Deliverance revisited

This is my second blog post on this movie. I have been known to be obsessed on things from time to time.

I've seen this one countless times, and it's hard to believe it first hit the screens in 1972.  Last time I watched it -- a few years back in Oregon -- I particularly enjoyed the vistas of the wonderful, wild and scenic Chattooga River, which forms the border between Georgia and South Carolina way up in the northeast corner of this state. 

This viewing followed a series of events and included some new stuff on this new deluxe edition.

Pat Conroy (a student of James Dickey, who wrote this story) mentioned in his recent book The Death of Santini that Dickey's son, Christopher Dickey, had written a particularly good story about Dickey and particularly about father/son relationships, called The Summer of Deliverance. I got this one from the local library and read it, found it fascinating. The title is a bit of a play on words -- a couple of chapters are devoted to the filming of Deliverance, but it seems to mostly refer to a summer he spent late in his father's life mending what had been a contentious relationship. Chris Dickey is a journalist, a fine writer in a much different genre from his poet father.  Reading the book led me to want to watch the movie again, after reading so much 'behind the scene' stuff. Had to order it through our library system, ended up with this deluxe edition which is remastered (great graphic quality) and has lots of footage from filming as well as current-day stories and retrospectives from the four stars, the director and cinematographer (all still living and working) as well as narrative from Chris Dickey (who was on the film crew) and even a few bits of video of James Dickey reading some of his poetry or walking about the campus where he taught. I spent an hour or more watching and wallowing in these before watching the film.

Unlike most movies, this one was filmed sequentially, as they ran the river. Access to the river was limited enough that I expect reruns would have been too problematic. None of the actors had ever paddled canoes and all but Reynolds were given basic instruction (Reynolds refused, said he wanted to run it 'cold'). They did all their own paddling, all the rapids, everything. By the time they reached the end of the river it was clear that they were much more confident with the paddles and boat-handling! Reynolds even did his own stunt work in going down the big waterfall at the end -- the rest had better sense, I guess. Because of the dangers involved, the movie was filmed without insurance because they couldn't get insurance. Interestingly enough, filming sequentially also left the actors with time to build up some anticipation, anxiety and trepidation regarding the upcoming rape scene, which apparently helped all of their performances.

Refer to obsession, above, but I thoroughly enjoyed all this background info and enjoyed this viewing far more than any of the prior viewings. The beauty of the setting -- Rabun County -- was breathtaking. It was great to see the river again (I've paddled section II, the 'tame' section, have done several hikes/backpacks along the river, have visited some of the big rapids (Class III, IV and V on Sections III and IV) on foot, have explored section I which isn't particularly navigable (still a relatively small stream up there).  Aside from the physical beauty, I think I saw for the first time the overall beauty of this movie (the story isn't always beautiful, but taken as a whole, it's a beautiful work of art). There has to be some reason it's been so iconic for 40+ years.

No plumbers yet, in case anybody's curious.

We're really spoiled

My great-grandmother, Martha Haygood Smith.

I'm finally beginning to gain a deep appreciation and understanding of how difficult life would have been for even the generation prior to mine -- if one lived in the country -- and certainly the generation prior to that wherever one lived. This photo is typical of the time, which was the 1930's. Martha and her husband Asberry lived on a farm outside Rome, GA. Martha died from burns when her long skirt caught fire at the fireplace. No modern conveniences here!

However time-consuming it is to wash my hair and take a 'bath' without a hot water heater, I'm still incredibly privileged by comparison.  I don't have to chop wood to feed a wood stove that heats water (and cooks food as well). And I don't have to bring water in from a well, or even hand-pump it into a pail. I have a microwave and a good gas stove to do the heating and water -- albeit cold -- on tap. I also have a good washer that'll heat it's own water if I choose that cycle. Not to mention that I have good heat sources, instead of a fireplace.

I remember visiting some cousins in Rockmart when I was 18, and before that as well. Their house had electricity, running water, a washer-dryer, all the modern conveniences of that time. Next door, however, in the old farmhouse where my cousin's husband was raised, not much of that existed. They did have indoor plumbing and I'm not sure about water or heat, but they didn't have electricity. She could have washed her clothes in my cousin's washer, but instead, this wonderful old woman (who looked and dressed much as Martha does in the photo) did things as she'd always done: heated water in a huge black iron pot in the backyard, over a wood fire, stirred the clothes with a stick while they boiled clean. I watched her do this more than once, and this was in 1961.

My appreciation comes from the time involved to do what I'm used to doing in a quick shower. Washing hair has to be done in the kitchen sink, because I'm not going to kneel down in the bathtub. Besides, it's right next to the stove where water is heating. It takes time and makes a mess, but does the job.

To take a 'bath', I have to bring the 3-qt pot of water to a boil, heat more water in a pyrex bowl in the microwave, take it all into the bathroom along with a smaller pot used as a ladle and a large stainless steel bowl to mix cold water with the boiling water. The tub itself is cold -- big, old, cast iron with enamel -- and never gets warm to the touch even though the heat is always on in that room. I sit on the edge, or stand at times, wash myself with the microwaved water and soap, then use the larger quantity of water for rinsing. Then take all the pots and bowls back into the kitchen.

Not hard work -- and I'm not complaining or whining -- just gaining a new appreciation for the generations that came before.

Obsession

Bhavana in winter.

Golly gee, what a restless day! I think 'travel fever' has taken hold, even though I don't leave until a week from today. My mind tends to transition itself on its own time schedule, and right now it's transitioning or transitioned to Bhavana.  I'm physically here, but the mind is doing its own thing. :)

So I'm restless. Meditation would be a good antidote for that, but I'm out of the habit and it's hard to restart without a push of some kind (I think two weeks of nothing else to do will take care of that!). Now, I guess I need to put the physical wheels in motion, although most of those are already handled in my mind too, and there's no point in actually packing bags this early. I wouldn't have any clothes left to wear around here!

I'm hoping the weather allows me to get there. Snow and ice there for the next few days, but it should disappear before next Sunday and right now there's no more forecast for that weekend. That forecast changes several times every day, however, so I'll continue to keep my eye on it.

I'm so looking forward to being at this wonderful place and seeing the smiling, familiar faces of the monks and staff once again. But, in the meantime I have things to gather and pack, a dermatologist appointment, a haircut (maybe) and a recycling run (all on one trip to Rome).

I think I need to find something active and useful to do today, since it's only 9am and there's a lot of daylight between now and bedtime!  Hard to gather much interest on a cold, wet and gray day.

I've been reading Pat Conroy's cookbook (the essay portions) this morning, but it's short and won't take long to finish. Yesterday, I finished his latest book, The Death of Santini, and was left wanting more, plus I wanted to revisit the recipes and see if there was anything in there I might try. Most are too complicated and/or too expensive for me to do. Primarily more expensive!

I admit that I'm somewhat obsessed with this man, and I don't even care. He's an incredible writer and I was hooked back around 1986-87 when I read The Prince of Tides -- first time I'd ever heard of him, I believe.  I thought I'd died and gone to writer's heaven, and nothing I've read of his since has disabused me of that feeling.

There's also some weird sense of connection to him that has no basis in reality -- although I've often thought that perhaps it's the shared 'military brat' background and the fact that we both hated our fathers from early childhood. Not to mention that we are both children of the South and have both suffered a lifetime of depression. In fact, I discovered in the new book that his mother was born and raised dirt poor in Rome  -- 20 miles north of here. Her parents were from Piedmont, AL, 25 miles west of here where some of my own mother's family settled a couple of hundred years ago. Unfortunately, I can't find any of his family names in my own genealogy database -- it would be cool to be a distant cousin. He's a couple of years younger than I, his parents/grandparents and mine lived parallel lives during the same time periods and may have even crossed paths -- his grandfather owned a barbershop in Rome at the same time my grandfather owned a barbershop in Cedartown, and my grandfather's brother owned a barbershop in Rome. These were small towns back then, so it's not out of the question that my great uncle would have known Pat's grandfather, since they were in the same trade. Possibly my grandfather as well, since he was from Rome. On the other hand, Pat's grandfather took his fundamentalist background a bit far, abandoning both his business and family to go out on the streets evangelizing, so the parallels end at that point.

Something else I find fascinating is that one of my other favorite writers, Rick Bragg, is also from the Piedmont, AL area, from another dirt poor family that moved in that same time period and that same arc from the Piedmont area to Rome and back, following ways and places to earn a living. Two great writers spawned from the hardscrabble life of Piedmont, AL. Who'd have thunk it?

Congee, or Jook

Yum! My latest food addiction -- and a healthy one.

I read descriptions such as Chinese comfort food, the perfect food for a cold day, even a likeness to chicken and dumplings that really isn't all that far-fetched.

So utterly easy to make, albeit a bit time-consuming to cook, as the liquid must evaporate and the rice cook to a soft consistency. Put the rice, water, chicken stock, salt, ginger and boneless, skinless chicken thighs into a pot and let it cook until done. Period. I used this recipe, although I altered it to use brown rice instead of white, and doubled the amount of ginger (it could use still more). I also added more liquid, to offset the brown rice, and if there's too much it's easy to let more of it evaporate away.

Yesterday I ate two bowls. Today, just this one slightly larger bowl. And I'm stuffed, in a very pleasant way. Lots of chicken ended up in this bowl, which made it extra filling. Now, I think it's time for an afternoon nap.

A whole new attitude

Remember that old saying, there's no place like home? I woke up this morning with a whole new attitude -- one of confidence, certainty that right now, I do not want to move. With all it's problems and foibles, noisy neighbors and all, this place is home and right now, I'm just not ready to leave it.

I suspect that's because I have no idea where else I really want to go, and at my age, it's not a decision I want to just jump into under the pressure of feeling that it's something I have to do.

I feel like a big weight has been lifted -- and in a way, it has, because this has been hanging over me for a month now, since I returned from California. It's pushed me into doldrums and inertia and a not-like-me state of just wanting to read and watch TV or play computer games that stress my eyes something fierce. Fortunately, it's also pushed me into spending a lot of time on the stationary bike just to burn off some of the inevitable nervous energy that was caused by the whole thing.

This means I have to do a few things -- like break down and get a HW heater installed. I figure I can sell the thing in 6 months and get much of that money back, although not the installation cost, of course. Still, I think 6 more months of being without one might get a bit old.

It also means planting some greens in the garden! I'm not going to spend a winter here without that, so I need to get on it. Today, if the weather permits, or tomorrow. Wouldn't hurt to go spread some supplements on it today, let it sink in if it rains. Maybe pull out the few old plants that are left.

I feel alive again -- at least more so. I'm going to go ahead and fill out applications for potential places to live, in Atlanta and Eugene (!), since they have waiting lists anyway. Hopefully, by spring, I'll have a better idea what I want to do.

King's Mountain

Pardon the lousy graphic -- image ripped from Amazon and it's none too good.

But -- the book itself is wonderful! This is my second 'ballad' novel by Sharyn McCrumb, and while it wasn't quite as entertaining as The Ballad of Tom Dooley, which I read a year or two ago, it's a good story.

The author specializes in well-researched historical novels set in North Carolina and Tennessee. She uses facts -- real people and documented events -- and builds good reads around them. Tom Dooley was a real person -- real name, Thomas Dula, and his story was true.

This book chronicles a two-week interval in 1780 where a bunch of mountain men banded together, militias from various states (Virginia, North and South Carolina, North Georgia) with one common goal: to find and battle the British Army Major Patrick Ferguson who was roaming the mountains. The main players in the story are real people -- from historical records, genealogical records and such. The victory at King's Mountain was considered by Thomas Jefferson and others as the turning point in the American Revolution. I'm afraid I kept my eyes on Google maps to follow their path from "overmountain" on the northwest side of Roan Mountain in what is now Tennessee, right on the border of North Carolina, to the battlefield.

As the author states, King's Mountain was a veritable "Who's Who" of the frontier south. Although not all mentioned in the book, the roster of men  included the first governor of Tennessee, the first governor of Kentucky, the brother-in-law of Virginia governor Patrick Henry, Davy Crockett's father, Robert E. Lee's father, and the grandfather of North Carolina's Civil War governor, Zebulon Vance.

It also included a much-less-exalted ancestor of mine: Pendleton Isbell, who served with Benjamin Cleveland from Wilkes County, NC. This wasn't Pendleton's first Revolutionary War battle, either. He also served with George Washington at Valley Forge and Brandywine, but this time he was defending his home territory. McCrumb mentions some Isbell's in The Ballad of Tom Dooley, but not Pendleton. That story takes place in and around Wilkes County, so her Isbells are also bound to be relatives of mine, one way or another.

I'm definitely planning to read more of her work. If you like history or just good fiction, maybe you should give her a try.

Preserve Your Brain

A friend of mine has written a fine book that we can all use. Especially those of us on the high side of 50 and counting. Entitled "Preserve Your Brain", the book contains exercises we can do to keep our brain alert and active, probably even encourage the growth of new brain cells (which again, we can all use).

Ann has long been a teacher of yoga and tai chi, specializing in seniors, and has published many articles on the subject of health and mental well-being. She knows her stuff. The book encompasses simple exercises that anyone can do, some yoga, some stretches, the importance of smiling, mindful meditation, brain nutrition, and much more. I haven't fully read my copy yet but I have looked through it, tried a few suggestions, and look forward to sitting down for a good read in the near future.

The book is available on Amazon for a modest price, and I'd recommend it to all of you.

Full circle

Remember the various posts I made when this movie was being filmed here in town? When I arrived home on Tuesday, I saw that it's actually (finally!) playing at the West, which was featured in the film. I haven't gone to see it and probably won't -- they don't do matinees, and I don't do evenings. You can find all those previous posts below by just clicking on the Jayne Mansfield's Car label at the bottom.

Also found this on the camera, which I'd totally forgotten about. The bus from Jenner made a detour to the western side of Bodega Bay where the driver took a 10 minute break. It was so lovely -- but then, I'm always a sucker for boats and docks and marinas and such.




Saw my dermatologist yesterday -- I lost count (and he stopped counting aloud) at 20 zaps to my face alone. He moved on to my hands, but soon stopped, with only a cursory glance at the rest of my body, looking for obvious problems. I think he though I'd had enough -- and he was right. I usually get around 10 -- never anywhere near this many. And there were two that needed biopsy (and thus needles to deaden). So much fun.

It's on the chilly side here this morning -- down to 60. It's that time of year when it's silly to turn on heat in the morning because it'll be warm later on.  Brrrrr. It was this cold in Jenner most mornings, but I was in Polarfleece and other warm stuff.

A new experience

So here I sit, settled in at SFO for my very long wait until my flight departs at just before midnight. Civilized city that it is, they have free wi-fi, so I'm all set to be happy for awhile.

The security lanes were empty when I arrived, and since the place I want to have dinner is inside those lanes, I opted to come on in -- little did I know the excitement that awaited me! First, a young man politely said they needed to do a bag check on my backpack, and please meet him at the end of the conveyor when all my stuff was through. That done, it turns out that the machines detected symptoms of explosives in the bag. So I got to watch while he carefully took things out, swiped some paper through it then fed the paper back through a machine -- did that several times, in several areas of the bag, even swiped my smelly running shoes. Naturally, the found nothing -- I did tell them that I'd been in a redwood forest with mold and mildew and chemicals used to get rid of those things. Then, I got my 'massage'. A very nice woman did a full pat down -- I opted against the private area for this. My flip-flops and sweatshirt and computer bag all had to go back through the system. I was relaxed and having fun with it -- a new and different experience, and they were polite. I told them I had a long wait anyway and it didn't really matter whether I spent it there or further into the terminal -- I was not exactly in a hurry. In the end, I was cleared and now here I sit. Waiting, patiently for now -- but with another 7 hours to go, that may change.

Had a great day! Wonderful, if emotional and confusing, morning talks with Ayya, a nice wait for the bus alongside the Pacific, an interesting ride into Santa Rosa where my good friend Sylvia waited. I had no particular interest in hanging around Santa Rosa, so we headed to Sonoma where we had a great lunch at a wonderful restaurant on the square, called The Girl With the Fig, or something like that. Nice shaded outdoor patio, perfect weather, good food and even better companionship. Then, on to Napa where she dropped me at the Napa airport shuttle. This time we crossed the new Oakland Bay Bridge that just opened over Labor Day weekend -- that was really cool. Will be better once the old span is taken down, but they're working on it. The thing just floats -- just a low concrete barrier on the right side, with a series of tall white supports on the left, between the two sections of the bridge. Then short suspension points to the one tower. A cool experience.

So now I wait. When I get back to Atlanta, it'll be tomorrow.

Happenings and changes

Greetings to all from the rainy, cool, misty redwoods -- weather which descended upon us yesterday and appears to want to hang around for awhile. No complaints (well, actually I'm whining a bit from wet shoes) because this is the norm. The wonderful, warm, sunny days of this past month have not been the norm, although they were much appreciated.

Including today, and Sunday (when I'll be gone most of the day), I have five more days here. And I've been here 4 weeks as of today. I'm so glad I came -- for so many reasons. I am so deeply honored and pleased to have Ayya Sobhana as a dear friend as well as mentor, and I'm glad to have been able to help her during this time, and to have such a wonderful opportunity to work and live closely with her on a daily basis. I had a friend visit for a few days and he commented over and over that 'this is not easy', meaning the general life here. And he's right. It's not easy and I didn't expect that it would be easy. Everything is in transition -- an outdoor kitchen under a canopy, the refrigerator around the corner, the pantry and ice box (literally) are across the way. The kutis are far from everything else so you don't want to forget something when you come down the hill of a morning. Or when you go back up the hill of an evening.

For the first 3 weeks or so none of this mattered to me -- I was happy and content and could see my life here easily and comfortably (more or less comfortably). I wanted to stay, intended to return. I'm not sure what made the difference, but for the past few days I've been dis-spirited, going through the motions, looking inside (not as deeply as I would like, but inside nevertheless), doing what I know to do, but somehow it's really not helping. Or, not helping enough, at any rate.

I'd already considered contacting the monastery in Austin to see if there was a chance I could still be useful there -- and then this morning a surprise email from them to see if I would be interested in returning there to teach English to foreign monks in a contemplative environment. Warm kuti, private bath, internet and electricity. Warm weather. Short walks to everything. And once the construction is completed, a good teaching atmosphere. It seems almost providential. And yes, it's something I will consider and consider closely.

Ayya, in her goodness and kindness, has helped to connect me with a woman in Sacramento who is actually going to come here and cook for her for a few days after I leave. I met her a few weeks back at the opening of the vihara in Santa Rosa. All that is background -- she and some friends from Sacramento are going to offer lunch dana to Pa Auk Sayadaw at his residence on Sunday, and Ayya suggested I go with them! The name may not mean much to most of you, but in the Theravadan Buddhist world, he is one of the greatest living teachers, also the teacher of my teacher, Sayalay Susila. There are no words to describe how much it means to me to sit in his presence, listen to his wisdom for just one time. He's old, and his health is not good, and even if that were not the case there may not be another time when I will be so near him and have an opportunity to meet him. So that's what I'll be doing on my last day in California.

About time to go start preparing lunch -- Ayya is still good and dear to me, weather notwithstanding, and she needs food (as do I).