Two peas in a pod

I didn't plan or intend this, but the first three books that I read this year were memoirs written by famous baby boomers (Bruce Springsteen, Ruth Reichl, and Carrie Fisher). I started this post as a comparison/mini review of the three books, but then I saw "Bright Lights: Starring Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds" on HBO, and decided to just write about that instead.

*****

I hate most fantasy and sci-fi books and movies.  As a Catholic, for example, I'm supposed to love Tolkien, but I don't.  Not the books, not the movies.  No Hobbits, no Towers, no Lords of the Ring, and ABSOLUTELY NO GOLLUM.  There are, however, two exceptions to my complete and utter disdain for science fiction and fantasy:  C.S. Lewis's Space Trilogy, and "Star Wars."

I love Star Wars, especially the original movie. And first among the many reasons that I love it is Carrie Fisher's Princess Leia.  I was 11 when I first saw Star Wars, and I felt about Princess Leia the way I felt about Billie Jean King. Like young Billie Jean, Carrie Fisher's Princess Leia was adorable, but not intimidatingly beautiful. Like Billie Jean, Princess Leia could stand up to bullies, fight and win the good fight, and still look impeccable in an all-white ensemble. I loved her.

*****

I read Postcards from the Edge years ago, and when Carrie died, I tried to buy a Kindle edition. Shockingly, no such thing exists. I hope and expect that Amazon is working diligently to remedy that situation. Meanwhile, I bought and read the Kindle edition of Wishful Drinking,  It didn't surprise me that Carrie in her own words comes across as an old-time wise-cracking gum-snapping Hollywood dame.  She was born and raised that way.  What did surprise me was how much she really loved her mother.  Not just out of a sense of duty and not despite whatever her flaws might have been.  Carrie loved Debbie wholeheartedly, and vice versa.  They lived next door to each other, on a property that they called "the compound" (because of course it was called "the compound") and they seemed to never tire of each other's company.  Having read Postcards (and also having seen the movie version), I just assumed that Carrie was bitter and resentful about her mother, which seems to be the stereotypical attitude of old Hollywood children toward their movie star parents. Postcards is a novel, so maybe Carrie thought that the unabashed love and admiration of a daughter for her mother wouldn't have made an interesting conflict for a work of fiction.

"Bright Lights," a reality-style documentary with cameras and interviewers following Carrie and Debbie around, uses lots of the material that Carrie covered in Wishful Drinking, Having just finished reading it, I recognized some passages from the book in some of Carrie's voice-over narration. This is fitting. Carrie was a great writer, and there was no one better suited to write the voice-overs.  Great writer that she was, though, she didn't really capture the day-in and day-out relationship with her mother as well as the movie does.  Carrie and Debbie tease each other, interrupt each other, and break into frequent song and comedy routines that are at once impromptu and highly polished and rehearsed, because they spent 50 years perfecting their mother-daughter act.

My husband actually saw "Bright Lights" first.  He found Carrie and Debbie's "schtick," as he called it, annoying. But I found their banter and silliness charming, and the genuine affection between mother and daughter is touching.  I teared up more than once.

Just as remarkable is the role of Todd Fisher, Carrie's brother, both in the movie and in their lives.  Although I liked watching Carrie and Debbie being themselves and performing together, I can also easily see that the relationship between them was a closed world, unwelcoming to outsiders, and Todd might have felt like an odd man out when he was with the two of them.  If he did, he concealed it well. Debbie's quirks and Carrie's struggles with mental illness and drug addiction are apparent throughout the movie; and Todd's observations about his mother and sister come across as truthful, but kind and compassionate.  The camera often catches him as he watches Carrie and Debbie doing their routine, both onstage and off, and his affection for both of them is obvious and moving.  Debbie raised a generous man.

Carrie and Debbie were also generous with their great personal and professional gifts.  There's a scene in which Carrie appears at a Star Wars fan fest where attendees paid $70 to stand in line and meet Carrie and get her autograph on posters and shirts and other memorabilia.  It's easy to criticize athletes and movie stars who charge for their autographs at such events, but what's most striking about this particular scene is how much of herself Carrie gives to each of the fans--hugs, pictures, and genuine emotional connection, however brief.  The punters got their money's worth.  Debbie, too, was generous with her audiences.  The camera pans the audience at one of her last Las Vegas shows, and every single face shines with love and happiness.  As I told my son, who watched with me, this was Debbie's great gift.  She was a good dancer, singer, and actress, but making people happy was what she did best.

*****

I saw "Rogue One" today, finally, and like last year's "The Force Awakens," it was a fitting continuation of the franchise's great tradition of fearless and beautiful female heroines (don't get me started on Episodes 2 and 3.  As much as I love everything Star Wars, I believe that Episode 2 is one of the worst movies ever made; some other time, I'll tell you why, at considerable length).  Young Princess Leia has the last word in "Rogue One." I'm sad that it's one of the last times that we'll see her on film (she finished filming Episode 8, which will be released later this year), but I'm happy to have seen Princess Leia one more time. Rest in peace, Carrie and Debbie. You'll be missed.

Holidays, official and unofficial

Thanksgiving Week has commenced. I worked today (Monday) and I’ll work tomorrow, and then I’ll be off for the rest of the week, give or take. I’ll probably work a little bit here and there. We’ll see.

My son comes home on Wednesday, which is lovely. Wednesday is also potato day; or should I say, Potato Day. That should be a thing; just like the British have Boxing Day on the day after Christmas, we should have Potato Day on the day before Thanksgiving. No one in their right mind is trying to cook the turkey AND mash 10 pounds of potatoes all in one day, and that’s why it’s so important to have Potato Day, when you make your mashed potatoes and refrigerate them overnight in big baking dishes for reheating on Thanksgiving. Plus, I’m all in for multi-day holidays. This country has been through some shit this year. We need a few extra days off here and there. 

*****

It’s Tuesday now, and I’m writing during a quick lunch break. This is my last day in the office until next week. We went to the Capitals game last night, and the vibe was peak holiday week - and the Capitals won. After work today, I will make what I hope will be my last Thanksgiving grocery shopping trip. But probably not. I’ll probably be back at the grocery store tomorrow. 

My turkey has been thawing in the refrigerator since Sunday. It still feels frozen but it has two more days. I’ll take it out and sit it on the counter for a little while tomorrow - just long enough to accelerate the thawing process but not long enough to admit the salmonella germs. 

I keep thinking about throwing something new into the Thanksgiving dinner mix, but I don’t think I have the creative energy. Fortunately, nobody wants anything new. My Thanksgiving dinner is very popular. My people like it just the way I’ve always made it, and I give the people what they want. 

I’m going to decompress for a bit tonight. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Potato Day magic doesn’t happen on its own. The Great Potato doesn’t come down the chimney with giant bowls of mashed potatoes. It’s me. I’m the magic. I’m the Great Potato 

*****

Today is Potato Day, the Great Potato’s day to shine! It’s still early, and so I’m thinking about potatoes but I haven’t yet begun to peel and boil and mash and whip, but I’ll get started very soon. 

Right now, I’m sitting on the couch, half-watching “Julie and Julia,” a movie I’ve seen at least five times. Old movies as background are a treasured Potato Day tradition. I can tell you this with authority, since I invented this holiday. 

My sister and I used to talk about how much we wanted an edited version of “Julie and Julia” containing only the Julia scenes. No disrespect to Amy Adams, who is wonderful, but I used to think that Julie Powell was pretty insufferable in this movie. This is odd, because the movie is based on her own book. Then the real Julie Powell died a few years ago at age 49, and I felt bad about my antipathy toward the movie Julie Powell, and I gave her another chance. And she’s fine - not as much fun as Julia, but Julia led a charmed life in postwar Paris and it was pretty easy for her to be a fun person. 

*****

Potato Day, now established as an official holiday, was quite successful. The Great Potato rose  out of the potato field and brought giant dishes of mashed potatoes to the most sincere Thanksgiving dinner tables, and there’s no more sincere Thanksgiving dinner table than mine. The Great Potato decides which Thanksgiving dinner tables are the most sincere and since I am the Great Potato, I naturally chose my own table, which radiates sincerity. 

Now it’s Thanksgiving. It’s 9:30 AM and I’m about to prep the turkey for the oven, where it will remain for the next five hours or so. Stuffing is prepped, and mashed potatoes are ready to pop back into the oven. There will be peas, corn, salad, Korean side dishes including kimchi, gravy, rolls, and canned jellied cranberry sauce, the best kind. I’ll report back later. It’s time to get going. That turkey’s not going to put itself in the oven. 

*****

By the way: Unlike the Julie/Julia Project, the blog that inspired “Julie and Julia,” this is absolutely not a food blog. I write about cooking at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and maybe Easter. And maybe sometimes when I’m looking for a way to avoid making dinner. That’s all. That’s the extent of the food content that you will find here. 

*****

The day after Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days of the year. It’s 9:30 AM again, and I’m drinking coffee and hanging around the house, one of my favorite things to do. It’s cold today, cold and very bright and clear. Everything looks sunny and clean. 

Dinner was perfect, except that the turkey yielded very little in the way of leftovers. But it’s enough for the best of all sandwiches, the turkey on toast with mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and stuffing. I guess I’ll make shepherd’s pie with the rest of the mashed potatoes. Or maybe I won’t because it’s the day after Thanksgiving and I’d like to stay out of the kitchen. 

Thanksgiving was a Trump-free day, until almost the end of the day when I picked up my phone and saw that Sarah Beckstrom had died from her wounds. 20 years old. My family are all here, safe and happy, and a family in West Virginia is making plans to bury their beautiful 20-year-old daughter. There’s nothing that this man can’t destroy. Literally nothing. 

*****

I don’t take a whole day to rest very often. Almost never, really. But that’s what I did yesterday. Other than a cold winter walk, I didn’t really leave the house. Other than the usual housework and laundry and daily odds and ends, I didn’t do anything productive. I finished one Nancy Mitford novel and am halfway through another. I watched football with my husband and son. We watched the Capitals win their third straight game. We ate leftovers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I managed to avoid the sight and sound of Donald J. Trump. It’ll be another year before I do that again, but that’s what made the day special. It was a 14/10 day - highly recommended. 

It’s Saturday morning now, 9:30 again, and I’m looking out the window at a clear bright sunny day that looks and feels just like yesterday. My son and I are going to put up some Christmas decorations today - not the tree, because it’s far too early, just indoor decorations and house lights. We have some hand-painted wooden Christmas signs. We have snowmen and cardinals and snow globes and a Nativity set and lots of other assorted Christmas trinkets. We don’t overdo it. The overall effect is Christmassy, cozy, and charming if I do say so myself. 

*****

And now it’s Sunday. After days of intense clear cold sunshine, it’s gray and gloomy and raining. It’s supposed to snow. We’ll see. 

Yesterday was a get-things-done day. I ran errands, cooked, cleaned, did laundry - I did it all.  And my son and I decorated the house for Christmas. We used to do this in mid-December but in 2020, my sons wanted to decorate early so we did everything on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, and we’ve continued to do that. No tree yet - it’s too early - but all of the other Christmas decorations are up inside and our Christmas lights are up outside. It’s nice to have a full month of Christmas vibe. And it is a vibe. I’m still not super enthusiastic about Christmas, but I’m also not dreading it. So that’s something. 

Meanwhile, today feels like a little bit of a letdown. It’s gloomy and grim outside, and I have to do some work for our neighborhood association, and my son goes back to school today. But it’s OK. He’ll be home again in a few weeks, and I’ll power through my meeting notes and RFP, and it’s cozy at home. Tomorrow is December 1, the beginning of the end of this year. I’m sorry that Thanksgiving weekend is over, but I won’t miss the Year of Our Lord 2025.