Val and I have been watching selected Christmas Tales from our large Library of Noel tidbits. We watched “The Man Who Invented Christmas” the other night. Wonderful: As in Full of Wonder.”
Pardon my blather and bliss… and deep purple…
I love to Read… and I especially love to Write… but not always… because sometimes I notice the sad thing about Product is that, it’s basically Math… except for those occasional glorious times I hear an Angel-Of-Sorts whispering in my ear "things" that are Lovely, ”things" that make Little Sense, and then from time to time, “things” that seem so profoundly purposeful… and, of course, sometimes just "Things…"
Good or bad, it doesn’t really matter - just to periodically hear her delicate tones, or worse, that other voice that sounds like a nuclear “Tremor in the Force.” The Spirit of the Muse: sometimes soft and sweet, other-times raging-on against the "dying of the fuggin’ light." And sometimes just offering a little wiseass-like wise and knowledgeable biscuit from the life-pantry to partake of.
There are few things in life this special. Few things that can make you equally laugh and sob-like-a little baby - Northern Exposure is one of mine; Shakespeare in Love and, of course, Shakespeare; Joe Verses The Volcano... and a few more... and maybe a few more than a few.
But this little Gem… this tiny smidgen of Humankind’s rare rhythms about things as lofty as Life… is quite special.
“The Man Who Invented Christmas” is Written by the brilliant and soulful Susan Coyne (who, along with her “Kids In the Hall” accomplice, Mark McKinney, created and wrote another Fave-Rave TV Show of mine, the extraordinary “Slings and Arrows”).
To be purposefully but clumsily poetic about real poetry is not an easy task. But this wondrous word-ditty is two fold; It’s filled to the brim with lots of little slices of Dickens dancing rhyme and alliteration... and brilliant Susan Coyne’s wickedly wonderful Story and equally Poetic Justice that do the same. It really helps to have a talented Cast including, stalwart thespian, Christopher Plummer to recite/re-sight your verse, but the “Text” is painstakingly “there.” Wherever “There” is.
Just because I’m who I am, I entirely enjoyed Susan’s snide asides to psychotic Ayn Rand and her industriously selfish and thoroughly self-centered ilk…. things like that can warm the corner of cockles like mine on a Pre-Holidaze evening…
Like the very best of poetic jargon, some lines of dialogue here say more than is seemingly possible and yet, there they are, looking back at you, teaching you a little something about yourself as I ask myself, “You don’t really ever have to “get back” at anyone, do you. What’s the point of that?” Or, “You don’t need to hold on to those things that will eventually rot you from the insides out…” simple things like that.
I love Words… and especially the organized sort that end-up as things seemingly seeming like sentences. Val can tell you that I suffer a grave and severe weakness of the heart, in that, certain of these “things” whisper to me and then echo-on-and-on in my life. Things that illustrate so illustriously like, “No, ’tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church-door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world…” or as sardonically simple as, “You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!.” Interesting that they’re both somewhat sarcastic about this biological sepulcher for the Soul that fears for the ending of what we call Life. Funny, that…
When my Dad died and the Nurse called and woke me at 4:30 in the Morning and then told me that my Dad “expired” - in my thoughtless grief I was almost amused for that brief second out-of-time, and I almost told the Nurse to “put a few more Coins in the Meter and I’ll be right over.” I’m not real good with the whole “Dead” thing. But it proved to lighten my heart, because… They were wrong. He didn’t quite “expire…” and he never will.
You see, “expired” is about being “Without” Spirit… as much as “Inspiration” is about encompassing it. And in my immediate heart, my Mom and Dad’s essence, their Spirits, were/are much too powerful (Read: spirituous) to ever pass beyond this Life’s Last Curtain Call. In a way, they’re here as I speak/type... but, of course, I've always been just a little delusional about this Art of Life.
Treasure, much like "Meaning," is wherever you find it. I think I find it a lot, but never enough, or maybe too much. I can never tell - It must be one of those zen things... or just another of Life’s Illusions.
And this little Gem of Susan’s and the other players… this minuscule soupçon of words singing life’s unwonted rare Music, is a Wonder to behold.
Charles said, “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of another.” ‘nuff said.
