More Family Films to Enjoy

Several years ago, I was invited to be a "MomExpert" for ClubMom.com, and contribute columns on a regular basis. They've since revised that program, but I still get to participate in nifty projects with Stacy DeBroff, the Chief Mom Expert who invited me onboard. Recently, Stacy's new organization, MomCentral.com, asked me to review a new movie called "A Plumm Summer," starring Henry Winkler, William Baldwin, and Peter Scolari, plus a little guy named Owen Pearce who will steal your heart away, and 16-year-old Chris Kelly, who will have your daughters swooning. I tend to be rough on movies, so I invited my husband, sons, and their friends to join me in watching this new production from director Caroline Zelder. Because it's billed as a "family film," my 17-year-old's eyes were rolling right along with the opening credits. And because my 24-year-old is a film director whose tastes lean toward the Coen brothers and Alfred Hitchcock, he was skeptical, as well (although the cast definitely caught his attention right off).

Let me just say that, these days, it's a pretty significant accomplishment for a film to hold the attention of viewers aged 15 to 50, but "A Plumm Summer" did just that. The story is based on a true incident: the kidnapping of "Froggy Doo," a children's TV celebrity puppet that was wildly popular in the midwest back in the 60s. Having been a huge fan of my own town's "Uncle Bruce Show," and the nationally televised "Mary Ellen Show," I had no trouble relating to the outrage this "crime" generated. Interwoven into the main plot are issues of coming of age, sibling support, alcohol abuse, and the boundaries of love. "A Plumm Summer" is funny, it's tender, there's a touch of romance plus a few tense moments and, even though nobody was willing to proclaim it their favorite movie of the year thus far, everybody agreed it was worth their time and they'd be willing to recommend it to others. The film goes out in limited release in Alabama, California, and one of the "M" states this coming weekend (Minnesota? Maine?); wider release will depend on how well it does on its debut. So, for heaven's sake, if it's playing somewhere near you, go see it. Lord knows we need all the family films we can muster! I don't know about you, but I really appreciate it when a well-known actor lends his or her name (and talent) to a film whose primary purpose is to uplift, rather than titillate or gross out, audiences. For that same reason, you should go see Jodie Foster in "Nim's Island." I love her work, but most of her recent films are so violent that I don't even put them on my consideration list. Perhaps if her family-targeted film is successful, Foster will focus her considerable talent in that genre instead.

A Southern Girl Goes North

To celebrate our anniversary, my husband and I recently flew into Buffalo, New York, then spent almost a week visiting Niagara Falls, Niagara-on-the-Lake, Stoney Creek, Rockton, St. Jacobs, and just driving around in the beautiful Ontario countryside. Despite there being many feet of snow on the ground (which, Florida native that I am, I absolutely LOVED!), we had no problems at all getting around. Roads and sidewalks were clear and ice-free.

You can't comprehend the sheer power of those waterfalls (and there are two, for those of you who may not realize that) until you are standing directly in front of them. Even half-frozen, the force is phenomenal--although the seagulls seemed completely nonplussed. Lake Erie and Lake Ontario were equally impressive--in both their endless expanse and the four-foot layer of ice that covered whole sections of them!

One of the best days of our trip was spent at the Maple Syrup Festival at Rockton's Westfield Heritage Village, where we learned how maple syrup has been made down through the centuries and visited early Ontario homes, churches, and businesses. Unlike most American historic villages, Westfield encourages visitors to touch and taste as well as view what life was like in the good old days. The proprietor of the general store was selling candy as fast as he could wrap it in its brown paper cones, and storyteller Pauline Grondin and costumed interpreter (and elementary school teacher) Norma Bingham shared fresh-from-the-cookstove maple delights as eagerly as tales of the family who once called that kitchen their own.

Also fascinating was learning about ice wine, the specialty dessert wine made from grapes frozen while still on the vine. Southern Ontario is the world's largest producer of this distinctive winter harvest, and wineries abound on the well-marked "Wine Route." Even bare-branched and blanketed with snow, the acres after acres of grapes, peaches, and apricots were stunning.

Even Buffalo, NY, was charming in its white winter coat. We found the downtown architecture fascinating, the residents cordial, and the sidewalk stroll (mere feet from Lake Erie!) pure joy. Not so joyful was Northwest Airlines' failure to notify us--until after we had turned in our rental car and arrived at the airport--that they cancelled our flight home and assigned us to another one--six hours later! Nice as it is, the Buffalo-Niagara Airport is a hard place to stay entertained for that long; I'm just grateful we had good books and no small children!

Here's to Girl Power!

March is Women's History Month, a great time to think about all the amazing women you've known. When I began work on my last book, She of the Rib, my original idea was to create a collection of tribute poems written to specific women who have impacted my life. I ended up taking the book in a different direction, but I'd still like to write those tribute poems at some point--if I could manage to distill into 30 or 40 lines the impact that Ruby Miller, Reta Barnes, Eula Tillis, and others like them have had (and continue to have) on me.

I'm a big believer in celebrating, so here's how I want you to honor Women's History Month: find a quiet place and a quiet time (yeah, I know, that's the toughest part of this assignment) and make a list of twenty women who have made a difference in your life. Teachers, family members, friends, perhaps even women you've never actually met. (Author Louisa May Alcott is high on my own list, for example; she was a huge influence on my becoming a writer.) Anyway, after you make your list, pick one person who is alive and well and write a note telling her what she's meant to you. A note, mind you--and handwritten, no less! Not a signed Hallmark card, not an e-mail. Everybody deserves to receive a note worth keeping forever, and for all you know, this might be the one. Make it worthy! Put that little piece of your heart in the mail, then find a special place to keep your List of Amazing Women so you can bring it out again next March to add another name, write another note, or just reflect again on the many wonderful women who've made you who you are today.

In the meantime, here's a list of women who, through either their intellect, ability, compassion, conviction, or courage, have made a difference for all of us. If there's a name you don't recognize, please take a moment to click on it and see what that woman's contribution was. And if you'd like post a comment about these or other amazing women to whom we need to pay tribute this month, please do!

Susan B. Anthony
Rachel Carson
Julia Child
Marie Curie
Amelia Earhart
Kathryn Hepburn
Helen Keller
Rosa Parks
Eleanor Roosevelt
Margaret Sanger
Mother Teresa
Harriet Tubman
Phillis Wheatley
Oprah Winfrey
Babe Zaharias

3 Mo' Divas: Worth Crawling Outside Your Comfort Zone

Recently I had the privilege of hearing "3 Mo' Divas" perform when they visited my city's exquisite performing arts venue, the Peace Center. I knew little about the act, other than it was an outgrowth of "3 Mo' Tenors," which grew out of "The Three Tenors." The website, http://www.3modivas.com/, attested to the talent of the six women who perform alternately in this musical celebration conceived by Broadway writer/director Marion Caffey. But it was when I got a sneak peak of the evening's repertoire that I knew I couldn't miss it: everything from Puccini's "Vissi D'Arte" to the Angels' "My Boyfriend's Back."

To say that I got my money's worth is an understatement. Laurice Lanier's rendition of "Strange Fruit," complemented by Jamet Pittman's haunting harmonies, had me in tears, while the gospel numbers that wrapped up the show had the entire audience ready to be baptized all over again. Unfortunately, that entire audience amounted to a mere few hundred souls. We were lost in a 2100-seat auditorium that was filled to capacity for Tony Bennett, James Taylor, and Anne Murray. So why didn't the Divas have a full house? Because we are creatures of habit, and we are loathe to wander outside our comfort zones. Like "poetry," the word "opera" makes most people shudder and take two steps back. Apparently, as soon as Upstate residents started reading French and Italian song titles, the words "Boring! High brow!" flashed in their brains and they moved on to the movie listings. What a tragedy for both sides! Those amazing ladies sang to too many empty seats, and anyone who wasn't in one of those seats missed the best concert I've heard in that venue.

"3 Mo' Divas" is currently touring the country. If they come anywhere near you, see them or you'll regret it.

Technology: Beast or Blessing?

Many years ago, when I rolled my eyes every time my techno-wizard husband tried to tell me about the Internet, he assured me if I ever gave it a chance, I'd love it. He was right; of course, I didn't embrace the beast until we got past the dial-up modem stage--patience not being one of my sterling attributes--but, these days, give me a reliable server and a swift connection, and I can waste...er, invest...many happy hours taking advantage of technology's bounty.

By the same token, few things now make me more irate than technology used badly--or abused. I personally think spammers should have their fingers ripped off at the roots, telemarketers and politicians that use robots and recordings to call people should get their ears filled with brain-bursting strains of something (a la Slim Whitman in Mars Attacks) after the first ring, and websites with no contact information for the owner should be fined. However, the source of my ire on this last day of 2007 is neither spammer nor telemarketer, merely another company--and, oh, their numbers are legion!--who has managed to turn technology into an abyss of sanity-stretching, blood-pressure-rocketing frustration rather than the convenience it was meant to be.

I needed to reorder checks last week. Tried to do so at my local branch and was told they'd be happy to call in the order but couldn't make any changes. I needed to make changes so I said fine, I'll order online.

Tried to order online, but couldn't find an option for changing my information OR the style of checks I wanted (The carbon copy version of checks they sent last time is a complete waste of time, space, and money because no matter how hard I write, it's never enough to make it show up on the carbon copy.) Finally gave up after fifteen minutes and called the 800 number offered as the "fast, easy way to reorder your checks!"

LIARS! After the usual ten-minute runaround of trying to reach a human (Robot: "We're sorry. That number is not a valid option. Please listen to our menu again." Me, after entering every option possible, multiple times: "NO!! I DO NOT WANT TO LISTEN TO YOUR OPTIONS AGAIN!! I WANT AN OPERATOR! A CUSTOMER SERVICE REPRESENTATIVE! A HUMAN BEING! ANYTHING THAT BREATHS OXYGEN AND UNDERSTANDS ENGLISH!!!"), a young woman finally answered and, after listening to my plight, sighed indulgently and informed me that they were not allowed to change any information over the phone, but that my local bank would be happy to do that. "NO, THEY WON'T!" I screamed in a totally unSouthern manner. "THAT'S WHY I'M CALLING YOU!!! AND YOUR STUPID WEBSITE DOESN'T WORK, EITHER! YOU PEOPLE SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO OPERATE COMPUTERS!!" And then, remembering from whence I come, I added, "THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR HELP!" (Yes, I know the sarcasm negated the politeness, but good Southern girls always thank people for service--even bad service. It's a rule.)

This morning, I put my reorder slip in the drive-through drawer, with my address crossed out and corrected and the phrase "NO DUPLICATES!!!" emblazoned across the top. "I wasn't able to do this online or by phone," I informed the bank teller, with a look that said, "Don't even THINK about questioning me on this!"

And as the teller removed the slip from the drawer, she nodded and smiled and gave me a look that said, "Poor woman, some people just don't know how to handle technology."

Wishing you a new year rife with blessings and laughter--and devoid of frustration and idiots!

Are Family Films Making a Comeback?

Remember how Jeff Daniels crawled out of the movie screen and into the theatre in The Purple Rose of Cairo? As I watched Dan in Real Life a few weeks ago, I wanted to do the same thing--in reverse. So real, so endearing, so inviting is life with the Burns family that I wanted to teleport myself right into their living room. I don't endorse many things, but you have to see this film. Take your children. Take your mother. You can even take your grandmother; if there's a profane word, I don't remember it. (And if there was one, Nana Burns probably smacked whoever said it with a wooden spoon.)

The purity this film offers isn't the cotton candy, sweetness and light, all's well in the world variety. It's a this-is-how-normal-families-who-care-about-each-other-behave kind of reality that rarely shows up on screen. Somewhere between the nastiness of Arrested Development and the saccharine of The Brady Bunch, there's a happy medium of family life with which most of us can identify. Director Peter Hedges has nailed it. These people have problems, but instead of pulling out a weapon, an illegal substance, or a stream of expletives, they actually WORK THINGS OUT. What a concept!

And now comes August Rush, which is a tad heavier on the saccharine, although the music score more than makes up for it. (If there's a budding musician in your family, this is required viewing, and if you like happy endings, you're in for a real treat.) Granted, the story line's pretty implausible, and most of the bad things that would befall a youngster alone on the streets don't, but I give director Kirsten Sheridan lots of points for creating a family-friendly film that's inspiring, uplifting, profanity-free, and worth the nine bucks it cost me to see it (the latter all too rare an occurrence). And while the two main characters do engage in a single act of unprotected, unmarried sex (which we happily do not see), the result is the consequence every parent warns about.

Is this a fluke? Two movies in a month with worthwhile plots, quality acting, believable dialogue, and NO swearing, sex, or violence? Could it be--gasp!--that Hollywood has finally figured out there's an actual market for intelligent, non-offensive films? Frankly, I think that's too much to hope for, so I urge you to pile Grandma and the kiddies in the car ASAP and prove the point by buying tickets--lots and lots of them...send everyone you know whose ears are numb and who's definition of "acceptable" has been stretched to the max--to these two movies. With luck, there are more to follow.

Death, Thy Sting is Right Here

There's a lot about life that isn't fair, but sometimes that fact slaps you in the face with a vengeance. Last night as I sat with my husband, listening to a concert and watching our sons enjoy the music, my friend Maria sat in a funeral home a few blocks away, beside the casket of her husband, aged 47. Our sons are best friends; we have, up till now, shared similar lives.

Going to see Maria and her sons last night took every ounce of willpower I had, because I knew I couldn't simply file past with a sympathetic expression as I murmured banal platitudes. I know because my father, like Maria's husband, died ten years before he should have seen me graduate...fifteen years before he should have given me away at the altar of my hometown church...twenty-one years before he should have held the child who bears his name...forty years before he should have been watching the World Series with three young men who'll never know what it feels like to have a grandfather.

When you've walked in someone's shoes, it's impossible to lie to them. And so, as I hugged my friend last night, I didn't tell her it will be all right--because it won't be. I told her the only things I know to be true: "This is so wrong," and "I am here whenever you need me." And as I watched her sons standing awkwardly in the onslaught of well-wishers--I said nothing at all. But in my heart, I gathered them in my arms and wept with them over the moments that will now never happen in their lives.

Their lives will go on. They will cope; they will heal. But they will never, ever be the same. This I know.