A QUIET 4TH OF JULY

Very quiet, indeed. So quiet that I awoke this morning perspiring and straining for any sound at all. The power had once again gone off, and there was no A/C, no ceiling fan, no clock to let me know the time. A rather bleak start to the holiday, don't you know?

I dressed quickly and went out to mist the orchids hanging from my wonderful Japanese maple while planning a trip to Wendy's for a cup of coffee and some kind of breakfast treat. Thankfully, within an hour the power came on---SWEPCO magic--- and I didn't have to make the trip.

Did a few other chores related to trying to keep the house neat and tidy, but not as many as I should have. 100+ temps slow me down quite a bit.

This year the 4th has been quieted by a burn ban throughout the state, and a local ban on the sale or use of fireworks by private individuals. Every year since I've lived here the pets have really been miserable because fireworks were permitted one week prior and one week following a big holiday; this year they were spared.

The big public fireworks display down by the Red River was o.k.ed, so many people were planning and did attend. There are public stages down there where various bands and performers are scheduled. There are also food vendors and souvenir sales persons. Chillax, Jaz, and I went last year, and it was fun, but I didn't even consider it this year as we have had so much 100+ weather, such a drought, that I didn't want to be out there at all. The four of us did have grilled steaks at their house last night which was yummy. And am I glad it was last night.

So, here on the 4th, what happened. Thunderstorms actually moved into our area starting about 7:30 p.m. The big fireworks display should have been over by now, but I don't think it's even started. We haven't gotten much rain from this, but we have gotten a little, and we are most grateful for that. Thunder is still rumbling, and there has been plenty of lightening but not really the cloud to ground type.

I did look for my annual viewing of 1776 and called Jaz and Dagromme (sorry to have waked you) to tell them when it would be shown on TCM. Guess what? I recorded it this year; now I don't have to be beholden to the library or channels that might show it. It's mine for all the coming 4th's of July. YEA! I love that production. Of course, I'm the only person on this continent who still uses a VCR. What the heck?

To be very serious for a moment: The signing of the Declaration of Independence was a momentous event in history. Certainly I'm no authority or even a student of its gifts to us, but I intend to study it more closely and decide whether we are living up to its inspiration. Since our nation began in this way I think we should give it close scrutiny and make some choices. What do you think?

THE KING'S SPEECH & DEJA VU

Ever since this movie was first publicized I've wanted to see it, but didn't until today, Feb. 27. Yep, the day of the Academy Awards. Remember, I saw True Grit in December during my fabulous visit with my daughter, and I loved it and predicted it would be nominated. The cast in TG was great, and the re-make terrific, and it is dear to me. However, as a retired speech pathologist The King's Speech had more than a little allure.

My trek to see Speech was definitely not in vain. It was more than rewarding; it was reliving a portion of my career. And it was not a painful experience. It was a joyful one.

Probably most viewers are drawn into the agony of the stuttering George VI, and that is understandable, and, certainly Colin Firth was outstanding in the role. How can one's heart not be wrenched by his struggle? And how can one not be moved by his perseverance despite the altering of all his perceptions of life?

However, my hero was Geoffrey Rush's character, Lionel Logue, because I had lived there. Stuttering, stammering, fluency disorder---whatever you choose to call it---is one of the most difficult problems to treat. And as I watched the movie I finally analyzed what I had done in my work. There were, of course, textbook solutions; but, take it from me, hogwash. One had to establish who controlled the therapy setting, get inside each person who stuttered (that is, find the memories, experiences-good & bad without judging anyone but seeing their effects), retain a sense of humor, and move toward one small goal at a time. One had to be the master, sometimes the enemy, then the mentor, and then the friend. And the therapist's role shifts among these venues from one encounter to another. I never knew which one was coming next. Instinct becomes the rule of the day, and it is exciting. I can't boast that every stuttering person I worked with became fluent, but I have one vivid memory of success.

As a public school speech pathologist I received a referral for a fourth grade boy who stuttered, the son of a prominent family in the neighborhood. His mom was big in the local P.T.A.; she referred him; her older daughter was also very successful in the school. Stutterers have unique patterns, and his, as I recall, was to hold the initial sound of a word for a prolonged time before completing his thought. Example: "Mmmmmmmmmmmy mother is bringing cupcakes today." And sometimes there were repititions of initial sounds: "C-c-c-c-an you come?" To summarize quickly let me say that he expressed feelings that he didn't live up to the family standard, and when I asked what he would most like to do he stated that he wanted to be on the school's annual talent show. What did he want to do I asked. Well, he was a very smart boy, but he didn't sing, dance, play a musical instrument.

In fifth grade he got his wish. His mother came to me and begged that he not be on the talent show, and I assured her he would be fine. He asked me if I would be there, and I asked him if he wanted me to be. He said he would understand if I had to be at my other school, but he would really feel better if I were there. I made sure I was there.

And what did he do on the big Talent Show? He was the Master of Ceremonies. He did a beautiful job.

GUESS WHO WENT TO THE MOVIES!

Rarely do I see a movie within the first six months of its release. Today I saw one three days after its opening! That's a big deal for me, and it was a rip-roaring good time . . . sort of.

A friend of mine told me a few weeks ago she had won a $25 gift card at her apartment complex Christmas party and officially invited me to go to the movies with her as her guest. At that time there wasn't anything playing that either of us wanted to see. Last Friday I called her and asked if the invitation was still open, and she said it certainly was. I suggested we go see Slumdog Millionaire. There was a long pause, and she finally said she really didn't want to see anything so intense; such movies gave her bad dreams at night, but she'd checked the paper and maybe we could go see The International.

Well, I'd never heard of it, but it had scenes in Milan, Berlin, Istanbul, and in the Guggenheim in New York, and she'd really like to see it. So---we went today. It is very much in the James Bond genre, and I'd give it a 9.8 on the 10 pt. intensity scale. Don't know how she's going to sleep tonight. . . .

There is probably more truth in the movie's far flung story than we or any country would like to admit and very little travelogue which is what I think my friend anticipated. And given today's bank failures one starts to wonder . . . it will make you think in spite of yourself.

If you go to this movie: take a pint of blood, tubing, and a needle in case you need a transfusion before it's over.

If you go to the Guggenheim: take an automatic weapon; you may need it, and it seems to be the thing to do.

If you are looking for a new sex idol: CLIVE OWEN, trust me on this (though they didn't seem to include a razor in his knapsack).





If you want a couple of hours of bloody (literally) adventure: go see The International.