Friday, May 18, 2012


Susan and her husband and I just watched Fireproof (2008), which we all really enjoyed.  I'd earlier been less than enthusiastic about watching an unequivocally Christian movie, afraid that it would be well-meaning but silly, or poorly acted, awkwardly scripted, or lack the high production values that I expect of anything created for the big screen, but I found it good, avoiding all the pitfalls I'd feared, and better than that, it was encouraging, with demonstrable character growth, and an excellent balance of pathos and humor, predictability and unexpected twists.  And even more, as it was specifically Christian, it addressed a specific, widespread problem, and provided a non-illusory solution (in Christ alone--the 40-day program to woo one's spouse was merely a means by which one's own need for the Lord was illuminated), rather than the vapid "find who's perfect for YOU" lesson that's repetitively cranked out of our popular information sources in print and onscreen.  If I, a lifelong single, and two young(ish) marrieds share such an appreciation for this film, I hope that my handful of readers will seek it out, too [we saw it via Netflix, but it's probably also available on Amazon].  And it was filmed in and around Albany, Georgia, so it's a taste of home...

Spreaking (as my sister would say) of Georgia, I'm heading down there for a short visit come Sunday--doctor's appointments Monday and Tuesday and a visit with Grandmommy on Wednesday, then back to DC Thursday.  Tonight, I'm staying over at Susan and Sam's new condo, just because.  I'm actually working on an estate in an apartment only a mile from here in Falls Church, so it's too handy not to hang out!  According to the Florida ID card we found the other day, the old lady whose stuff it was lived to the age of 105, and she had acquired an impressive amount of belongings over that period.  Much of it is nice, and, moreover, clean, so it's a thankful task, though a considerable one.  We're having to tag, code and then pack everything we think is saleable (that is almost everything except the paperbacks, a couple of old analog TVs and a closetful of neat but too-old-to-be-fashionable-and-too-new-to-be-vintage clothes) and move it into a storage facility in Maryland because the high-rise doesn't allow advertising on site, and there is NO parking to be had, the death knell for an estate sale.  Twice this week I've had to presume upon my friend privileges and park in Susan's condo complex lot, a full mile distant, and walk to work.  The weather has been superb, so this hasn't been a burden, but not something you'd presume potential customers would be willing to undertake.  We have to move the stuff to Maryland because we're going to interpolate it into upcoming sales, and guess where all those are?

My fifteenth year college reunion last weekend went well.  Or the two events I attended did--the picnic midday Friday and the breakfast on Saturday.  I was otherwise occupied most of the weekend by napping or hanging out with my regular crew of the dear college friends who also converged from DC and NC on the tiny town in the Shenandoah Valley.  We sat around outside on the porch of the mountain house that Leah and Aaron had rented for us to share and drank wine and watched four of my honorary nephews play in the creek and talked about real estate listings and how we'd love to have a jointly-owned house there so we could do this more often.  I did get to campus to see my old Russian History professor, and he sweetly swore to read my manuscript of Two Motherlands, Two Fatherlands.  I noticed the Bonhoeffer biography on his bookshelf, and a couple of other good reads.  I'm looking forward to hearing his response to my work, as his own book is soon coming out from an Ivy League press.

Had a bizarre dream last night about a house of my mother's (one my father designed) being infested with termites, so I'm not very rested.  Swarming, gnawing insects attacking walls and floorboards just isn't calming.  I hope to sleep without such upsetting imaginings tonight.

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