2019 Everyday Critic Awards (in lieu of the Oscars)

In case you didn't know, the Academy Awards are today. In case you didn't care, but still have some interest in the best movies of the year, I have provided a list below of 24 films that (in my opinion) are very much worth seeing. Many of them are up for an Oscar, but I took the liberty of giving each of them an award in a category of my own making. I don't see how any film could ever be labeled "Best Picture," or how any director can be deemed the "Best" compared to all of the other talents. How about these bests?

Most Interesting Fairytale Concept - Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Tarantino’s fairytales are my absolute favorite. His way of sticking it to the people in history who deserve it most can’t be beaten. Once upon a time, in Hollywood, a pregnant and beautiful Sharon Tate went out for Mexican food with her glamorous friends before returning home to the hills...but wait, just next door is Brad Pitt tripping on acid, and his dog of pure muscle, and a drunken Leonardo DiCaprio with a flamethrower... As in all of my favorite Tarantino films, the buildup to the massacre is my favorite part, and he certainly takes his time in this one. The details drew me into a time period I can only imagine, and to the idea of places I don’t want to imagine (such as Charles Manson’s loony ranch of hippies and the rundown car some of them took to Cielo Drive on August 9, 1969). I could have gone for more Sharon, as Margot Robbie delivered gorgeously in her few scenes: dancing with lighthearted confidence alongside Mama Cass, with Steve McQueen looking on; stealing backward glances in a movie theater projecting her own Wrecking Crew, completely unrestrained in her delight to be admired and applauded; later, feeling especially pregnant at El Coyote. The fictionalized has-been in DiCaprio’s TV cowboy and Pitt’s hunky, unconditionally loyal stuntman paired well next door to Tate’s rising stardom (especially since it’s laughable to think of DiCaprio himself ever being a has-been, ironically evidenced in the fantastic performances by and chemistry between him and Pitt throughout). My ultimate take on this story is this: I’ve watched it several times, it’s almost three hours long, and still - every time - that ending is so incredibly satisfying. The whole thing is so incredibly satisfying: soundtrack, dialogue, Coupe de Villes, Dakota Fanning, frozen margaritas and all. The only obvious wish is that one of Pitt’s final lines could have been true in reality for young Sharon and her friends: “It isn’t my time yet.”

Best Feel-Good Flick for the Dreamer in You - Blinded by the Light

This one’s for anyone who has ever had a little faith in the magic of the arts. For young Javed, that means poetry, Bruce Springsteen, and breaking out of the confines of his hometown to pursue his dreams inspired by both. When he first puts his headphones on and hears, “I ain’t nothing but tired. Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself,” it ignites an internal revolution - for Javed and any audience member who has ever wrestled with the same thoughts. Am I biased because I think writers and artists are charged with the most meaningful work in the world? Well, of course I am. But what about that feeling of intense belonging that comes from deeply relating to the words of a song on its first listen? I’ve never been a part of a minority (like Javed and his family, persecuted in their hometown for simply looking different). But I contend that Blinded by the Light means to resonate with everyone...or at least, anyone who has ever sought some kind of impractical dream, with the purest intentions, not to defy their family but to get the most out of this life. In the words of The Boss himself, “If dreams came true, well, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Most Impressively All-Inclusive-Audience Film About Car Racing - Ford v Ferrari

What’s horrible about assembly lines is the products all come out the same (or differences mean flaws), the paper-pushing stalls any meaningful progression (queue three secretaries and one memo), and higher-ups lacking any useful knowledge or skills call all the shots (stupidly and sometimes vindictively) and assume all the glory (infuriatingly and always unfairly). Don’t miss out on Ford v Ferrari because you don’t care about car races. Skip it if you don’t care about impeccable soundtracks matched to exhilarating scenes depicting the astounding achievements of real-life human beings...human beings that challenged bureaucracy and maintained their dignity in order to be the best of their time. Skip it if you never root for the underdog. Skip it if you don’t like a film to make you feel like you’re right there with the characters, shedding actual tears of joy for their victories and heartache for their losses. Ford v Ferrari immaculately relays a heart-racing and heartfelt tearjerker - a story for anyone who likes movies. In sum, skip it if you don’t like movies.

Most Aggressively Metaphorical - Parasite

What a satirical feast this was! To quote the protagonist, Parasite “is so metaphorical.” I love how obvious the suggestion of the title is as it pertains to three levels of class division, all on various physical levels of living quarters. A gated mansion with its many staircases and its beautiful family unwittingly provide for two sets of literal bottom feeders. First, there are the poverty-stricken but clever basement-dwellers who (with astounding efficiency) infiltrate the economic opportunities of the household. They pause for a comical high-point to toast their startlingly gullible providers, huddled around the cramped table in their rank apartment. Next, a horrifying mid-film surprise lurks in a cement barrack...pointedly invisible to the upper class above, graciously lapping up the runoff. The grisly ending is built up meticulously and leaves viewers with no clear answer on who-was-eating-off-of-who.

Best Casting of Emma Watson to Date - Little Women

When my uniquely free-spirited, creatively-minded grandmother (who coincidentally was named Jo) gifted a hardback copy of Little Women upon me as a young girl, I quite ironically wrote it off as unimportant. Greta Gerwig took most every word in her screenplay from Louisa May Alcott herself, other than the scene where Jo and her sisters discuss the importance - or lack thereof - of Jo’s current project. Jo wonders, “Who will be interested in a story of domestic struggles and joys? It doesn’t have any real importance.” Amy (whether whose character is spoiled or practical is up for discussion) replies, “Maybe we don’t see those things as important because people don’t write about them.” Gerwig artfully patch-worked the lives of Alcott’s characters together with the complexities life is wrought with, forgoing a linear narrative for powerful juxtapositions of childhood’s hopeful innocence and adulthood’s painful understanding. None of their stories (which include women’s as well as men’s, in case you think this narrative doesn’t apply to you) can be deemed unimportant without disregard for the human race itself. I’m ashamed of silly childhood Beth (who was much closer to Alcott’s self-interested Amy than her tragically selfless Beth) for casting this book aside - but perhaps 29 was the perfect age for me to read it. With the novel fresh on my mind, Gerwig’s take on Alcott’s strongly autobiographical literary classic brought a timely, compelling argument for the vastly important value of sharing our stories.

Best Performance by Taylor Swift in a Major Motion Picture - Cats

What do you think I should say, that this was a terrible movie? I’m not a real film critic. I judge movies based on my enjoyment level and whether or not I think something could have been changed to make it better. “It” is not always my enjoyment level, because I equally love movies that challenge my inherent beliefs, pull at my heartstrings, make fun of themselves, or make me laugh in spite of twisted humor. Cats was not any of those movies, but heck, I wouldn’t change a darn thing about it! If you ask me, Andrew Lloyd Webber is awesome, Taylor Swift is one of my favorite famous people, and musicals make me happier than a lot of things. Swift’s original song, “Beautiful Ghosts,” was lovely - performed in a touching way by Francesca Hayward in the movie (wait for TSwizzle during the credits). I didn’t care much for Judi Dench’s numbers, but Jennifer Hudson’s “Memory” more than made up for it, and can I just say, the tap-dancing-jubilee of “Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat” made my entire life better. Here is the final kicker on my four-star review: I really don’t even like cats.

Most Though-Provoking Anxiety Attack - Uncut Gems

It’s difficult to praise a film that made me grimace and clench my jaw for over two hours,  but it’s important for me to try to do so. In a way, I hated the experience of watching it  (mostly due to off-putting closeups of bodily fluids and repeated violent verbal exchanges that made me tear my cuticles to shreds). Sandler’s character has been described as “charismatic,” but I found him slimy and repulsive. The roller coaster ride of Uncut Gems was unpredictable and anxiety-inducing, but why do people like roller coasters anyway? Sandler’s Howard Ratner’s appetite for a thrill could never be satiated. It was impressive to watch an actor previously pigeon-holed into cheap comedic roles transform into a character incomparable to any of his others: Sandler was viscerally desperate, pathetic, and disturbingly euphoric. 

Ratner is at his most relatable (for me) when he earnestly asserts to Kevin Garnett, “This is how I win.” I’ve since spiraled around for hours contemplating, How do I win? I’m worried it’s in a desperate pursuit of approval from others - all others, all the time. It’s ridiculously out of my control. I don’t place any value on gems or basketball games, but aren’t we all endlessly - perhaps, in some cases, hopelessly - striving for our next big win?

Most Emotional Musical Solo by Adam Driver - Marriage Story

This story was depicted with a raw honesty that cuts pretty deep. I think many would find it hard to watch. I also think the characters were developed with intricacy and empathy, and performances by Scarlett Johansson, Adam Driver, and Laura Dern were extremely captivating. This was beautifully, heart-wrenchingly done (which I have to say, I prefer more than “heartwarmingly” in a film).

Best Drawn-Out Animated Franchise Sequel - Toy Story 4

The emotional punch packed by the collective installments of these toys and their various existential crises knocks me over. Forky was not, however, an obviously sentimental character in this seeming finale; I found his purpose to be a bit cryptic. Was he comic relief, ceaselessly attempting to return to the trash from which he was created, or was he a serious reminder to us all about the inherent value of what - or rather, who - we deem disposable? The latter came through as a major theme, and as usual, waterworks are a risk for audience members of all ages. Either way, the hero-complex Forky revives in Woody is pretty powerful...and if you ask me about the ending, I say, good for Woody.

Best Visceral Transformation of an Actor in a Leading Role - Joker

A stunningly disgusting, impassioned performance by Joaquin Phoenix was not overshadowed by this predictable, plausible origin story of a mentally ill individual’s spiral into mass-murderdom, due to all of the usual factors: lack of appropriate treatment, a history of abuse and brain trauma, and the exclusion and cruelty of society. Phoenix alone makes this movie worth watching. I cringed through the whole thing...but respect it nonetheless.

Best Attempt at an Original Coming-of-Age Story - Booksmart

The thing about those "nerdy girls," freshly and comically portrayed here by Bernie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever, is that in reality, no one ever gets to see how fun-spunky-and-lively they can be in the four tumultuous, suffocating years we call high school. Booksmart empathetically crafted their redemptive night of fun with a more-thoughtful-than-usual consideration of the would-be-villainous in-crowd. It was outlandish on purpose, but ultimately refreshing to see a film about high schoolers who all have something redeeming about them (yes, even those cool kids) as well as something to learn (yes, even those nerds).

Best Marvel Amusement Park Ride - Avengers: End Game

I was pleasantly surprised, as I worked my way through the Avengers’ various storylines in preparation for this epic finale, to find a natural place in my heart for each of its tenacious and flawed heroes. My relationship with superhero movies was nonexistent prior to the spring of 2019. I initially used, “I’m watching them to become more relevant to the middle schoolers I attempt to teach daily,” as an excuse, but I can’t deny the emotional appeal these characters very quickly had for me. I’m partial to Rocket, Ant Man, and Captain Marvel, and although I didn’t cry at the ending...I have to say, it cut pretty deep. It might have been perfect.

Best Endurance Event - The Irishman

I feel so ignorant taking off half a star simply because I didn't have the endurance to watch this film in my first three attempts. The performances were stellar and I am beginning to understand, truly, that "a great movie often takes its time," per Ty Burr's coaching in his introduction to The 50 Movie Starter Kit: What You Need to Know if You Want to Know What You're Talking About. I have a quest to become far more well-versed in viewing and talking about film in 2020. Per Burr's recommendation, I want "to make sense of the cultural Babel that confronts us every waking day" and ultimately begin my own list of powerful films. 

The Irishman is a powerful film. It is the only film of 2019 that's sent me to any sources I can find to try to understand it, from its fascinating and unreliable narrator to the Kennedys and Jimmy Hoffa and what it means that a group of old men can enjoy fine dining and red wine and love their families but still plot murder like its a banal transaction, comparable to any workplace obligation. The most interesting source I've found so far is an essay in The Atlantic by Jack Goldsmith (previous assistant attorney general; current professor at Harvard Law School; and step-son to Chuckie O'Brien, who is still alive and played by one of my favorites, Jesse Plemons, in The Irishman). Read Goldsmith's essay here: Jimmy Hoffa, My Stepfather, and Me

Best Controversial Viewing Experience - Richard Jewell

I don’t mind controversial, and I definitely don’t mind when a film makes me uncomfortable. Humans are creatures that swarm over one another, caught up in preconceptions and self-righteousness, always assuming but never truly knowing the full truth about one another. Richard Jewell was a security officer who took his job very seriously. He saved lives. Kathy Scruggs was a reporter who worked intense hours and put herself in precarious situations. She took her job seriously, too. Clint Eastwood is a director and producer of monumental proportions, taking his job seriously for decades on end (neither Jewell nor Scruggs had that opportunity). I left the theater feeling sad and contemplative, disconcerted by some elements and in awe of others (namely, Paul Walter Hauser, perhaps my favorite character actor of the decade). We humans put each other through a lot.

Best Thing Tom Hanks Did This Year - A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

This was so therapeutic! I spend too much time looking for flaws - in myself, others, questioning whether anyone really is who they say that they are. But Mr. Rogers says we’re all special, none of us as broken as we might feel. The investigative journalist tasked with profiling him ponders, “He’s just about the nicest person I’ve ever met. I just don’t know if he’s for real.” When Tom Hanks’ Mr. Rogers urged this journalist to join him in a silent minute, a minute to simply consider all the people who have loved us into being...I took that silent minute right with them and had tears in my eyes. Thank you, Mr. Rogers. Your doctrine of gratitude and compassion lives on.

Best Obligatory War Film - 1917

I love the ability of film to take me to places I’ve never been to, to experience things I will never understand. I can’t grasp how wars begin, how to be heroic, to follow orders, to wade through death and destruction and resume any semblance of “normal” in the aftermath (in the event of surviving the incomprehensible). The decision to portray 1917 in one continuous shot worked for me; I know this has been criticized by some viewers. I felt the young soldiers’ urgency and hesitation, their devastation in the midst of carrying on (because what else could they do?). The film captures a day’s worth of horror in a war that killed millions, in a way that feels somehow slow-motion...like a very bad dream you just want to wake up from.

Best Southern Accent by a British Actor - Knives Out

Don’t supersize your Coca-Cola for this one - there is no appropriate time to step out of the theater! This was witty and well-paced. I love movies that quicken the pulse and maintain a quirky, hilarious self-awareness. The cast was phenomenal, the dialogue was clever, the plot twisted around in a terrific way, and I can’t wait to see this again.

Most Endearing Performances by Young Actors - Jojo Rabbit

What does it mean to be a human? How can we teach children what it means? This was at once heartbreaking, horrifying, thought-provoking and thoughtfully hilarious. Scarlett Johansson as Jojo’s brave and plucky mom was my favorite part. I want to read more Rilke and be a better member of humankind after watching this. I recommend to anyone interested in the same!

Best Melancholy Self-Discovery Expedition in Outer Space - Ad Astra

Watching this was a meditative & contemplative experience. If there is no other life form when we look to the stars, we’re left with those who have been with us all along.

Most Impressed I've Ever Been with Jennifer Lopez (and no, I'm not talking about the 2020 Superbowl Halftime Show) - Hustlers

Oh, this was interesting. For someone who’s never set foot in a strip club, I feel awkward stating an opinion. What I liked about it is that there were no clear heroes or villains...just people, making their way through their messed up lives.
...
PS: JLo is so cool.

Best Story About Something You Don't Care About but Probably Should - Dark Waters

The non-obvious, the “unsung” heroes - those have always been the most heroic to me. They’re the ones who persistently fight for what is right without any limelight whatsoever. I’d never heard of Rob Bilott before Dark Waters and am ashamed to admit it. This is the showcase he deserves.

Best Viewing Experience Despite Completely Missing the Filmmaker's Point - Us

I’m a nervous newbie to the horror genre and appreciate the artful craft of Jordan Peele. His version of horror is thought-provoking over nightmare-inducing (although I certainly triple-checked my walk-in closet for a murderous doppelgänger for weeks after seeing Us, and the ending’s ill-omened twist still makes my skin crawl). I don’t doubt that Peele had a purpose for each piece of this blood-soaked puzzle...I’m just pretty sure I missed the point.

Andie MacDowell's Most Stark Contrast to Rita in Groundhog Day - Ready or Not

  

Ready or Not was more comedy than horror, if you don’t mind some [a ton of] gore. I love Andie MacDowell as Rita Hanson in Groundhog Day and found her stark contrast filling the role of a murderous mother-in-law to be quite entertaining. I could describe this film in a similar way to how many people consume something indulgent: fast-paced, digestibly thrilling, tastefully over-the-top, and quite satisfying in the end.

Best Cast in a Real-Life Courtroom Drama - Just Mercy

My naivety was shocked and appalled at how little power the truth seems to hold in our criminal justice system. Bryan Stevenson’s crusade for the truth, his definition of justice, paid off for one man in Just Mercy, launching a career-full of vindication for the wrongly accused (and he’s still crusading). Michael B. Jordan caught my attention as the impoverished, gritty quarterback of East Dillon High in Friday Night Lights, and he’s certain to never leave that limelight with his subsequent stream of high-caliber performances. His Stevenson was stoically heroic. I found myself wincing in anticipation of what baseless nonsense he’d have to experience next in order to serve his client with basic, human rights. The pacing of the film - young optimism followed by reality check followed by a shade of hope followed by setback after setback after setback - reinforced the insanely difficult road Stevenson chose for himself. This pacing (which I read felt “plodding” to some viewers) thoughtfully emphasized how little glamour Stevenson’s work involves. I believe that was an important point to make. All that plodding (if it must be called such) leads up to a decisive matter of seconds in the courtroom: a spineless district attorney (Tommy Chapman, played diabolically well by Rafe Spall), after all his fanatical opposition to the truth - to justice - admits it at last. With a snap of his fingers, justice is served. How can one have so much power, while some have almost none? Just Mercy is emotional and persuasively non-flashy - a film every human concerned for other humans should make time to see.

Creosote

I love the way Tucson smells
when we walk,
our suitcases clicking
on the sidewalk cracks. 
I wonder if creosote only smells good
when it rains,
but I can’t remember it raining
any of the hundreds of times
we’ve landed at Tucson International Airport. 

The creosote bush takes up space
in a landscape dominated
by hostile living conditions -
folding in on itself for protection,
saving its fragrant leaves for the monsoon -
rewarding those patient enough to stick around.

When Mimi used to make chicken tetrazzini
on our first night, 

Aunt Kay would join us at the kids’ table
before the storm.

It’s difficult to look back on the past
and its messiness

without resisting the urge
to clean it up with a bit of rain,

but this is how I learned to be good at apologies

(and even so, to never live life apologetically). 

One year, we dipped into the turquoise
waters of the Villa del Rio swimming pool,

standing under the yellow dial thermometer

that said it was under 40 degrees, the mist rising up
around Erik and Aunt Kay and me.
I remember feeling tough, I remember

feeling loved. That was her way.

I picture joy like it’s a memory of too many of us
crowded around one table at Casa Molina.

It never felt like too many of us;
removing any individual

would remove an entire dialogue. 

In the desert, every living thing has earned

its place amongst other masters of adaptation. 

As Aunt Kay lost her ability to drive, to walk,
to swim, to speak… 

the rest of us gained intention, perspective,
flexibility, and attentiveness.  

We realized that the things she lost
have hardly anything to do with living.

She Was Granejo

When I think of my grandma, I think of flowers. I think of a well-set table, and an outfit so well-matched even the shoes were part of it. On the other hand, I think of someone so comfortable in her own skin that on 100 degree summer barbecue days, showing up for dinner in a swimming suit and cut-offs wasn't unheard of. Everything planned. Everything purposeful. When I think of my grandma, I think of someone who took care, who paid attention to details, and who noticed every single person in the room.

My grandma showed me what it means to be engaged in a conversation. There was no evading her questions. If you didn't give her an interesting answer, she'd re-phrase. I think she enjoyed my brother and me more the older we got - eventually equals in the ebb and flow of sharing ideas, asking questions, and dissecting controversies. A discussion over a glass of rosé on the patio is the quintessential summer patio experience with our Silkensen clan, and if my brother is the "odd one out" for not imbibing, one of the few people who hardly ever brought this up was my grandma. What difference does it make? I don't think anyone ever made it on our back patio without my grandma demanding, in such an earnestly eager way, to know them better.

My grandma inspired in me the value of creativity. She created her own name for Erik and me, spelling and all, and I've felt strange referring to her as "my grandma" because that is not who she was. She was not "Grannie," she was not "Grams," she was not anything anyone else had ever been called before. She was Granejo. I remember going over for an Easter dinner, must have been, and Erik and I were quite young. The table was set, of course, with name tags and a little more for my brother and me. The way I remember it is a series of riddles that led us to metal canisters shaped like rabbits and filled with candies...riddles in her elegant, cursive scrawl. Kid memories are not so reliable, I guess, and there are spaces I must fill in with guesswork. Perhaps it was Valentine's Day, her favorite holiday, and the canisters were hearts. What makes me happiest right now is picturing her setting this up and executing it so perfectly: a wry grin, pleased with her clever rhymes and hiding places, and the wonderful satisfaction she must have felt with our glee at discovering her treasure.

Granejo also taught me that it is ok, that it is normal and perfectly acceptable, to be sad sometimes. She did not pretend with her feelings. If a silver lining was there to spot, she certainly would, but we shared an appreciation for the cathartic release of a good cry and an indulgent bout of negativity. I think I found a husband who can handle this part of me. We all know Granejo hit the jackpot with my grandpa (did I mention he is Grandpop? I've never asked, now that I think of it, but must she have come up with that, too?). They are the exemplar for "life partners." They have modeled a love that is full of care and understanding, teasing and forgiveness, adventure and the sweetest feel of home.

Here are some things I love - that I think are because of her, and that I know she loved, too:

• Valentine's Day
• Radishes sliced thin with natural peanut butter and coarse salt
• Writing poems
• Rosé
• Somebody else offering to re-fill my rosé
• Dining out a little too extravagantly
• Singing (not terribly well, but loudly, and joyfully, and regardless of whether anyone else around wants to hear it)
• An extended hors d'oeuvres session before dinner
• Baking something delicious
• Being told by others that what I baked was delicious 
• Planning ahead with extraneous detail
• Road trips with my husband to new places
• Road trips with my husband to places we already know that we love
• Mother-Daughter time
• Sharing my opinion
• Listening to others' opinions 
• Prioritizing my physical and mental health...exercising and eating well
• Not making phone conversations last longer than necessary 
• A little treat, something sweet - every single day. 

Memories keep confronting me throughout the couple days that you've been gone. How you'd always greet Erik and me at the door with some fizzy concoction at dinner parties (you seemed to be the only adult who cared about us having something fun to drink, too). How when you liked the sound of the music, you'd do some snap of your fingers and pop of your hip that was so uniquely you - unrestrained, lighthearted, relishing the moment. I will always remember you that way.

I was not prepared for you to go, Granejo. I know we never would have been. This world is going to be a lot quieter without you, and not in the way that I like. I'm really looking forward to our next conversation... Love you, forever.  

Christmas Found Poetry

Communication Business

The night was a starry dome,

quiet and mostly unintelligible.

"Yes, the homeowner is here."

I'm really not supposed to be here.

"She can't talk."

Communication business.

"No, she literally can't talk."

Timing is critical

in body surfing

(kind of like raising

my middle finger at you).

Look at this lesson

in survival:

Spill from eyes

to computer

and out to the world.

If voices around

keep shouting

their bad advice

quiet the circuit.

Never complain

about getting old.

This is not what you wanted,

but it's what you got:

changes you could make

time with a friend

who God must think

is a real powerhouse.

No real purpose or reason

made it just what I needed.

Christmas 2018

Words Sources: Kay Metzger Groll, Erik Silkensen, Joni Mitchell, Marcia Silkensen, Mary Oliver, and Larry Stocker

Stories of Hope

Just keep repeating until you believe it:

experience pure joy.

experience pure joy.

EXPERIENCE PURE JOY!

Those moments will change who you are,

desperately searching for stories of hope.

Terminal diagnosis.

Completely paralyzed.

Hanging around getting in the way.

...it's not as bad as it sounds.

My attempt at a thumbs up has reached the tipping point.

Autocorrect thinks I say "ass" a lot,

confirmed what I already knew.

My voice is me, my personality, and

it sounds somewhat like me, rather than a robot.

It sounds kind of like a boring me

(we have a love/hate relationship).

There are many legitimate medical reasons to use marijuana:

A different type of peace and happiness,

something strikes you inappropriately as funny.

Accommodating the realities we wish were other,

and doing it with grace.

With one shot at this crazy ride, I wonder:

"Am I loved?" and "Did I love well?"

Today I celebrate being alive,

and that's pretty great. 

Knocked from my Strong Place was

a cleansing and yet exhausting feeling of 

surrender.

Somehow these stories lose something

when they're covered with a band-aid.

But I'm not done yet!

There's still so much to learn...

What is the best treat to order at Dairy Queen

(the dip cone, crunch cone, or Buster Bar)?

Eating is so last year.

Instead of giving up, we adapt,

finding humor in even the most dire circumstances

(and not just because of all that wine).

Becoming more or less an observer,

my Faith screaming out to scratch

itches we cannot scratch and

just existing inside this wildly imperfect body.

I could write one of those stories of hope,

I think, because of these shared experiences.

I'm not sure what today will bring,

but it won't be boring.

The mountains look different every morning 

and it never gets old.

Christmas 2017
Words Source: Kay Metzger Groll

We Wrote To Each Other

Maybe we are living like a commune

     wolf pack

Profoundly

Permanently

Family.

I was supposed to have the phone interview

It was all choppy

and starting and

     stopping.

wait wait wait, hope I didn't miss the love train

A nice time at the pool,

     It's great to hear from you.

Right in my own backyard,

the Santa Catalina Mountains.

surrounded by

     water

the honey badger I do

admire that tough little guy

fighting the same battle

     I felt safe and loved.

At 4:30am, a good time for

a good memory.

     Expecto Patronum.

love the sound of wind

no time to

     sit

around feeling down

It was fun, we felt like adults

I think you wore my shoes

     What a year.

laughing through the tears

the most amazing mother

Beautiful sunrises, sunsets

I'm not sure how to add anything,

falling in love,

holding on to each other and our dogs, of course.

I'm not sure how

the absolute

     worst

year

of my life

has also been the absolute best.

Can't stop the tears from flowing. . .

They are happy

     tears. . .

About to leave for airport

We will call from sunny Tucson.

Christmas 2014
Words Sources: Kay Metzger Groll, Karen Hazelton, Karl Groll, Erik Silkensen, and Marcia Silkensen

Redundancy In The Self-Help Section

My therapist moved back to Canada.
I've been looking into other ways
to receive feedback on the conversations
going on inside my head.
The trouble is, too many people
seem to have a market on this business.
One book told me to ignore the voice
because why would you want to listen to someone
who never ceases to have something to say?
Another book told me staying positive is an empty value
because negative thoughts give us the most valuable input
and it's ok to feel like shit.
In the famous book I'm reading with my students,
the hero of the story becomes that way entirely
by accident.
If I am to follow the advice of the first book,
I first have to decide the incessant commentator bothers me
and mute the damn thing.
The second book feels more targeted
towards people like me
(people who don't want to be monks),
but I can't shake the feeling that it might be somehow
making the same point as the first book.
The famous book came long before:
Tests, Allies, and Enemies confront the Hero of the Story
before he can return Home,
a Changed Man.

Counting Blessings

I’ve been looking around, noticing other people and their bodies and how they move. Legs crossed, uncrossed, flip-flop toes shifting up and down. Easy. Paperback novel, page turned, simple. Getting stuffy on the plane, arm up, little twist, some air flow. Relief.

Think about how you can swallow right now. Maybe you have a sore throat, and it hurts, but you can do it. Most likely there’s no pain involved at all for you to swallow right now. Most likely it’s not a difficult thing for you to do, and reading this is making you think about how you can swallow for the first time in a very long time. I noticed for the first time in Tucson this week that my aunt can’t swallow. Saliva builds up below her lip and she can’t wipe it away. Every moment she is in painful discomfort that requires the working hands of another for any amount of relief.

I don’t like that my aunt having ALS has been the biggest thing inspiring me to maturely take perspective in life and appreciate all that is wonderful and joyful and even downright convenient about having a body that physically works. But have you ever wondered if you’d take swallowing saliva for granted? I did, I took it very much for granted. Until this past week. Now every time I swallow I can’t stop thinking about how easy it is. Actually, on the airplane back home right now, I’m noticing all of the muscles that are working to make it feel easy. How I’m blinking and craning my neck around looking for the drink cart and trying to decide if I should spend $6 on a beer that I’ll be able to pour in a cup and lift up to my lips. How some people are dozing with their necks supported by pillows similar to the type my aunt uses but how easy it is for them to re-adjust their position for comfort when needed. By themselves. Whenever they want.

ALS is a bitch. It’s a ruthless, incomprehensible, horrible disease. But here is what I noticed remains: The people that we love bring us purpose and joy. Nothing else can compete with that. Nothing else matters so much. My mom spends 2-3 weeks in Tucson with her sister and then 2-3 weeks back home in Colorado, and it’s hard for me to fathom what stress she endures...other than the fact that her love for her sister is resolute, unshakable. Has anyone ever told you during a hard time, “I’m here for you!” or something similar? My mom for her sister is “here for you” to the maximum degree. It’s beautiful and heart-wrenching, the most genuine act of love I’ve ever observed. There is nothing more important than being there for our loved ones. I say this; my mom embodies it.

When I was younger my Aunt Kay would intimidate me with her intensity. My mom brings up qualities I now share similarly. There’s a compulsive urge to exercise (and a grouchiness and irrationality that’s horrible to be around if a workout is skipped): “You better get out on your bike ride, Beth, or you’re not going to be pleasant.” There’s a voracity to get to the end of books and tasks and move on to the next as soon as humanly possible: “Beth can’t talk to anyone until she finishes that book. She’s her Aunt Kay’s niece.”

We watched a home video of a California beach vacation from 1988 while I was there this week. I watched most of it by myself last night with a glass of red wine, while my mom and Uncle Rob and Kay’s best friend and neighbor put her in bed. Uncle Larry was commentating. My mom was seven months pregnant with Erik. My grandpa had the most astounding above-the-ankle golfer tan lines I’ve ever seen. Kay and Rob were goofy and in love young parents of a two-year-old Karen and a 1-year-old Karl. There were ridiculous competitions between “Team Orange” and “Team Blue” on Silver Strand beach in Oxnard. Kay’s strong, athletic golf swing launching balls into the ocean. Aunt Lee’s plucking of all the shells off the beach in the early morning hours, beating the kids to it, and Uncle Bill’s response: store bought shells wrapped in tissue paper, delicately placed next to Lee’s starfish, claiming, “She walked right by this one,” of an immaculate white-pink-and-brown conch shell.

I was struck by a few things: 1) Everyone looked so skinny and tan. Was there sunscreen in 1988? 2) I am about exactly the same age now as my mom was then. 3) Kay, walking on the beach with Karl on her back and Karen running back and forth, squealing at the waves, had no idea what joys and sorrows the next 30 years would bring. None of them did. It would be pointless to know then; everyone was simply and joyfully living in the present. 4) Our family is full of love and laughter, and I want to have a life as rich and bursting with frivolity as they did, right there, on Silver Strand beach in 1988. I want that with Adam, my patient and ever mellow husband, and Erik, Karen and Shaun, Karl and Ashley, Kim and Adam. But I know in my heart of hearts it will never be the same. It will be our own story, guided by the people before us who taught us how to be independent, have fun, enjoy each other, and above all else - how to love.

It’s hard to imagine what my aunt is going through right now, or Rob or Karen and Karl and my mom. It feels silly that a home video had such a hugely emotional impact on me last night (maybe it was the wine?). It’s impossible to know what the next 30 years will bring for me and Adam, our families, where we’ll go together and what we’ll experience.

The flight attendant is coming round and I need to suck down the last of this Dos Equis before the inevitable Rocky Mountain turbulence commences (now that sounds oddly like a toilet emergency and I didn’t mean for it to - just meant it’s always windy flying in to DIA on summer evenings).

I don’t feel like I communicated enough to my Aunt Kay and Mom and Mimi while I was there, how much I love them and admire them. One afternoon I was resting next to Kay and she was listening to music, making selections with her eyes. She played the one by that famous artist whose name is slipping my mind right now, but the chorus,“ ...every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong, so I’ll have to say I love you in a song.” I love you, Aunt Kay. It is not ALS that has taught me how to live and appreciate the best in life. It’s everything about our family that taught me. I’ve landed now, and it appears the perky flight attendant forgot to charge me for my beer... Counting my blessings begins, now.

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