August Rush

I watched August Rush last night. Shut. Up. It brought me back to a familiar theme.

I've been thinking about films like that (the music prodigy aspect of it aside, which was actually kind of sweet) quite a bit lately. I mean more the fairy-tale like quality of them, the completely improbable perfect hook-up and resulting love story. If I'd watched a film like that twenty years ago, I'd have fallen for it completely.

These types of films were what dictated our expectations, as young women. Small wonder we are so consistently disappointed by our relationships, if we are expecting this sort of thing to go on.

But then, on the other hand.. how much better is it to develop this thick cynical skin, and not wish for anything of the sort at all. It was interesting to watch myself saying OH COME ON LIKE THAT WOULD EVER HAPPEN..

And so i stopped, and tried for just a moment to get back into that old mindset. It was so illuminating, this stark contrast. This loss of simple hope we carry around, as we get older. I don't mean just romantically speaking, but about life, about the future, about everything.

And so, I am making a conscious effort to increase my average daily level of hope. With thanks to august rush. For crying out loud.

Portrait of a Spring Day

And on that blustery day in April, the Hopeless Romantic walked outside, lay down in her self made rose garden, closed her eyes and died.

Well, she didn’t really die, she just decided to go to the in between place for a while. Not quite living, not quite dead, not quite like Sleeping Beauty but not too far off.

She had decided that it was just too hard to keep going. The years had taken their toll and she was too tired. She was too tired of people more concerned about appearances and sex and who-makes-more-money and not being concerned enough about feelings and holding hands and first kisses and good old fashioned simple love.

Her back was twisted and bent from the hundreds of men and women who had leaned so heavily upon it for so long, not caring about the consequences of their actions. They had consumed her from the inside out, eroding the rock of her love, compassion and caring.

In her semi-conscious state she wondered if anyone would miss her, if anyone would even notice she was gone. Not in a teenaged-tragic suicide attempt cry for help, “I wonder who would show up at my funeral” way, but with real wonder if she had actually touched as many lives as she thought. Normally thoughts like this wouldn’t even think of knocking on the door let alone coming right in and settling in on the couch of her mind.

She was just so very tired.

Something was scratching at her cheek. It irked her. She tried to ignore it but it insisted on skrit-skritting against her cheek. Swearing revenge and a slow painful death against whatever Prince Charming Wannabe that was trying weasel its way into the dark sanctuary of her mind, she fluttered one eyelid open.

A fat bumble bee had set down upon one of the leaves of a rose bush and had bent it down, touching her cheek.

Well, she could hardly maim and kill a harmless bee now could she? She shooed it hoping it would leave her in peace but the furry little bastard just sat there. She waved her hand over and around it hoping it would get the hint but it just kept sitting there. Not buzzing, not eating, not doing anything.

The funny thing was she didn’t even stop to question how or why a bee would be out and about this early in the season.
The bee stared at her and she stared at the bee. It was fat and fuzzy and looked like it was ready to settle down for a long winter’s nap, the Hopeless Romantic could certainly empathize.

She was trying to apply logic to an illogical situation. Trying to use rational thinking on love was like using a teacup to cross the Atlantic.

Her desperate cries for help had all gone unanswered, they hadn’t even connected with voice mail. How could they when she didn’t even realize that she had made them in the first place? The tragic flaw of the Hopeless Romanic lying in that rose garden staring at that bee was that she didn’t even realize that she needed to be rescued. She didn’t know that she was locked in the tower of her own making, drifting on a sea of her own tears. She had spent so much time concerned about others that she had forgotten to take a moment to take care of herself.

The bee stretched its wings.
The Hopeless Romantic stretched her arms.
The bee stretched its antenna.
The Hopeless Romantic stood up.

No sense wasting time lying around feeling sorry for oneself when there’s work to be done and a life to keep living.

The bee flew away.
She had learned nothing.

Love and War

What would you do if you knew the future? Would you carry on on the same path knowing that it's inevitable or would you do something to change it?

What if you knew that you were in a relationship that would never go anywhere? What if you were told point blank that you would never be loved by the person you're dating? Everything else in the relationship is perfect; you get along, never fight, have great sexual chemistry, make each other laugh, trust one another but the only thing is that (s)he is never going to love you, would you stay or would you go?

What's so great about love anyway?

If it were me (and it might be) I'd stick around. Maybe because I believe on the one hand that if there's a 0.0000001% chance of something happening, there's still a chance. And on the other hand, why not stick with what's good - the sex, the laughing, trust, spending time together, everything that everyone strives for in a lasting relationship but without the love. If every other relationship you've ever had that had all those things including love, has failed, well, wouldn't that make you think that maybe it's love that's been getting in the way of a successful relationship all these years?

Maybe it's not love that makes the world go around, maybe it's trust. Most of the relationships that I've been in that failed have failed because there was no trust. But if we're going to talk about trust then we might as well talk about faith, the faith you have that your relationship will grow and move forward and become something bigger than the two of you. And nothing makes a relationship grow faster than love.

Maybe it's not one thing; trust, love, faith these are all nice words but they're all notions, ideas, whisps of smoke. What about chemistry and physical compatibility? What about the tangible elements that you can see and hear, touch and taste.

But then again, trust tends to fade when there's no love to back it up, at least in the world of the romantic relationship.

What's worse? Having love and knowing it might end or knowing it might never end but there might never be love?

Meatloaf said two outta three ain't bad, Tina Turner asked what love has to do with it and The Supremes said you can't hurry love.


But it does make the world go 'round....

Kissing

I learned something today.
If you want to be the best kisser ever, kiss from your toes.

Try it.

I dare you.

Blue Romance

Today I've spent the better part of my day watching Katharine Hepburn movies. I started with Stage Door (1937) then The Philadelphia Story (1940), Pat and Mike (1952) and now Woman of the Year (1942).

I love Katharine Hepburn. In her movies she always seemed to play the hard-headed, take all risks, pre-Feminism feminist, stand on her own two hands type of woman. In her life she'd battled against the big boys of the Film Industry and won more times than she lost. She was outspoken, brash, crude, athletic, lithe, sharp tongued and seemed glamorous even when being foolish.

What's bothering me is her relationship with Spencer Tracy. Here is a woman who seemed to have it all and all was hers for the having and yet she devoted the better part of her life to a man she could never have. Knowing Tracy, a devout Catholic, would never divorce his wife she still seemed content to be the other woman, second fiddle, the never-would-be. A lot of people look at the Tracy/Hepburn affair as one of the greatest love stories ever told and yet I have to wonder why? True, they were in love but it was a love kept in a closet of sorts. And she seemed content with that. Why? Why not let yourself have all you can in love? Why did she settle for meek, dark cornered, submissive love when she deserved brash, outspoken, hard-headed, light-of-day love?

Maybe for Hepburn having just a part of happiness was better than none at all. As I get older I have to wonder if it's better to settle and compromise to get a part of happiness or stick to my guns and risk no happiness at all.