DOWNTON ABBEY SPOILER ALERT I'm sorry. Normally I'm pretty darn good about watching my language, at least here in blogdom. I think I can be forgiven for this outburst however, when I disclose that I just watched the season finale of Downton Abbey. So, here it comes:
WTF? Are you freakin' kidding me? OK, really? Really? No way. Way? No way! REALLY? Are you FREAKING kidding me? WHAT THE F?
Interestingly enough, we had seen Silver Linings Playbook Monday afternoon. If you've seen it, you might remember the scene where Bradley Cooper's character, Pat, finishes reading A Farewell to Arms, by Ernest Hemingway, sometime in the middle of the night. He then throws the book out through a closed window, before waking his parents to rant about the ending where Hemingway unceremoniously kills off his protagonist's, and war hero's, love interest (it's been years since I've read this, so I may have bent the details a bit here). I sortakinda get that rant, especially after watching the last episode of Downton later that evening. I might have considered throwing the TV out through one of the large sliding doors in our den. If only I could have lifted it. If only.
And let me join the legions in writing that I saw this coming. Put a happy man in a nice convertible and show him enjoying the scenery and looking up at the sky...I immediately cried out NO!!! Frankly, there was foreshadowing galore as he had this beatific expression on his face which intensified as the episode unfolded. He was doomed. Believe me, I understand the impact on dramatic structure that killing off a main character can provide. The episode charged towards an culmination dripping with both blood and irony. But COME ON. I had even managed to forget the little blurb I read, before this season began, about Dan Stevens not returning to Downton for season four. I can do this forgetting thing in my fuzzy romantic world. My fuzzyromantic world that has just been assaulted. But, really? Really? Seems to me like we lost more characters this year than we did during last year's war and flu season. Is that right? Is that fair?
So now we must soldier on without Matthew, and without Sybil (though she was less hard to lose, even if she was the prettiest of the sisters and had that lovely, husky voice). And now, we must put up with the new addition of Cousin Rose. Please.
Does anyone remember when Charlie, the love of The Duchess of Duke Street's life, died in the middle of the second series? Now that was tough, but it made sense. He had a head injury from the war. I think maybe he had been blinded. He just wasn't doing so well, so it wasn't so random. Plus, by the way, the whole concept of being killed in a car accident when there are hardly any vehicles on the road seems like a bit of a stretch to me. I'm just saying.
What will happen next for Lady Mary? Maybe another long lost cousin who happens to be a doppelganger for Matthew? Or they might install a shower at Downton, and Lady Mary can wake up from a nightmare and find Matthew in there? I mean, Holy Cow! And, now I'm running out of phrases and exclamations about this turn of events (not really, I'm just writing that). Think I'll finish up by going back to the one that bears repeating: WTF?!? Thank you for reading my blog. If you haven't watched Downton Abbey, but intend to sometime down the line, I apologize. But I did post SPOILER ALERT, so shame on you that you have so little self control...
February 20, 2013
February 10, 2013
I Smell Rested
Los Angeles, California
When, inevitably, the time came (as it always does) when we were forced to leave Carmel and return to Los Angeles, we took a pilgrimage drive down to the beach, and around the point for a last look at River Beach. I count River Beach as one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. And that list of seen beaches would include beaches in Hawaii, Bermuda, Mexico, the Caribbean, Tahiti, Sardinia, etc., etc. Trust me, my eval of beaches is worthy. I have heard that portions of that rolling-around-in-the-surf scene with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity were filmed in Carmel, and I have to imagine they were filmed on River Beach. While I've never gone to the trouble of researching this, and probably never will; I know that if you squint out the cypress trees you could think that you are in Hawaii, as the water and sand are of that color. After River Beach we continued on past Mission Ranch, winding around to drive by Carmel Mission Basilica, before landing at the intersection of Highway One and Rio Road. One turn, and we were enroute to Los Angeles.
Reentry, after the long stay in Carmel, is always a trial. I look forward to seeing my mom, and my fristers. I look forward to resuming salsa dancing. But there's a whole host of things I dread, though I am going to spare you that list. Aren't I just the nicest?
The hard part of reentry hit me the day after we drove home from Carmel. I was catching up on laundry and paperwork, and with my newly-restored vigor and vim I visualized myself plowing right through those tasks and about a dozen more after. Though I made it through the laundry, I did not, of course, make it through all of the paperwork (home, business, and my mom's mail could have comprised about a four-foot stack). I got demoralized. Then discouraged, which we all know from It's A Wonderful Life is worse than anything.
The next day I felt better, and the following one marked my return to salsa. I had to go to a club that I rarely frequent, Olivia's, as my favorite club, Bogie's, had closed while I was away (though rumor has it that it will reopen shortly -- wi-fi has nothing on the salsa gossip and news network).
At Olivia's, I saw a lot of salsa people I know--a few close friends and more acquaintances. Two people complimented me by saying that I looked rested. I took this to mean: A) I was clearly looking like something the cat dragged in the last time they saw me, or; B) they thought I'd had cosmetic surgery, or; C) both of the above? I mean, isn't that the classic compliment that follows a face-lift? You look rested? Don't get me wrong, I always hope to look good, but not surgically enhanced--especially since I'm not. I know that I am someone who shows stress in my face and eyes, so perhaps I was just looking markedly less stressed after almost six weeks in Carmel.
Later, while I was dancing with a man who told me he was from Peru, he very politely complimented me on my perfume (my new signature perfume that I swore I'd only wear for Billy, but have since broken that silly vow). So, I left the club that night with the impression that I both looked rested (artificially or otherwise), and smelled good.
The following Saturday was spent with my fave fristers, Las Chicas, at The Grove. We were celebrating Lydia's birthday, shopping and lunching at Short Order. I took the opportunity to recount the story about the compliments, afterwards deciding to jumble it up and declare that I smell rested! I used that phrase all day, i.e.: Do I smell rested? Have you by any chance noticed that I smell rested? Enough about me do you think I smell rested? We played other variations on this theme while we enjoyed our fun frister birthday celebration which included running into Debra's daughter, Lindsay, when we were all shopping at Anthropology.
So, all things considered, I guess you could say that this year's reentry wasn't so bad. And I decided that my 2013 reentry motto is (wait for it): I smell rested. And, you know, I could do a lot worse, coming home after a long stay in beautiful Carmel, than to be able to say this. Now, I just have to figure out how to stay in that condition. The perfume part I can always nail. The rested part, unfortunately, may require a bit of diligence. That's the thing about looking rested, naturally or otherwise. It just ain't easy. Thank you for reading my blog.
PS The perfume is the very yummy Blue Agava by Jo Malone.
When, inevitably, the time came (as it always does) when we were forced to leave Carmel and return to Los Angeles, we took a pilgrimage drive down to the beach, and around the point for a last look at River Beach. I count River Beach as one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. And that list of seen beaches would include beaches in Hawaii, Bermuda, Mexico, the Caribbean, Tahiti, Sardinia, etc., etc. Trust me, my eval of beaches is worthy. I have heard that portions of that rolling-around-in-the-surf scene with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity were filmed in Carmel, and I have to imagine they were filmed on River Beach. While I've never gone to the trouble of researching this, and probably never will; I know that if you squint out the cypress trees you could think that you are in Hawaii, as the water and sand are of that color. After River Beach we continued on past Mission Ranch, winding around to drive by Carmel Mission Basilica, before landing at the intersection of Highway One and Rio Road. One turn, and we were enroute to Los Angeles.
Reentry, after the long stay in Carmel, is always a trial. I look forward to seeing my mom, and my fristers. I look forward to resuming salsa dancing. But there's a whole host of things I dread, though I am going to spare you that list. Aren't I just the nicest?
The hard part of reentry hit me the day after we drove home from Carmel. I was catching up on laundry and paperwork, and with my newly-restored vigor and vim I visualized myself plowing right through those tasks and about a dozen more after. Though I made it through the laundry, I did not, of course, make it through all of the paperwork (home, business, and my mom's mail could have comprised about a four-foot stack). I got demoralized. Then discouraged, which we all know from It's A Wonderful Life is worse than anything.
The next day I felt better, and the following one marked my return to salsa. I had to go to a club that I rarely frequent, Olivia's, as my favorite club, Bogie's, had closed while I was away (though rumor has it that it will reopen shortly -- wi-fi has nothing on the salsa gossip and news network).
At Olivia's, I saw a lot of salsa people I know--a few close friends and more acquaintances. Two people complimented me by saying that I looked rested. I took this to mean: A) I was clearly looking like something the cat dragged in the last time they saw me, or; B) they thought I'd had cosmetic surgery, or; C) both of the above? I mean, isn't that the classic compliment that follows a face-lift? You look rested? Don't get me wrong, I always hope to look good, but not surgically enhanced--especially since I'm not. I know that I am someone who shows stress in my face and eyes, so perhaps I was just looking markedly less stressed after almost six weeks in Carmel.
Later, while I was dancing with a man who told me he was from Peru, he very politely complimented me on my perfume (my new signature perfume that I swore I'd only wear for Billy, but have since broken that silly vow). So, I left the club that night with the impression that I both looked rested (artificially or otherwise), and smelled good.
The following Saturday was spent with my fave fristers, Las Chicas, at The Grove. We were celebrating Lydia's birthday, shopping and lunching at Short Order. I took the opportunity to recount the story about the compliments, afterwards deciding to jumble it up and declare that I smell rested! I used that phrase all day, i.e.: Do I smell rested? Have you by any chance noticed that I smell rested? Enough about me do you think I smell rested? We played other variations on this theme while we enjoyed our fun frister birthday celebration which included running into Debra's daughter, Lindsay, when we were all shopping at Anthropology.
So, all things considered, I guess you could say that this year's reentry wasn't so bad. And I decided that my 2013 reentry motto is (wait for it): I smell rested. And, you know, I could do a lot worse, coming home after a long stay in beautiful Carmel, than to be able to say this. Now, I just have to figure out how to stay in that condition. The perfume part I can always nail. The rested part, unfortunately, may require a bit of diligence. That's the thing about looking rested, naturally or otherwise. It just ain't easy. Thank you for reading my blog.
PS The perfume is the very yummy Blue Agava by Jo Malone.
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About Me
- Bronte Healy
- California, United States
- Once, I came up with this brilliant idea (well, I thought so, anyway) that the key to happiness was to concentrate on three things -- to choose three interests, then focus and funnel your energy into that trio. I was an English major in college and have always written in some shape or form. So, my first choice was writing. I've always kept journals, and have also written plays, novels, poetry, and shopping lists. I do have a day job. It deals with numbers (assets and finances). Go figure. I went to college at a California University. I live in California, Los Angeles, but not downtown. No children, and sadly, between dogs at the moment (dog person, not a cat person). Enough info? I was going for just enough to not be a cypher, yet not enough to entice a stalker. And, I started my blog after being dragged, kicking and screaming, to do so. Blogs! Read about ME here, right? But I have been advised that this is a way to write regularly, and to put your writing OUT THERE. So, here goes. My name is Bronte Healy. Thanks for reading my blog.