I have this problem with movies made based on books. If I see the movie, I don’t have any mojo to read the book. If I read the book, I’m leery of the movie, because I have in my mind’s eye what the scenery and characters should look like, and it messes with me when the movie director did not conjure up the exact same details I did.
Other than lack of mojo, I don’t rightly know why I won’t read the book once I’ve seen the movie. But I think it may have to do with the fact that I already know the ending. Been there, done that, I say. I don’t need to do it again. And I especially don’t need to spend hours watching a story I already know, rather than working on my book that might get written before I’m ninety-two.
So. When I saw that The Glass Castle was coming out, I remembered I had, at the recommendation of my mother-in-law, already bought the book. I hadn’t read it, because I typically feel guilty for spending my reading time on novels or memoirs, but I confess that this Summer, and somewhat last Summer, I’ve done a pretty good job of shutting up that guilt. For it is false guilt, and therefore wicked and baseless.
All that to say that I’m reading The Glass Castle, and trying to do so before the movie is no longer in theaters. I will probably fail miserably, but there’s always Red Box, baby. Only problem with that plan, is that every second of my TV time these days is spent on watching Longmire, the modern western based in Wyoming, starring a Sheriff who I wish was my Dad, and a few other young Sheriffs who kinda wish the same. Wait, except for Vic, who has somehow become romantically interested in a guy twice her age. Yeah. Longmire.
Whatever. The mystery portion of the show is what keeps bringing me back. Not too many shows these days have well thought out plots that get your mind twisted – in a healthy way. This show has plot twists that make you go “huh?”, and scratch your head. There are characters with and without character. There are Cowboys and Indians (terribly politically incorrect, I know), always at odds with one another because of what can or can’t be done on the Reservation. Or who can or can’t step foot on “the Res”, as they call it. There’s murder. There’s Sheriff Ferg, who has a big heart and an even bigger body, both of which probably keep him out of advancing in his job. And then there’s Branch, who … oooohhhh, never mind. Don’t want to give anymore spoilers.
There’s also Ruby, the secretary. I sorta covet her job. And there’s Henry, Walt Longmire’s lifetime Indian friend, played by Lou Diamond Phillips.
Also, everyone carries guns, off or on duty, which I think is cool and wise (again, with the lack of PC). And of course it’s based in the wild, Wild West, which I am well acquainted with and love. I mean, I like the citified liberal area we live in.
Really, I do.
But, well. I suppose I like the rugged country better, even though I feel I’m probably too old and sissified to actually live rugged.Maybe.
I’ve been known to go hunting in what my family called “cabins”, which were more like sheds with massive holes in the side of them, complete with rats running around looking for the foot of warm sleeping bags to bed down in for the night. I’ve also been known to relieve myself in outhouses just outside those cabins that were nothing more than an open A-frame designed for stubby hobbits, and loaded down with six inches of snow and one busted up perchin’ hole that would pinch your fanny if you didn’t perch delicately.
You know those characters in Jeanette Oke’s books who were required to go live on the rough, Canadian prairie, where the wind whipped, the snow stacked up, the temps nearly froze them to death, and life was tough but also quiet and not so bat poo busy-crazy? I kinda see myself thriving in that environment, as long as I had long underwear, boots, hand warmers, and a space heater. And books. And pens and paper. Who wouldn’t want to dash around wearing wool and calico dresses topped off with a bonnet? Or bake bread in an old-fashioned cook stove? And play checkers next to a lantern instead of staring at a bright screen? And sew? And garden? And rarely go into town?
I’d miss my fridge …
In more serious news, I’m also reading The Valley of Vision and What’s So Great About God? by Darrell Ferguson. The V of V is a book of prayer and devotions written by Puritans. Reads a lot like Scripture, only not as inspired by the Holy Spirit … or something. But it’s as close as one can get to Scripture without it actually being Scripture. It’s comforting. Challenging. And confrontational. I just read one or two entries per day, otherwise I feel like one overly lame spiritual duck.
Ferguson’s book is all about the attributes of God, and he uses a ton of Psalms to portray those attributes, but also other Scriptures. Reads like a devotional, but it’s very interactive, in that he asks questions of the reader, and also expects the reader to write out a prayer at the end of each entry.
Last, but not least, I’ve written a short Bible study, and it’s almost completely edited and ready to send to the printer. For now, this is just something I’ve put together for my church family to have access to, but it may turn into something more at a later date. More on that as things progress.
Now, if you’ll excuse me. The Glass Castle awaits. Jeannette (the author) and her siblings have completely run out of food (again), they’re moving for the umpteenth time, and if there are anymore fires Jeannette and her brother must find a way to escape, I’m going to maybe scream. Horrific parenting is the theme of this book. Amazing abilities on the kids’ parts to adapt and go with the flow. But I’m not even on page 100 yet. God only knows what other hair-brained schemes good ol’ Rex Walls has up his sleeves. At this point, I can only pray his children stay resilient. And alive.
In closing …
I still feel a tad ashamed for watching anything. I’m not a TV girl, and yet, here I am. Hooked on a program akin to Walker, Texas Ranger, minus the sap, plus much more plot.
I blame the eclipse.