Ten ways movies and television have warped my reality

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Yesterday morning as I walked my dogs, the route was eerily quiet and desolate. Not a single deer, car, or neighbor crossed my path. Planes usually criss-crossing the sky were absent. As I walked, I couldn't help but think that maybe the apocalypse had occurred and somehow I'd not been informed.

Crazy, I know, but that's the way my mind works, thanks to watching too many movies and too much television during my formative years. Heck, during all my years, if truth be told. Not a day passes by that cinematic moments don't creep into my thoughts. To wit:

(Clicking the arrows by each movie title shows that clip on this page.)

1. Something akin to yesterday's apocalyptic fears happened once while undergoing an MRI. I hate the procedure—the closed-in space, the loud noises. But because I have MS, I've had a few done on my brain over the years. Gah! The machine clangs and bangs while I'm stuck deep within, unable to move for fear I'll screw up the expensive test. Once, the long and loud banging and clanging became so disconcerting that I reached near panic, fearing a scene from a disaster film (think Earthquake, Independence Day, Armageddon) occurred while I was in the machine, and the medical staff had dashed from the building, leaving me alone. At just the moment I planned my escape and exit, the attendant called through the intercom, "You're just about done, Lisa, just a few more minutes." Sweet relief!

2. When I first started my job at the newspaper, I envisioned my workdays would be similar to scenes from Lou Grant or Mary Tyler Moore. So not the case. I knew I wasn't alone in my illusions of newsrooms and the impact of cinema, though, when a goofy deejay from a local radio station whom I escorted through the department after an interview turned to the sea of reporters' desks and faux cried out, "You gotta tell 'em! Soylent green is people!!"

3. Meeting new acquaintances can be awkward when I'm introduced to someone named Ben, as I immediately think of the boy and his rat buddy in Ben. Or when the person is named Charlie and I can't help but imagine Eric Roberts crying to Mickey Rourke about his thumb being nabbed in The Pope of Greenwich Village. At least I never forget the name of Ben or Charlie, though, even long after meeting them.

4. My first thought when my sister told me there is a (perfectly legal) family burial ground on her property was of Pet Sematary.

5. I can't hear Beethoven's Fifth without thinking of Saturday Night Fever.

6. Used to be when I'd consider tightie-whities—which I assure you isn't often!—Tom Cruise in Risky Business would come to mind. Now I can't shake the image of Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad.

7. Similarly, pea soup makes me think of Linda Blair and The Exorcist; excessive flies on a window elicit visions of James Brolin and Amityville Horror; and wax museums remind me of Vincent Price and House of Wax.

8. I've never looked out a plane window at the wing without thinking of gremlins upon it, á la The Twilight Zone. Nor have I ever not considered Fearless with Jeff Bridges when unexpected turbulence mid-flight elicits exclamations of various sorts from fellow passengers (and myself, I admit).

9. I try not to, but I can't help but think of Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan each time I use an air dryer in a public restroom.

10. I also can't help but think of The Waltons every single time we have overnight house guests and everyone heads off to bed. I just wait for the "Goodnight, John Boy"...which usually comes by way of Jim, for he's warped in much the same fashion as I.

There are more—far more—I promise you. I'll stop there, though, lest you think of Sally Field from Sybil each time you consider Lisa from Grandma's Briefs.

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What movies or television shows have warped your reality?

A full nest once more

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No, my daughters haven't moved home. And, no, my grandsons aren't visiting.

Still, the nest is full. Literally. The nest right outside my window, the one nearest my desk, where I spend much of my day.

Mourning doves usually inhabit the nest each season. Which doesn't always turn out so well. A couple weeks ago, though, this is what I noticed:  

A robin, settled in and protecting what I assumed were eggs.

I've checked in on her now and again, passed her on my way to get the morning newspaper, warned visitors to not disturb the head-height branch when walking by.

Mama Robin has always been protective of her home and what it held, but I could never see anything within it, even when I climbed atop a stool to better peer out my window and into her nest.

Until yesterday. I saw activity, grabbed my camera, and throughout the day captured the following.

 

Maybe not a big deal to some, but after a particularly long run of crappy days and crappy news, the full and thriving nest—and the fact it was right outside my window—was significant to me, brought tears to my eyes.

The momentum has shifted.

Today's question:

How has nature recently brightened your outlook—or at least your day?

What is a grandma?

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My website stats show that folks often arrive at Grandma's Briefs by way of the search query, "What is a grandma?" As we grandmas darn well know, defining who and what we are isn't as simple as penning a few sentences similar to a dictionary entry.

That said, the Grilled Grandmas are experts in the field, so I figured combining their answers to the grilling question of "What one word do you hope your grandkids think of when they think of you?" would provide a pretty darn accurate answer of what a grandma is, or at least what one should strive to be.

So I did it. I went through all the Grilled Grandmas—from the very first to the one featured last week—collected their answers to that question, and input them into Wordle, using each word only one time (some, such as love, fun, and caring, were mentioned numerous times).

And here, my friends, is the result: The ultimate answer to the ever-burning question of ...

What is a grandma?

Bottom line? Looks to me like the best way to put it is that grandmas are just plain awesome!

Today's question:

What other words do you think should be added?

If you're unhappy and you know it clap your hands—or get a kangaroo?

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I understand depression. I've been there, been on meds for that. And I have several folks near and dear to me who survive each day only because of the coping chemicals they've been prescribed, the antidepressants they rely on. It's a serious issue and this post is not meant to make light of that. At all.

That being said, though, I don't think owning a kangaroo is the answer to depression. Or if it is, I want one of my own for giggles and kicks (har har). Or maybe a wild animal of another sort, a koala or a panda—heck, maybe even an elephant—instead.

Seems a woman in Oklahoma swears by the depression-easing effects of her pet kangaroo. I'm not talking a stuffed Roo but a real, live (albeit partially paralyzed) romping, stomping marsupial. Well maybe not so romping and stomping considering his paralysis but the fact remains she has a freakin' kangaroo she swears keeps her happy.

According to several stories from the Associated Press last week, Christie Carr was encouraged by her therapist to volunteer at a local animal sanctuary to help ease her depression. Which is where she came to know and love Irwin, a kangaroo named after animal expert Steve Irwin. Seems Irwin crashed into a fence, suffering brain damage and becoming partially paralyzed, and kind-hearted Carr convinced the sanctuary folks to let her take home injured Irwin to care for him.

Care for him she did...and does. Carr dresses the one-year-old red kangaroo in little boy's clothing, feeds him meals of salad and snacks of Cheez-Its and Cheetos, and keeps him with her always, everywhere, including the grocery store. Carr feels so strongly about Irwin that she's willing to run from the law to continue keeping her comical kangaroo by her side.

When officials in her hometown began to question what will happen once Irwin is healed from his crash and becomes a potential public safety issue, Carr took offense and took to the road. More than once. When questions first arose, Carr packed up Irwin and headed to live with her parents, saying she no longer felt Irwin was safe from possibly nefarious officials. Then, when the heat was turned up in her parents' town, Carr set out for another town, one where Carr hopes to stay with a friend—with Irwin, too—until things are sussed out.

Irwin the kangaroo may have helped with Carr's depression, but I dare say her obsession with him has sent her racing full throttle into Looneyville.

There's hope for a happy ending, though, at least for Irwin and possibly for Carr. Irwin will surely eventually recover from his injuries and paralysis. At such time I imagine he'll let it be known he's grown tired of the little boy jeans with a hole cut for his tail, the diapers Carr keeps on him, the carseat he's made to sit in while on the road—or on the run—with his captor protector. How will Irwin express his distaste? With big, powerful kicks, I have no doubt, as all self-respecting kangaroos are wont to do. And maybe, just maybe, he'll kick some sense into the wacky woman who helped heal him and she'll reluctantly agree to set him free. Or at least return him to the sanctuary where their silly story began.

I certainly don't know the depths of Carr's depression, but there's no doubt her judgement is clearly clouded, for how could any rational person possibly think a kangaroo makes for a good therapy pet? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a cuddly kittent or an ever-adoring Labrador to ease the pain and isolation of the disease? I'd think either would be a more acceptable choice, providing purpose and affection yet requiring no running from the law. They'd require no kangaroo-size diaper changes, either—a huge plus, if you ask me. (Even just the idea of having to deal with that would be enough to totally depress me in the first place, negating any and all chuckles even the most comical of kangaroos could possibly offer.)

Nope, I don't get it. I don't get Carr's rationale for running from town to town with a kangaroo. No matter how depressed she might have been or continues to be. A kangaroo in diapers, for that matter. Come to think of it, I also don't get how you'd even diaper a kangaroo—especially considering the holes she had to cut in the tot-size trousers to accommodate Irwin's tail. Seems the diaper would need a hole, too, rendering the Pampers pointless. Like the rest of the story, it just doesn't make sense.

I'm crossing my fingers for Carr—and for Irwin—that somewhere, somehow, Carr makes sense of the mess she's made, that she heads on home, that she returns Irwin to his. Before things get ugly...or seriously Thelma and Louise like. Then, if she really feels she must, maybe Carr can adopt a different pet for therapeutic purposes. Maybe one that doesn't go against local zoning ordinances. More importantly, maybe one that requires a litter box instead of diapers.

Today's question:

If money and logistics (and common sense) were no consideration, what wild animal would you choose to have and to hold as a therapy pet?