LOVE, MUSICIANS, MOVIES

This Valentines month brings to mind a couple of current movies depicting romance, musicians and love with stories and casts especially focused on older individuals.   

“QUARTET” takes place in a very select community for retired operatic musicians portrayed by a delightful cast including Maggie Smith, Billy Connolly and Michael Gambon.    I recently thoroughly enjoyed viewing this movie which elicited audience laughter along with appreciation of some serious  more matter-of-fact aging issues.   

  

“AMOUR” focuses on a couple who are retired music teachers, apartment-dwellers, whose story evolves from the past into their present world.  The actors reportedly provide excellent performances many reviewers report.     Comments I’ve read reveal the movie depicts issues many encounter in real life.   Story events stimulate a wide range of emotions impacting viewers differently.    I’ve not yet seen this movie which has yet to open at our local theater.        

       

Your thoughts and reactions to these movies are welcome.

Betrayal and Heartbreak

I remember when we first met. He was of quite small physical stature standing next to me, but I cared little about that difference in height between us. I looked into his eyes and saw his admiration for me so apparent. His gaze followed me wherever I went. I began to feel an unbidden affection toward him developing within me. When his brown eyes focused on my own, I was overcome with a sense of commitment to him.

We had considerable time together learning so much about one another through the ensuing months. We delighted in pleasing each other in a manner that required little effort. Neither of us had to sacrifice our own sense of individualism in that process to achieve the respect and retain the affection we both wanted.

We looked forward to moments when we engaged in playful teasing games. When we chased one another he usually could catch me, as he was much quicker and more adept at darting and dodging. I generally couldn’t catch him unless he wanted me to do so. In the winter we had fun making tracks in the snow. During the warm seasons, the two of us took long walks together along narrow dirt paths that I imagined to be hidden trails into some unknown world. On either side of the trails, tall growing grasses swayed in the quickening breezes. On an opposite hillside unseen fantasized figures emerged disguised as wild flowers scattered randomly in the field.

Then came the day when I was unexpectedly informed my beloved friend and I must part.
He was going to be fully engaged elsewhere in working activities he would enjoy.
We would no longer be able to spend time with each other. I was certain this was not his choice. I knew I could not prevent this separation. The only hope I had was to make our parting as painless as possible. I knew his departure would bring me such intense pain, that I believed I could not be present to witness his leaving. I was familiar with loss experiences from an early age, so was sensitive to the prospect of having even one more.

Also, I did not want him to think I had wanted this parting, nor did I want to mislead him into believing I endorsed his entering the situation to which he was going. The fact was, I did not fully know specifically what sort of situation in which he would find himself. All I knew was, at some unknown time in the future, he and I would be allowed to meet again, if I so wanted. Any such meeting was to provide me with reassurance as to his welfare.

The day came for his departure, and I hid in my bedroom. I heard loud talking, shouting, increasingly angry sounding voices outside. I was lured with great reluctance to my window to see exactly what was happening. What I saw was greatly distressing to me. My friend did not want to go. He was resisting all commands from everyone, refusing even to walk. Those involved with taking him away were resorting to force, dragging him, to get him into the cab of their large shiny new pickup truck.

He gave the appearance of being undisciplined, uncooperative, generally disobedient. I did not want him viewed from this perspective. I so wanted those with whom he would soon spend all his time to fully appreciate his fine qualities. He deserved to be treated with respect, would respond in kind when trust was established. I knew he was proud, truly regal as the name I had given him implied, he was "King."

So, I rushed from my bedroom to his side. He immediately calmed and walked with me to the pickup truck, entered the cab at my direction. He trusted me implicitly. My point of view was, I was betraying him to I knew not what. The cab door was closed and they drove away. I returned to my room, fell on my bed, sobbed into my pillow to muffle the anguished cries that tore outward from deep inside my body.

Many months later to reassure me as to his welfare, I was offered the opportunity to exercise my option of visiting him. I quickly accepted the offer, but with mixed feelings at the thought of enduring the pain of separation when we would have to part once again.

When we arrived where he was now living, before we even left the car, the man with
whom he had departed in that pickup truck came out to caution us that my friend had developed a rather unpleasant and dangerous habit. He approached people from behind, not just nipping but biting them in a totally unfriendly manner. I was shocked to hear this, as I knew this was not my friend's nature.

I exited the car with only slight trepidation. There was silence for some time, then I heard a scuffling noise coming from the dirt driveway somewhat in the distance behind me. I never turned around. Instead I stood stark still with my arms stretched out at my sides, the palms of my hands open with fingers extended. The noise drew closer and closer, evolving into a scurrying sound more directly behind where I stood.

Soon I heard cautious sniffs for scent, alternating with short slight bursts of air at my feet. I felt the breaths against my bare legs. My body posture remained rigid as though I was frozen in place. I heard increasingly rapid sniffs, the sound increasing in loudness with movement upward on my body. I then felt the airbursts against the palm of my right hand, finally followed by the touch of cold moist skin against my own.

The sniffing figure began jumping up and down, circling around to face me. He quickly raised up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on my shoulders as in an embrace, so I hugged him close to me. This was, indeed, my friend, who could hardly contain his enthusiasm at finally seeing me again. During our separation he had grown to become a full size handsome black colored stock collie trimmed in a golden brown with touches of white at his neck. We only had a short time together before I had to leave.

Somehow I think he hoped I had come to rescue him. Had it been within my power, I would have taken him with me that day. There was little doubt in my mind that my friend had been subjected to what I would have termed abuse, but which his new owner probably thought was appropriate discipline to train him properly. My heart figuratively broke that day as I experienced such feelings of anguish and sadness when we drove away. My tears were suppressed with even greater effort than I had to exert from the heartbreak I felt when we first parted.

During the years since that reunion, I have sometimes dreamed of him, fantasized about the life we might have had together. I wonder on the occasions when he lay sleeping, maybe rapidly moving his paws and legs as though running, perhaps even uttering a slight whimper, as dogs sometimes do, if he, too, would have been dreaming of me? I have remembered him always with such bittersweet memories though I never saw him again.

Story of a Friendship

(The final portion of my early employment years story will be posted at a future time. I felt compelled to write what follows, but oh, how I wish thare had been no reason to do so.)

Story of a Friendship

Our families met when she was in her early thirties and I was pushing forty. All of us sometimes gathered at a neighborhood pool on those late summer afternoons where we all enjoyed the outdoors, the light warm breezes that wafted through the air around us, and the cooling water. Our children became friends in those early years. We kept busy with our own separate activities, only occasionally crossing paths. She was teaching part time at a local college, completing academic classes in English literature toward her doctorate.

She had a special rapport with younger students, so was sought after each year to teach entering college freshmen writing skills they had been unable to hone adequately during their high school years. She had established her credentials as an outstanding instructor, warm, personable, a caring individual with a sharp keen wit, who was quick to laugh when the situation warranted. Her knowledge, teaching skills with young adults, and personality had resulted in her obtaining a steady position at a time when others did not, as she pursued her own higher education.

She could be demanding with high expectations for a student's performance, but also recognized their limitations. She was able to maintain just the right tenor in her relationships with students, sometimes having to tactfully cope with those who developed a crush on her. She gave every indication of being on a path that would allow her to successfully meet her goals and fulfill her dreams. Some of her dreams shattered years later due to circumstances not entirely a consequence of her actions.

But before those times, over the next few years our friendship grew as we seem to come into contact more frequently. Our trust and confidence in each other evolved, ultimately resulting in our recognition that on occasion we might have need of each other for additional support toward reaching our goals. By that time, I had returned to university classes as a student to fulfill plans of my own. One afternoon, I remember the frantic phone call I received from her. There had been a meeting of mothers to select volunteers to assume responsibility for various committees in our daughters' branch of a national girls organization.

Because my friend had not been present to explain her unavailability at that time, she had been appointed to head an activities planning committee. Her daughters were pleased and she did not want to let the group down either, though she was annoyed that someone else had confirmed her availability to do this in the first place, having not checked with her. This may not seem like much, but was the proverbial straw that could have broken our camel backs.

I certainly didn't have the time to take on those duties myself either, so for our children's sake we agreed to share the responsibility. I knew between the two of us, we would complete the task quickly and efficiently. We did so within several days or so, then we were no longer burdened with the matter. We only had to show up once a month to accompany the girls to each different scheduled activity location.

During the ensuing years there were times in both our lives when, having settled our children for the night, we noted our husbands were engrossed in their own interests. We would engage in our own studies, then one or the other of us would spontaneously phone the other to determine if a study break was being scheduled there, too. If so, we walked to a nearby restaurant for relaxing conversation, coffee and an accounting of how we each were progressing along this part of our life's journey. Yes, there were sometimes serious matters we discussed, but we always found something about which to laugh before returning to our homes, and often more studies, into the wee hours of the morning.

Then we were always up bright and early to send household members out the door to work and school. We had to think about and perform all the household duties, go to our respective classes, study, and in her case teach, too. There were other family responsibilities for each of us associated with parents. You could say, we were "sandwiched." Those were extremely hectic, challenging, times, mixed with periods of pure joy and happiness for each of us. Our families managed occasional varied vacation trips though not together. My friend's family often enjoyed camping trips driving off in their VW bus on their journeys.

As I write this, I am aware that last night at this very time, my good friend was making that final journey we all make at some time in our life. She was entirely too young to go on this journey. She was only in the early years of the second half of her life. Her youngest daughter phoned me from along the Atlantic seaboard across the miles this afternoon. I was quite unprepared to accept her words informing me of the finality of her mother's life on this earth.

Only this week, the thought had crossed my mind, wondering if my friend's California family had moved as planned to the Midwest, or if she might come west anyway, and we would manage to spend a few hours together. I remembered last year at this time she had phoned weeks earlier to express her sympathy when she learned of my husband's death, then let me know she would be coming later in the summer. I remembered just how much that time together had meant to me, though what brought her here was related to the death of her parent some months earlier.

During this time we had together, we had shared a humor predicated on similar type unique coincidental events associated with circumstances that occurred long after our loved ones deaths. We had each long since shed many tears, so we indulged our residual pain by engaging in a type of emotionally releasing humor that we could not have shared with anyone other than each other.

We laughed, then laughed some more. I held my side from the ache of laughter, leaned my head on my hand with my elbow on the table, pounded the table with my other hand as I was regaled by the real life story I was being told. I shared my own in similar manner. My friend and I shared a special bond in our ability to find humor in what to others might have seemed irreverent or even disrespectful to the loved ones about whom we were sharing memories. This was the kind of conversation I could only have with someone who knew me intimately and I them. This was the kind of relationship that had developed over many years, many confidences, many shared experiences, that rarely occurs with anyone known for a lesser time.

We had much history together, our families, each other. There had been additional sorrows, an earlier death, and other tragedies of life. There was a mix of joys from our children and more positive life experiences, we each had, along with some we had shared together. Our family members had gradually scattered about the nation those years ago. I had once given much time and energy to this friendship, but the distance of miles and changing circumstances had resulted in a lessening of contact between us.

Mostly our contact had dissolved to an infrequent once a year holiday greeting by mail, or that additional visit if she happened to come this way. We just seemed to be on different paths and I was quite preoccupied with my own activities as she seemed to be with hers. Yet, on each of her visits westward she always arranged for us to spend some time together and I made myself available. I didn't initiate contact other times, perhaps I should have.

When we did talk, I skirted asking specifics of her day-to-day life, nor did she volunteer them. She carefully painted a rosy picture in generalities and I left the matter at that. She did not die from any intentional deliberate act, but then she did not have a traditional terminal illness or disease, either. I don't think she consciously meant to die. I think she died of heartfelt pain from within, deep inside her, not associated with any one individual other than herself. I think she ceased to love herself.

Heaven only knows, had she sought love outside herself, there had always been an abundance of that available wherever she looked, had she wanted it. She had the admiration of adults and students, love of family, love of friends, but she self-destructed. I cry for her, for her family, for all those who knew and cared for her, for all those who will now never have the opportunity to know her. I will miss her.

THE POWER OF LOVE

I remember the first time I saw him. He was in the company of his mother, two sisters and a brother. They were all of the same age, though none were identical. They had all been born at home in varying time intervals over a period of quite a few minutes. There was so much happening at the time, with so little help, that no one had been able to keep track of the order in which they were born. In the scheme of life, that bit of information didn't really seem to matter given what ultimately happened to the family. They never knew their father, nor he them. Their mother seemed nonplussed by that fact. They reflected her uncaring attitude and may never even have realized a father could be part of a family unit.

As time passed the family drifted apart, first one sister, the brother, and then his other sister left home. He was finally the only one remaining at home, alone with his mother. The brother and sisters never again had contact with him, or his mother, to the best of my knowledge. Any sense of loss the son and his mother might have felt was not revealed. They proceeded with their usual activities. Then, one day, inexplicably, his mother left -- just disappeared. He showed no signs of even noting her departure. He went about his business, was quite independent, though he clearly welcomed being given the opportunity to stay with us and have us provide his meals.

Considerably later, when any sorrow he might have felt had by then lessened, the unthinkable happened -- his mother suddenly reappeared but she had a new family of little ones in tow. They were without the company of a father, nor did he ever come around to visit them either. As before, the family members showed no discernible awareness or distressed feelings with this apparent abandonment by their father, or, I thought, perhaps the mother had just run off. I finally concluded that they might never ever have had any contact with their Dad and thought about what they all were missing.

Distressingly to me, the mother displayed less than warm loving feelings toward her older son. She even kept him some distance from the new young family, but I thought in time they might begin to reconcile and integrate as the new little ones grew older. But that was not to be.

In the early morning hours one day, sudden traumatic annihilating disaster descended on the new family and the mother's life ceased forever when she was attacked outdoors in a most brutal manner. The older son was inside the house at the time, and neither he nor we knew what had occurred until some hours later. Not only did his mother not survive, neither did any of his younger brothers and sisters for very long after her death. Again, his feelings about this tragic outrage were hidden from me and everyone, but then there had been a lengthy estrangement between the two of them. He had long since been completely enclosed in the arms of our family, so our caring atmosphere may have protected him from any pain he might otherwise have felt with this final, clearly permanent loss, of his mother, along with any semblance of family he ever knew.

Our family openly, reassuringly and lovingly offered him our continued caring. We provided him a home, food, medical care, embracing him as one of our own. He returned our affection in a multitude of small actions and gestures. Of course, there was that time when he soiled the guest room bed pillow, but we later learned he had a medical problem that caused him to be unable to avoid this accident. We felt badly that we had been angry with him and had behaved so poorly toward him at the time. In retrospect, I realize he probably had difficulty understanding our change in attitude toward him then. But once we knew the nature of his problem, were able to get him treatment, we did our best to redeem ourselves in his eyes.

His life was of lengthy duration, rich in experience as he travelled across the country with us, living for a time in a desert climate, then later to the west coast. Our lives were enriched for his having been a part of our family. Our actions toward him through his life's years at least partially accounted for the fact that he thrived as he did, gave so much pleasure to our family, I believe. His mere presence, demonstrated that empowering love which flowed as revitalizing unseen energy between us, each time we stroked his furry body and he gently rubbed responsively against us in tandem with a purr which seemed to motorize his movements. When his health deteriorated beyond his ability to recover we all cried, but each of us was bound together by that invisible ray of energized memory that is the power of love.
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