I have to...

correct me.
I managed to watch again The Fellowship of the Ring. This time in English. Unfortunately, my stereo's a crap, so I had to use the TV-set alone, and there's a lot of background sounds to distract me.
So now I have to confess, that much of this kitschy impressions of the German edition is due to the German voices. There's no trace of the weak, wailing way of talking in the original version. Galadriel sounds powerful and at times even angry, and Arwen is no girly, purrly white-clad wifey, too.

Behind The Scenery

This year’s returning ritual of watching the Lord Of The Rings Extended Edition, usually taking place around Christmas, started somewhat early, in November.
So on Tuesday I began with The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers, and Wednesday night I finished The Return of the King.
They’re becoming more and more kitsch, but I’m still impressed by the making-of stuff that comes on 6 additional DVDs.

So when the films are finished, there’s a lot more to see, and thankfully this time I managed to shut down those f… subtitles- for all my English erodes from my brain as soon as there are German words on the screen.

However, I found it extremely difficult to understand what was said there, even though it’s all English (probably...)
But there seem to be Americans, English people, Scots, People from Australia and New Zealand with all their individual dialects… and this amazingly beautiful Viggo Mortensen, who’s talking in a language I did not understand at all. And I don’t talk of his speech at Copenhagen. Perhaps it’s something about his voice? I don’t know.

It’s awe-inspiring to learn of the huge amount of work behind it all: The armoury, the weapons, the prosthetics, the make-up and clothes, the computer generated animation, how they built the trees and constructed Minas Tirith, Helm’s Deep and Mordor- it’s all equally fascinating.

The arrows of orks and elves are decorated differently, though no one will be able to see this in the film. The swords used by Aragorn and Gandalf and about one hundred more are real swords, and lots of the armoury was made from light-weighted plate steel and leather, by two Armoury smiths, earning their living in New Zealand.
All the Rohirrim cavalry fighting in the siege of Minas Tirith consisted of in fact about 250 real horses with their riders, multiplied by computer rendered imagery- and every time you see a horse going down it’s one of the digital ones, so no harm was done.
And you learn why the big olifants or Mûmakil don’t make elephant-like trumpeting noises…

It’s a touching moment when Peter Jackson, the Director, let’s Elijah Wood repeat the last scene with Sam over and over again, just to not have to say “cut”- it’s the last pick-up shot, and he just doesn’t want to say good-bye.

The quality of this additional material makes up for all the kitschy moments of the actual film- especially in all the scenes with Galadriel or Arwen. Cate Blanchett is a beautiful woman, and so is Liv Tyler, but all this blinding lights and sentimental music makes me rather sick.
I prefer the orks fighting their way into Helm’s Deep, or the Mûmakil on the Pelennor field trampling down the Rohirrim. Hehe.

But still, kitschy or not, Annie Lennox’ last song “Into the West” is one of my favourites.


And New Zealand itself remains one of the places I dream of… I can’t imagine anyone here in Germany having the idea to put a picture of a movie character onto a plane – let alone a Lufthansa-Boeing. It’s impressing to see the people in Wellington at the world premiere of The Return of the King, all their excitement and pride they take in it. So there’s not only landscape and mountains and animals. I’d also like to get acquainted to the people there.

Maybe if I win the lottery my next posting will come from Tongariro National Park.
There’s a 38 million Euro-jackpot this Saturday. Keep your fingers crossed :-)

Thanksgiving (Translation included)

heißt hier ein bisschen verschämt „Erntedankfest“, und ist aus dem Bewusstsein der Leute großenteils verschwunden. Was vielleicht an der kirchlichen Anbindung dieses Festes liegt, vielleicht aber auch an der geschwundenen Verbindung des Lebens der meisten Leute mit so was wie „Ernte“.
In den amerikanischen Blogs die ich lese, ist hingegen vielfach davon die Rede. Und trotz der Tatsache, dass es sich um ein „gängiges“, etabliertes Fest handelt, und auch sicherlich Kommerz dabei eine Rolle spielt, fällt mir auf, dass viele den Anlass nutzen um darüber nachzudenken, wofür sie dankbar sind. Laurie zum Beispiel, und auch Cecily.
Wenn ich das, was ich bisher gelesen habe, richtig verstehe, ist Thanksgiving der große Feiertag, der die Weihnachtszeit einleitet. Die Betonung liegt auf der Zusammenkunft mit Freunden und Familie, der Weitergabe von Traditionen, und so verbindenden Dingen wie dem gemeinsamen Essen traditioneller, aufwändig zubereiteter Gerichte.
Wie bei allen großen Familienfesten gibt es sicherlich auch jede Menge Rituale, die nicht so witzig sind, wie vielleicht die dummen und aufdringlichen Fragen von Onkel Ernie, oder die grässlichen Tischsitten der Nichten und Neffen, aber es bleibt ein klassischer Anlass, um tatsächlich über die Dinge nachzudenken, die man erreicht hat und die man wertschätzt. Sowas geht im Alltag schnell verloren, vor allem auf dem Hintergrund, dass man sich viel zu oft vergleicht mit Anderen. Angefangen mit „Was hat der/die, was ich nicht habe?“ bis zu offenem Neid auf materielle Errungenschaften. Ohne dass man sich auch nur einmal fragt, ob man diese Errungenschaften selbst BRAUCHT oder ob man diese Eigenschaften oder das, was der andere verkörpert überhaupt haben oder sein will.

Ich zum Beispiel will gerne perfekt sein, bin aber meilenweit davon entfernt. Dieser Wunsch nach Perfektion ist leider kein Ansporn, sondern eine Bremse für jeden Versuch, mich dem Wunschzustand zu nähern.
Durch den Standard, den der Perfektionismus setzt, ist das Nichterreichen von Zielen quasi schon etabliert, wenn ich das Ziel ins Visier nehme.
Es fällt mir schwer, einfach nur mir vorzunehmen, etwas Bestimmtes zu erledigen, wenn da noch soviel mehr ist. Also zum Beispiel zu planen, das Küchenfenster zu putzen. Denn da ist nicht nur die Küche, da ist auch das Wohnzimmer, das Schlafzimmer, und das Arbeitszimmer. Alle mit Fenstern. (Das Bad hat keins.) Meine innere Überhausfrau sagt mir, dass das Küchenfenster eine Reinigung vertragen könnte, und die anderen Fenster sicherlich auch. Und schon türmt sich ein Fensterhaufen auf. Die Überhausfrau zieht sich dankend zurück, sie muss ja nicht putzen, das muss ich tun. Normale Menschen sagen sich: Jetzt mach ich schnell das Küchenfenster, und die anderen der Reihe nach, jeden Tag eins. Der Perfektionist, der erfolglose, sieht den Fensterhaufen und verfällt in eine Schreckstarre. Dabei finde ich Perfektionismus sehr unangenehm. Ich meine, wer will schon jemand Perfekten kennen? Ich nicht. Fände ich erstens langweilig, zweitens deprimierend (schon wegen der Vergleiche, die immer angestellt werden) und drittens langweilig. Ach ja, und deprimierend.
Wenn ich Leute erlebe, die irgendwas gut können, will ich das auch- und komme mir summa summarum immer hässlicher, unfähiger und dümmer vor. Eine genaue Sicht der Dinge zeigt mir aber, dass ich mich nicht mit EINEM Vorbild begnüge, sondern immer gleich mehrere habe. Keiner von denen ist in allen Bereichen gleich fit. Aber ich habe an mich den Anspruch, das zu sein. Und für das Erfolglos-Sein gibt’s dann eins auf den Hut. Aber richtig.

Statt sich also unerfüllbare Maßstäbe und Ziele zu setzen, wird es Zeit, da mal realistisch ran zu gehen.
Dazu gehört auch, dankbar zu sein für das, was man hat.

__________________________________________________________________________
Dinge, für die ich dankbar bin:

Ein halbwegs helles Köpfchen.

Ein Dach über dem Kopf

Einen recht gut gelungenen Sohn

Eine große Familie, mit guten Kontakten untereinander

Mein Schreibtalent (auch wenn es sich hier nicht so zeigt- ich kann ganz gut Kurzgeschichten schreiben)

Handwerkliches Geschick

Ein sicherer Arbeitsplatz

Immerhin. 7 Sachen. Und vier Katzen.

Und da ich wieder auf ein paar englischsprachige Blogs gelinkt habe, hier für den Trackback die englische Version:


Thanksgiving

is a holiday nearly unknown in this country. There is, in fact, something called Thanksgiving Day, but mostly associated to church, and to thankfulness for the annual harvest of farmers.

It has lost the connection with the average people’s life, perhaps due to the fact that less and lesser people attend church, and more and more people live in towns without actual awareness of the importance of rich harvests.

The American blogs I read do talk about Thanksgiving a lot, eg Laurie and Cecily. And in spite of the fact that it is a well established (and therefore maybe rather ritualised) holiday, they all write about the things they are indeed thankful for.

If I understood correctly, Thanksgiving is the starter of the annual holiday season, leading straight to Christmas, and to gatherings of family and friends. It includes a lot of traditional elements, mostly connected with sharing meals and coming together with beloved ones.

As usual, there surely will be rather annoying parts, too, such as Uncle Ernies stupid and boring or inquisitive questions, or the horrible table manners of nephews and nieces. But overall, it seems to be a time of the year to think about the essence of thankfulness.

One does lose tracks of this kind of gratitude in daily life too fast…

There is too much comparing one’s life to those of others, starting with “Why can s/he have or do what I can’t?” and surely not ending with the envious surveillance of what one’s neighbor can achieve with money. No one ever seems to think about whether one really needs these achievements, or these attitudes or abilities.


My own private dream and goal is… to become perfect.


Though I’m miles away from this, this doesn’t seem to motivate me at all. In fact, I seem to move backwards all the time.
Setting a goal beneath the supervising eye of your inner perfectionist ensures you to fail. Completely.
It turns out to be hard to do anything at all, when there will be so much to be left undone… if you see your kitchen window needs cleaning, and you are no perfectionist, you grab a cloth and a bucket of hot water and start right off.

A perfectionist will look around and see everything that needs cleaning, too- and will be overwhelmed at the mere thought of it. Depending on how dirty the surrounding and the windows are, and if there is anyone who wants to come over, he will a) make an attempt to attack each and everything that needs cleaning, only to crash down hard, not capable of moving a finger in the end or b) will sit down to ponder on life, the universe and all the rest, feeling to depressed to move at all.

I do not like perfect people. Who does, anyway? They are boring, and make me feel quite as a failure myself, plus, they are boring.
But I want it all. The major housekeeping skills of my mother. Being sportive like my friend, earning money like my brother in law, writing books as Laurie King does, looking like a model, be wise like the Dalai Lama. And so on, and so forth.And when I show incapable of it all, once again, day by day, well- no one will punish you like yourself.

So, it’s time to start new, instead of setting unachievable goals.Let’s start with being thankful for all the abilities I do have. ______________________________________________________________________
Things I am thankful for:

My brains

A place to live

A really nice son

A big, loving family

A talent for writing short stories

Manual skills of varying kinds (such as knitting, working with wood, garden work etc.)

A safe job.

That adds to seven. Plus, four cats.


Have a happy thanksgiving,

Lily

In English

My last post contained some links to blogs in English. So I'll try to translate it here. It's only fair.



Children.

I have a son, who is already living on his own. He was born when I was 18 yo- much too young, as I know now. Perhaps not too young for everyone, but certainly for me.
I am not able to remember much of the pregnancy. Sure, there are some prenatal milestones I remember on my way to delivery, but most of it went away in a blurr. You might as well assume that I did not make plans for the day when I would have to leave the hospital with my baby. I was pregnant, full stop.
When the nurses told me I was allowed to take this little bundle home, I began to believe that it was really true- I had a baby now. I was a mother now.
We grew up together, my son and I, and motherhood was mostly a logistic challenge for me for the next years. I had to finish school, look for a job that would earn enough money for us both, and all the time needed MY mother to make sure that there was day care for my son.
When my son was two years old, I married. (Not the father of my son, but another man.)
When my boy was 16 yo, I left my husband, and mostly lived as a single from that day on.

I never came to terms with the question of having another child. I would have loved to have a daughter, but at the same time the mere thought of it would have scared the shit out of me.

During my not-so-good marriage, the little self respect that was left of my independent days would have been smothered to bits, if I would have had to stop working due to a child, and I always thought it was unfair to let another child grow up with my mother. I was fucking afraid of having another child. So I let terminate my possibility to get pregnant with surgical means some years after my divorce.

Now I am forty-something, not able to become pregnant any more, and the pendulum of ambivalence strikes back... not really. I have two lovely nieces, being my part-time daughters, and that is fine for me, for I am no icon of healthy living or common sense.

What has changed is my understanding of those, who try desperately to become a family, by IVF or other means of assisted reproduction.
I never was quite able to understand, why anyone would undergo hurtful, expensive and frustrating treatments to have a child.
And then there was the day that I googled "Brenda Leigh Johnson" (The Closer herself) and stumbled onto the blog of Laurie. By her linklist, I learned of Allison, and in the miraculous ways of the internet came to Julie and Helen. Helen and Julie are mothers to IVF children, and through their blogs I learned what this is all about. They are not bitter, they are not dogged, they are infertile. They have a deep wish, a heart's desire. And who am I to ignore a heart's desire?

I am grateful that some weeks of reading their archives were able to turn my understanding of infertility upside down.

The US of A have a National Week of Infertility Awareness. It's a devastating thought that there has to be such a week. It's a devastating thought that the couples who are hit by infertility have so much difficulties to talk about their issues, even with family and friends, without having to fear judgement.
"Not able to become pregnant", sotto voce discussions behind the back of the one who left the room shortly before, and everyone feels competent to judge, to nod wisely, to have an opinion.
And there is always the one opting for adoption. And the ones referring to Mother Nature. And all about accepting Mother Nature's Wise Ways. Just to pop down an Aspirin against the (not natural?) headache. And downing a cup of coffee, to stop all the natural tiredness.
I have been part of this kind of discussions, and I did not refrain from taking part in these.

I know personally at least three couples who are infertile, and who stopped trying to get pregnant after years of exhausting and frustrating attempts. All three of them would have been much better mothers and fathers to their children than I ever was to my kid.
To which extent there has been mourning and pain when they put a halt to their attempts no week of awareness will tell us.
But out of Helen's and Julie's blogs I learned that I will never again ask "Why don't you adopt?". If a couple feels that adoption just isn't right, it isn't right. For them.
I will never again judge behind their backs, never think idiot stuff as "Mother Nature's Ways" again.
Mourning about those children that can not come to life, about losing an option to a life with kids, the grief and despair of learning that one's body refuses to fulfill a heart's desire is an issue we all should respect and share.
And as long as there is such an depressing amount of silence, we should at least accept without any judgement (and without nagging publicly the costs of) the feeble three attempts of IVF provided by our health insurances here in Germany.