Jefferson Beauregard Sessions!  I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive!

Three days are a charm; whatever charming little malady that afflicted me is gone and I feel well again, ready for places to go, things to do.  Even housework.  Can go outside and enjoy the gorgeous weather that was only depressing me because I was too sick to go outside and enjoy it.  Just before I awakened, had an exquisite dream…I was walking atop a deep green levee, but unlike levees, it traveled under and through a beautiful overhang of trees that dropped white flowers onto me and onto the grass.  White flowers were growing in patches of gardens where people had planted them, and little kitchen gardens joined them on top of the levee of all places, but it was cool and deep and rich and I awakened well after five thirty, so rested.  Slept two more hours yesterday afternoon and didn’t think I’d ever be able to move again.  Made the most delicious pot of coffee this morning.

Yesterday was a day to catch up on movies or movie memories from childhood.  For example, I guess I was just in the mood for those late fifties, early sixties Lana Turner soap opera things that were supposedly so provocative back in the day.  I do remember when I was seven or eight, a radio commercial for a newly released movie…half the things on the commercial went over my head, but it was the seductive way the narrator said the title and the title itself that caught my ear:  By Love Possessed.  Question mark.  That’ stupid.  What a bad title.  I don’t know what it means but it sounds like the Legion of Decency wouldn’t like it.  Turner showed it yesterday, I taped it, and last night, sick of the political arguing decided to escape into it…oh, riches.  It started the credits with a crying violin that immediately escalated into those concerto type piano scores, the kind of music that I call Candelabra Music, all that was missing was the soprano chorus…Efrem Zimbalist, Jr., foxy mature man, George Hamilton, Lana Turner, Barbara Bel Geddes, Thomas Mitchell, Jason Robards, forbidden love, suppressed passions, rebellious youth among the upper crust in a small Massachusetts town.  Time flew by.  But outside of guilty pleasure pleasure I did take away this take away with it…Efrem tells his wife, who doesn’t think, after twenty something years of marriage that he ever loved her.  He’s not the touchy feely sort.  But he tells her this beautiful monologue that he thinks of her always, if he’s walking along the street and passes a shop window he says, Clarissa would like that, or Clarissa wouldn’t like that…and then here’s the takeway:  fiercely he says if she hurts herself or gets or gets a cold, he gets furious because it’s like she hasn’t taken care of something that is also a part of himself.

Need I elaborate on the pertinence that takeaway had for me?  Now I’m in the mood to watch, “All That Heaven Allows!”