1/8/17

Dr. Zhivago

Kind of a lazy, snowed in day. I spent a few hours in rehearsal, working on a version of ‘Sympathetic Cards’ that I’d like to build into the Cyrano act. I’m really pleased with the progress, just need to find the right wine glasses.

Best is up in the mountains, visiting her new nephew and niece, and having a belated birthday party for the toddler … need to make sure she feels included. She sent me a picture of this precious three-year-old holding one of her new siblings and my heart just melted away. So perfectly loving, pure and innocent.
I think I would have made an excellent grandfather. Sorry. Wistful side note.

Made some food (Tuna, peas and Kraft dinner) and sat down for Dr. Zhivago, which I haven’t watched in maybe twenty years. It was my Mom’s favorite, and she made it a point to share it with me whenever it ran on TV while I was growing up. She filled in the blanks of the Russian Revolution for me. In turn, the movie taught me about raw, burning passion and the patience it sometimes takes to get it.

When I was sixteen, I surprised my Mom by taking her to see Dr. Z in a real movie theater. Park Road Cinema, I think … the spectacle and color or this amazing story had us both in tears, happy ones, and it changed the way i viewed that movie entirely. She told me later (over pie) that I had given her one of the most moving experiences of her life. I treasure that memory.
Another side note: Dr. Zhivago was released on the same day my parents adopted me from the Children’s Home Society. I wonder if that was part of the reason Mother loved it so.

Families don’t always understand us, and the other way around, too. Carrie Fisher described her mother with these words: “Performing feeds her in a way family cannot. That’s why we’ve always been frustrating. People aren’t cooperative, audiences are.”

Little things. Little gestures. Little tokens of love. These reverberate mightily in a life well lived.

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