Meal. Good company. Intriguing film, 45 Years. Writing. Directing. Performances. Tight. Powerful. Worthy of their press clippings. Not dark. Amusing moments, but no laughs. Thinking. Feeling. Most powerful moment wasn’t dialogue, but a single image. Complex suspension of disbelief – and questioning my own feelings about my own history. Driving home, I did the math. If I’d stayed in my first marriage it would be soon 44 years. Oh my.
Marinated overnight – admiration for story, storytelling and storyteller. More so – power of the truth, power of the lie and psyche-twists. Living one, or living the other. Cannot manage memory. Manages us. Cannot manage feelings. Not anyone’s. Quiet lives, ordinary ones, extraordinary mixes. Regret and memory intertwined. Like old sweaters, autumn days.
written / published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: -2C/28F, overcast (snow predicted), empty streets and icy going up that hill, Gusta sniffing fresh finds revealed by melting snow (but they’re frozen to ground) – amusing for me, not so much for her …
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