "Is sleeplessness a built-in feature to the way we structure our lives?" She tells me that this is what an insomniac colleague said as well.
broadening
The paths along the stream have become brighter and clearer. Rock bridges and little peninsulas with viewing points have opened up, and yellow flowers grow in bunches by the water.
flourish
In the garden, a young, fair boy brandishes a daffodil and says, "Behold!"
soldierly
I spot a red-winged blackbird. It has gold and red bars on its upper wings that remind me of epaulettes.
tranquilly
A man and his son gaze at a small pond in a quiet part of the woods in the park. The pond is barely ruffled by the stream that flows into it. "This is a mosquito breeding ground," the boy says. "That's what I was thinking!" his dad replies. They laugh a little.
unanswered
He turns the question around on his teacher. "What's your purpose?" he asks. His teacher replies, "I'm still figuring it out."
unequal
The stress reduction tips promoted by his workplace amount to giving employees a plastic spoon and encouraging them to dig into a mountain.
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Some Thoughts on George Eliot's Silas Marner
As a young man, Silas Marner was betrayed and ostracized, leaving him with deep psychic wounds. His consciousness of the world narrows to a routine of weaving and lovingly counting a small but growing horde of money. From anything connected to the past,
Marner's life and heart expand again after he adopts a child whose mother he has found dead near his home. (The immediate environs of Marner's home are depicted as a place where death is near, especially in the dark, underscoring his vulnerability but also making him reminiscent of a Hades-like figure with his horde of precious metal.)
... his life had shrunk away, like a rivulet that has sunk far down from the grassy fringe of its old breadth into a little shivering thread, that cuts a groove for itself in the barren sand.The money serves as a beloved object and safe, if very poor, substitute for a connection to other people. Regarding Marner's work as a weaver, Eliot writes:
Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends in this way to become an end in itself, and so to bridge over the loveless chasms of his life.Without love, you often see obsessive behaviors, addictions, and compulsions take root.
Marner's life and heart expand again after he adopts a child whose mother he has found dead near his home. (The immediate environs of Marner's home are depicted as a place where death is near, especially in the dark, underscoring his vulnerability but also making him reminiscent of a Hades-like figure with his horde of precious metal.)
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Worth Watching: Lilies of the Field (1963)
Title: Lilies of the Field
Director: Ralph Nelson
Language: English
Rating: Unrated
Synopsis
When we first see Homer Smith (Sidney Poitier) driving along a lonely desert road, we don't know where he's coming from or where he's going. He's a drifter, skilled at construction work and apparently without a steady home or job. When his car overheats, he pulls into the closest place where he can get water: a small farm worked by a group of nuns who've come to the US from East Germany. Mother Maria (Lilia Skala) asks Homer, whom she calls "Schmidt" instead of "Smith," to help with some odd jobs on their farm. Homer does so in expectation of getting paid, only to find that instead of giving him money, Mother Maria invites him to the nuns' meager meals, offers him a place to stay, and insists that he's an instrument of divine will, sent to build a chapel for the nuns and the parishioners in the surrounding area.
Characters
Homer figures out early on that the nuns can't pay him; they don't have the means, a fact confirmed to Homer by one of the locals, Juan (Stanley Adams), a friendly, business-minded man who isn't big on religion. Aside from Mother Maria, who's dignified and reserved, the other nuns - Sisters Agnes, Gertrude, Albertine, and Elizabeth - are like cheerful light-hearted birds, which almost masks the fact that they're living in poverty, barely able to subsist off their plot of land in the southwest US desert. So why does Homer stick around for a while, instead of immediately cutting his losses and driving off? We see at one point that he has the skill and confidence to land himself a job on the spot, so it's not that he can't find work anywhere. In part he stays out of a grudging sympathy for the nuns and a defensiveness on their behalf, which includes defending their choice to appoint him as a "contractor." It becomes a point of pride for him, especially when others scoff at the fact that the nuns have faith in him. Also, maybe he likes the feeling of being a part of the family, where he gets to break bread at their table and teach them English. They're strange and curious to him.
Furthermore, I think he relishes taking charge of the project and not getting ordered around on a construction site by another contractor. To Homer, building the chapel becomes a personal test and an opportunity. Poitier's strong performance conveys the struggle that Homer is locked into not only with Mother Maria but with himself. Building this chapel could tie him down to one spot for years and burden him with people's expectations, so what's the point? He doesn't want the commitment. On the other hand, he savors the challenge and perhaps the trust that comes with it. And Homer strikes me as someone who's rusty, possessing skills he hasn't used for years because he hasn't found work that's made real demands of his gifts. (Now, if only those nuns had money for him…)
Homer is a kind of everyman figure, and while I wanted to know more about his background, the role of timeless, aimless drifter makes sense for this movie. Lilies of the Field asks general questions about what people can leave behind them in this world, and what they can take with them. It's part of life to claim things as your own knowing you'll have to let go of them. But Homer also values personal recognition; he doesn't want to be seen as an instrument of a larger plan, perhaps interchangeable with others; ultimately, he wants to leave his mark on his terms.
Mother Maria isn't terribly concerned about Homer's indecisiveness. She recognizes it, but acts as if it doesn't exist. As far as she's concerned, he'll build that chapel. Not that she's forcing him to stay; she just acts as if it's a foregone conclusion. Mother Maria has her moments of tiredness or relaxed happiness, conveyed with subtle beauty by Lilia Skala, but what comes across most is her force of will. Maybe she needs to think of herself (and those around her) as instruments of a higher plan simply so that she can keep surviving and seeing something of her hopes realized. She brought her small group of nuns across the Iron Curtain and all the way to the US. The community they serve now, made up mostly of poor laborers, doesn't have a chapel so a chapel is what she'll build. Lack of money and building materials won't stop her, and neither will Homer's reluctance. Contradicting her is difficult, not because she threatens people, but because it's pointless, like telling the wind to stop blowing. At the same time she drives the other nuns, and Homer, to persist.
Relationships
As two strong-willed people, Homer and Mother Maria share a kind of kinship even as they clash. What Homer mainly wants from her as the movie goes on is a recognition of himself as an individual. Mother Maria has a strong tendency to see people, including herself, as instruments of a larger divine will. What Homer demands is a more personal recognition. Mother Maria's acknowledgement doesn't mean everything to him. It doesn't make him over-joyed or grateful. But it would still be a kind of victory for him if she sees his hand in the chapel-building, a project he comes to regard as his own. It would be a nod of respect given from one formidable person to another.
Memorable sights and sounds
One striking sight is of the five nuns walking along the road in the desert heat to Father Murphy's outdoor services a considerable distance from their farm; they try their best not to show fatigue, especially Mother Maria, who looks like she could survive in the desert by sheer will alone. Father Murphy (Dan Frazer) is the local priest. Burned out and heat-worn, he performs his religious duties without dereliction but also without passion.
The singing in the movie is memorable. The nuns sing a melodious chant that catches at Homer; he drifts closer to listen to them. In turn he starts up a rousing Baptist song, to which they chorus "amen" in response to each line. When the nuns are singing to themselves they pronounce it 'ah-men'; in Homer's song it's 'ay-men.'
I also like the play of emotions on Mother Maria's face during the closing scene as she sits and listens while the other nuns sing obliviously.
Stand-out scenes
There are many strong scenes, including some humorous ones; along with the drama of faith, of being chosen and challenged, there's also the comedy of a Baptist drifter surrounded by European nuns.
When Homer hears the nuns trying to improve their English using recordings that were meant for wealthier people ("Please send the valet up to my room"), he steps in and starts to teach them some phrases as well, having fun with it; a significant phrase, and one that takes Mother Maria rather a while to say, is "thank you." At other times Mother Maria and Homer point out different biblical verses to one another in order to communicate.
As for the construction of the chapel, it goes through several stages, reflecting changes in Homer's outlook. In this way the chapel-building takes on a kind of personality and spirit of its own.
Further thoughts
When the chapel is finished, what comes next? Mother Maria looks ahead at everything else that needs to be done. Homer considers the completed work and what's changed, and what hasn't changed enough, as a result. Satisfaction at a job well done doesn't last for long before restlessness kicks in again. No one rests on their laurels.
*All images link back to their sources (Wikipedia, Rottentomatoes, and Flixster community). [Post edited 2/2015]
Director: Ralph Nelson
Language: English
Rating: Unrated
Synopsis
When we first see Homer Smith (Sidney Poitier) driving along a lonely desert road, we don't know where he's coming from or where he's going. He's a drifter, skilled at construction work and apparently without a steady home or job. When his car overheats, he pulls into the closest place where he can get water: a small farm worked by a group of nuns who've come to the US from East Germany. Mother Maria (Lilia Skala) asks Homer, whom she calls "Schmidt" instead of "Smith," to help with some odd jobs on their farm. Homer does so in expectation of getting paid, only to find that instead of giving him money, Mother Maria invites him to the nuns' meager meals, offers him a place to stay, and insists that he's an instrument of divine will, sent to build a chapel for the nuns and the parishioners in the surrounding area.
Characters
Homer figures out early on that the nuns can't pay him; they don't have the means, a fact confirmed to Homer by one of the locals, Juan (Stanley Adams), a friendly, business-minded man who isn't big on religion. Aside from Mother Maria, who's dignified and reserved, the other nuns - Sisters Agnes, Gertrude, Albertine, and Elizabeth - are like cheerful light-hearted birds, which almost masks the fact that they're living in poverty, barely able to subsist off their plot of land in the southwest US desert. So why does Homer stick around for a while, instead of immediately cutting his losses and driving off? We see at one point that he has the skill and confidence to land himself a job on the spot, so it's not that he can't find work anywhere. In part he stays out of a grudging sympathy for the nuns and a defensiveness on their behalf, which includes defending their choice to appoint him as a "contractor." It becomes a point of pride for him, especially when others scoff at the fact that the nuns have faith in him. Also, maybe he likes the feeling of being a part of the family, where he gets to break bread at their table and teach them English. They're strange and curious to him.
Furthermore, I think he relishes taking charge of the project and not getting ordered around on a construction site by another contractor. To Homer, building the chapel becomes a personal test and an opportunity. Poitier's strong performance conveys the struggle that Homer is locked into not only with Mother Maria but with himself. Building this chapel could tie him down to one spot for years and burden him with people's expectations, so what's the point? He doesn't want the commitment. On the other hand, he savors the challenge and perhaps the trust that comes with it. And Homer strikes me as someone who's rusty, possessing skills he hasn't used for years because he hasn't found work that's made real demands of his gifts. (Now, if only those nuns had money for him…)
Homer is a kind of everyman figure, and while I wanted to know more about his background, the role of timeless, aimless drifter makes sense for this movie. Lilies of the Field asks general questions about what people can leave behind them in this world, and what they can take with them. It's part of life to claim things as your own knowing you'll have to let go of them. But Homer also values personal recognition; he doesn't want to be seen as an instrument of a larger plan, perhaps interchangeable with others; ultimately, he wants to leave his mark on his terms.
Mother Maria isn't terribly concerned about Homer's indecisiveness. She recognizes it, but acts as if it doesn't exist. As far as she's concerned, he'll build that chapel. Not that she's forcing him to stay; she just acts as if it's a foregone conclusion. Mother Maria has her moments of tiredness or relaxed happiness, conveyed with subtle beauty by Lilia Skala, but what comes across most is her force of will. Maybe she needs to think of herself (and those around her) as instruments of a higher plan simply so that she can keep surviving and seeing something of her hopes realized. She brought her small group of nuns across the Iron Curtain and all the way to the US. The community they serve now, made up mostly of poor laborers, doesn't have a chapel so a chapel is what she'll build. Lack of money and building materials won't stop her, and neither will Homer's reluctance. Contradicting her is difficult, not because she threatens people, but because it's pointless, like telling the wind to stop blowing. At the same time she drives the other nuns, and Homer, to persist.
Relationships
As two strong-willed people, Homer and Mother Maria share a kind of kinship even as they clash. What Homer mainly wants from her as the movie goes on is a recognition of himself as an individual. Mother Maria has a strong tendency to see people, including herself, as instruments of a larger divine will. What Homer demands is a more personal recognition. Mother Maria's acknowledgement doesn't mean everything to him. It doesn't make him over-joyed or grateful. But it would still be a kind of victory for him if she sees his hand in the chapel-building, a project he comes to regard as his own. It would be a nod of respect given from one formidable person to another.
Memorable sights and sounds
One striking sight is of the five nuns walking along the road in the desert heat to Father Murphy's outdoor services a considerable distance from their farm; they try their best not to show fatigue, especially Mother Maria, who looks like she could survive in the desert by sheer will alone. Father Murphy (Dan Frazer) is the local priest. Burned out and heat-worn, he performs his religious duties without dereliction but also without passion.
The singing in the movie is memorable. The nuns sing a melodious chant that catches at Homer; he drifts closer to listen to them. In turn he starts up a rousing Baptist song, to which they chorus "amen" in response to each line. When the nuns are singing to themselves they pronounce it 'ah-men'; in Homer's song it's 'ay-men.'
I also like the play of emotions on Mother Maria's face during the closing scene as she sits and listens while the other nuns sing obliviously.
Stand-out scenes
There are many strong scenes, including some humorous ones; along with the drama of faith, of being chosen and challenged, there's also the comedy of a Baptist drifter surrounded by European nuns.
When Homer hears the nuns trying to improve their English using recordings that were meant for wealthier people ("Please send the valet up to my room"), he steps in and starts to teach them some phrases as well, having fun with it; a significant phrase, and one that takes Mother Maria rather a while to say, is "thank you." At other times Mother Maria and Homer point out different biblical verses to one another in order to communicate.
As for the construction of the chapel, it goes through several stages, reflecting changes in Homer's outlook. In this way the chapel-building takes on a kind of personality and spirit of its own.
Further thoughts
When the chapel is finished, what comes next? Mother Maria looks ahead at everything else that needs to be done. Homer considers the completed work and what's changed, and what hasn't changed enough, as a result. Satisfaction at a job well done doesn't last for long before restlessness kicks in again. No one rests on their laurels.
*All images link back to their sources (Wikipedia, Rottentomatoes, and Flixster community). [Post edited 2/2015]
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Week in Seven Words #98
antique
It's an older part of the city, and it's nearly empty. I like it that way - quiet with cobblestone paths, grass, old bridges over dried-up streams, old brick homes topped with ornate weathervanes, gardens abandoned in winter, their fountains dry.
burger
It comes on a soft bun with dark green lettuce, raw onion, salsa, guacamole, and spicy chipotle sauce. They call it the El Mariachi burger. It's a good burger.
distinctive
80s teen movie: stale classrooms, social misfits, angst, puffy hair, and Molly Ringwald.
harmonic
Different authors writing on completely different topics can have a beautiful resonance in one's mind. While picking over a creative problem, I come across an essay on Aldous Huxley by the departed Christopher Hitchens and some wonderful passages from May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude, and they sound an intriguing chord in my thoughts.
jitterbug
At the park I follow a faint thread of music and find two pairs of swing dancers by the fountain.
now
I'm starting to really understand what a precious gift this time is. So much is up in the air, but it's a beautiful opportunity nonetheless. I'll kick myself if I miss out on it and don't do what I'm called to do at the moment.
unsuited
At the supermarket it's non-stop holiday jingles. And I want to know why so many of the recent recordings are sung in a breathy melodramatic quaver. It's a holiday jingle. Sleigh bells ring-ting-tingling should hopefully not evoke emotional torment.
It's an older part of the city, and it's nearly empty. I like it that way - quiet with cobblestone paths, grass, old bridges over dried-up streams, old brick homes topped with ornate weathervanes, gardens abandoned in winter, their fountains dry.
burger
It comes on a soft bun with dark green lettuce, raw onion, salsa, guacamole, and spicy chipotle sauce. They call it the El Mariachi burger. It's a good burger.
distinctive
80s teen movie: stale classrooms, social misfits, angst, puffy hair, and Molly Ringwald.
harmonic
Different authors writing on completely different topics can have a beautiful resonance in one's mind. While picking over a creative problem, I come across an essay on Aldous Huxley by the departed Christopher Hitchens and some wonderful passages from May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude, and they sound an intriguing chord in my thoughts.
jitterbug
At the park I follow a faint thread of music and find two pairs of swing dancers by the fountain.
now
I'm starting to really understand what a precious gift this time is. So much is up in the air, but it's a beautiful opportunity nonetheless. I'll kick myself if I miss out on it and don't do what I'm called to do at the moment.
unsuited
At the supermarket it's non-stop holiday jingles. And I want to know why so many of the recent recordings are sung in a breathy melodramatic quaver. It's a holiday jingle. Sleigh bells ring-ting-tingling should hopefully not evoke emotional torment.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Extracts: Purpose and passion (or lack thereof) in life
From Middlemarch:
We are on a perilous margin when we begin to look passively at our future selves, and see our own figures led with dull consent into insipid misdoing and shabby achievement. - from Chapter 79, Sunset and Sunrise
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. - from Chapter 51, The Dead Hand
It is an uneasy lot at best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be liberated from a small hungry shivering self – never to be fully possessed by the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardor of a passion, the energy of an action, but always to be scholarly and uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted. - from Chapter 29, Waiting for Death
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