Author Archives: MALA
A Cinematic Treasure
Sunlight filled my apartment. I sat up in bed in panic. Did I sleep through my alarm clock? No- it was only 6:19 a.m. What a glorious day! Right then I decided to play hookie.
An unexpected day from work feels different from the time off on weekends. There’s something rebellious, almost adventurous about a free day. The hours pass slower and the urge to “do something” feels greater.
After languously lounging on my couch, reading the Sunday Post and back issues of the New Yorker, I motivated.
The air felt crisp. I emerged from the Cleveland Park Metro Station to find Connecticut Avenue in its familiar state of activity. Someone new to DC might be surprised to find an exquisite movie house in Washington, DC. The single-screen theater stands defiant in the face of cinema multiplexes littering the landscape coast to coast.
John Zink designed The Uptown Theater for Warner Brothers in 1932. Built in the golden age of Washington movie-going, the original art-deco theater boasted 1120 seats. A $500,000 renovation in 1996 replaced the original chairs with high-back velour seats, as well as new wallpaper, carpets, and a second concession stand. The stadium seating in the balcony reduced the capacity to 840 seats.
Crimson, velour curtains pull open to reveal a larger-than-life curved screen, 40-feet high and 70 feet wide. Installed in 1966, this screen wowed audiences during showings of Star Wars, The Shining, 2001: A Space Odyssey; and special screenings of classics like Citizen Kane and Lawrence of Arabia.
Recently, people have stood in long lines that snake along the sidewalk and behind Ireland’s Four P’s to see The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. I’d planned to see the last installment for months, and never made it to a show. Today would be the day.
I shared the theater with a handful of people: mothers with small children, a father with his two pre-teens, a rowdy group of teenagers in the balcony. What a luxury!
Clocking in at 3 1/2 hours, the film met my expectations. That said, I hated the ending and thought the last half hour of the movie dragged.
A longer critique to come soon.
What’s in a name
Imagine that you’ve just survived 22 grueling hours of labor and given birth to a healthy baby girl. Your husband bursts into the room. You’re exhausted.
Weeks before, you had settled on a name together – a beautiful biblical name. After spending time bonding with some other soon-to-be dads in the waiting room, your husband has thought up something better. Something different.
“Let’s name her Tiffany,” he says.
You nod, give him a vague smile and sink into a deep sleep thinking this too shall pass.
The next day, you cradle the tiny baby in your arms. You’re not a Tiffany, you think. But your husband is sure, positive, that his inspiration, the new name, is best.
So you argue. The doctor walks in and asks what is the problem. And then, pulling a shiny object out of his pocket, he announces a solution. Let’s flip a coin, he says.
Mom called heads.
Dad called tails.
And to this day, I always choose heads.
Six years later, mom was pregnant again. I was thrilled, so sure a little sister would join our family. I rearranged my room, separated my toys, and devised elaborate plans to train my protege.
Mom and dad went to the hospital. I soon arrived with my grandparents in tow, eager to meet my new sister. Dad walked me down the green corridor and stopped in front of a room filled with cribs.
“Which one is ours?” I asked, my nose pressed up against the glass.
“That one,” he said, pointing to a baby with a blue cap.
“Can we take that one instead?” I asked pointing to an adorable creature in pink.
“Well, um, no,” he said. “The baby boy is ours.”
I was distraught. Another brother? This can’t be. Why couldn’t we swap him for the baby girl? The baby room blurred in an endless stream of tears. I was inconsolable.
Early that evening, my dad and I visited with mom. I sat down on an orange chair and squirmed, trying to get comfortable on the hard plastic. My parents looked at each other and then faced me. Did they reconsider? Were we going to bring home a sister?
“I kept telling you it was probably going to be a baby boy,” my mom said softly.
“I know,” I choked, looking down. “But….”
“And we see how upset you are,” my dad interrupted. “So we’re going to give you a very important job.”
“Why don’t you name the baby?” my mom asked.
Such an honor – to name a person. This was almost better than growing up with a sister. I wanted to choose a special name. A name he could live up to…. and immediately I knew.
“Darren,” I said.
When my baby brother was in kindergarten, he learned the truth about his name and didn’t talk to me for days. Apparently my parents had considered “Mark,” “Kevin,” and “Eric”…. all of which he preferred.
“Why Darren?” he spat out at me.
“Because I wanted to give you a famous name,” I said, exasperated.
“No one famous is named Darren,” he said.
“Sure there is. I named you after Samantha’s husband on Bewitched.”
Someday, he’ll forgive me.
Generation Gap
Isaura writes me monthly. I recognized her familiar scrawl on the envelope crushed between issues of the New Yorker and Vanity Fair. Sometimes a card flits out and a sober saint will stare up at me from the hardwood floor. Other times I’ll find a $10 bill carefully folded in the note. Always her correspondence conveys news of my parents or brothers or distant cousins.
I spoke with my grandmother for 20 minutes tonight. The conversation never alters. She asks me how I’m doing. We quickly move on to work. Then she provides an update about her day and news of our relatives. She worries about how much my long distance charges cost. I inform her that the call is free, but she doesn’t understand calling plans that provide unlimited minutes after 8:00 p.m. As we say goodnight, her voice thickens with emotion.
I don’t phone her enough, although I think of her often. I’m Isaura’s only granddaughter.
Tomorrow is her 80th birthday. My last surving grandparent is a fount of valuable information – stories of growing up in the Azores, recipes to exotic Portuguese meals, the answer to the confusing maze of our family tree.
Tomorrow, when I surprise her with a call, I’ll dig through the treasure of her memory and encourage a story about a place long gone and its people long past.
Paradise on Earth
Across the Distance After procrastinating for mon…
Across the Distance
After procrastinating for months, I’m finally online at home. So I’ll be updating our site more often.
So, what have you been up to? I haven’t heard from you since Avo’s funeral.
My Director’s brother committed suicide on Saturday morning. That night she flew to Georgia and will be out of the office for about a month. Guess who’s in charge?
Kind of puts a wrench in my Easter travel plans. I think I’ll only be able to stay in Massachusetts for a long weekend instead of the entire week the way I had originally planned.
I’ll keep you informed.
Love you always, M
Sometimes it’s easier to beg forgiveness than it…
Sometimes it’s easier to beg forgiveness than it is to ask permission
My grandfather taught me that.
From one week to the next… he was hospitalized, stabilized, and, early on a Tuesday morning, at the age of 85, he died.
I flew cross-country to be with my family for the services. It was astonishing to see so many people, from so many walks of life, come to pay their respect.
I spoke with a frail, elderly man who met my grandfather way back when at the lycee in Portugal; second and third cousins flew to the States from Canada; a group of neighborhood teens sat in a corner, sharing their condolences with my grandmother; the Mayor dropped by for a few minutes and said some words; Catholic priests milled about the funeral home, murmuring prayers in English and Portuguese. At the cemetery, a hundred people stood graveside… I’d only seen so many people at one other funeral – that of a sweet, 23-year-old friend who succumbed to Hodgkin’s.
For the first time, I got it – I finally understood the point of a wake. I’d always found the practice disturbing – dressing the dead body in finery, announcing the time and place of the services for anyone to read, and then putting the person on display. It was comforting. And oddly enough, the only time I cried was when my friends appeared, showing their support for my family. I never expected that to happen.
In three weeks I flew to Seattle, flew to Providence, back to Seattle, then returned to DC, only to pack up for Massachusetts to spend time with my grandmother. They were married for 58 years. It’s amazing.
Prioritizing priorities You have five workdays….
Prioritizing priorities
You have five workdays. There are four items that absolutely must be complete by 5:00 p.m. Friday. A month ago, you bought tickets to three events scheduled after work this very week…. one of those is a date.
The phones ring continuously – you let all of your calls go to voicemail as you sit at your desk, typing away, while speaking with a co-worker.
Three of those messages are from your mother – she sounds worried because you haven’t called in two weeks. But you don’t have time to call her back right this second. Maybe later… this afternoon… or after you get home… when you should have more time… if you don’t cancel your plans and work late instead.
This last month has been crazy. I haven’t felt organized at all. And somehow I’ve let 1,000 important deadlines pile up and EVERYTHING is due this week (and I mean e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g!).
How do you keep your life in order? I swear I don’t know how working moms do it. I’m just taking care of me – flying solo – and I’m buried.
How do you prioritize?
As an aside – here’s a big SHOUT OUT to the Patriots for providing suspense and heartstopping anxiety throughout that magnificent Superbowl game! I was hyperventilating and freaking out in those last 10 seconds. Adam Viniatieri ROCKS!
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