Even fun and exciting things sometimes grow old, and such is the case with our renovation. Since the plumbing debacle, I have tried north of 30 paint colors and just received word that one of our countertop slabs broke during fabrication. This throws a bit of a wrench in our schedule, the goal of which has always been to be done and back into our house for Oliver's birthday on March 17. And we still have floor refinishing to endure. And I am racing to and from Louisiana later this week to see my sister and nephew and meet my new niece, and Tom is leaving town for three days next week, and then my parents are coming for Ol's birthday, and really, when will it get warm outside?
I am trying to be zen, but I am so tired. And Jack is having a tough year and there is only so much I can do, you know? It feels like nothing ever slows or eases, not for terribly long anyway. And the Evil Yam Turd and his crew are just so sick and awful and destructive.
It is all going to be so beautiful though (and infinitely more functional). I mean, how charming is my window treatment fabric?! Blackberries for Nanny, flowers and figs, and those darling grasshoppers. And in the meantime, escapism.
T and I have been watching movies in anticipation of the Academy Awards tonight, and I have to say that although we've not been able to see a few of the contenders (Call Me By Your Name, The Shape of Water, and Phantom Thread), our favorites are Darkest Hour and Get Out. If Gary Oldman doesn't win best actor, it will be an abomination. God, he was transcendent.
I know Lady Bird has been all the rage, but for the most part, it just left me sad. I didn't feel a connection with most of the characters, and I couldn't imagine letting my child head to college with such a gulf between us. Of course, you just never know others' relationships, but still. I had a similar reaction to Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: great expectations followed by a sense of letdown. Frances McDormand, an amazing actress and one of my all-time favorites, seemed a touch one-dimensional. I don't know. I just wasn't enthralled. Sam Rockwell seemed almost a caricature, and Woody Harrelson (another of my absolute favorites) seemed to turn so quickly. I much prefer him as Haymitch.
I've told y'all how much I applaud Get Out, and last night we watched Darkest Hour. Boy oh boy, was I transported. I am endlessly fascinated by Churchill and the world during WWII, by the evil and courage and strength and never-ending hope and determination. History is both humbling and so instructive, offering lessons and beacons of light as we make, and remake, our ways through travails and humanity. Here's hoping we survive the horrific confluence of Rat Poison Turdface + the internet.
In the meantime, if you're done with films, please read Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi. I'm not done but am fully entranced and hate to put it down when I must. Ok, the children call.