Rebecca and I caught the indie musical film Once the other night at the Broadway Theatre. Set in Dublin, Once is a warm, funny and charmingly platonic romance about a street musician and a Czech immigrant who meet, make music, become friends and recognize that they could easily fall in love, but ... he has never gotten over the love of his life, who is in London, and she left her husband in the Czech Republic to make a better life for their young daughter.
The guy (neither one is ever named) is played by Glen Hansard, a singer and guitarist for the successful band Frames in Ireland. Director John Carney was previously in the band as well, before leaving to become a movie maker, and Markéta Irglová, who plays the girl, recently recorded an album with Hansard. So the music was real and terrific. After big budget biopics with actors mimicking musicians (see Walk the Line, Ray) it's rather refreshing to see and hear real musicians taking a crack at acting.
Once may have lagged in places, but its low budget and inexperienced cast gave the film a raw and gritty realism, brimming with genuine emotions that covered the spectrum from curiosity, admiration, respect, lust, joy, embarrassment, awkwardness and anticipation. Carney tells a story of intersecting lives; about dreams, realities and regrets; about what might have been and what already is; and about perspective, consideration, responsibility and choices.
It was one of those movies that I enjoy more over time, and that I have thought back to again and again since watching it. It is refreshing to see two people connect, without the need for a storybook ending. And I prefer to see passion simmer on the screen and not boil over. I wish this kind of thing happened more than Once.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Daddy-Daughters
Last weekend we had a Daddy-Daughter canyoneering excursion. Angelica, Lanee and I spent two days in Cedar Mesa, and navigated both Fry Canyon and Gravel Canyon. Fry is a short but delightful canyon, with winding turns and narrow slots. It took us only four hours, but it was enough to make us weary and ready for a night under a beautiful star-filled sky. Gravel Canyon was a more challenging day, and included some difficult route-finding, extraordinary bouldering, ad hoc raps into the entry canyon, floating disconnects, frigid swims in groady water and a tough and uncertain canyon exit.
Overall, not the stuff for the weak-kneed or faint of heart. So I was very proud of my girls, who were brave, tireless and unwavering. And throughout the trip, there was plenty of laughter which made all the discomforts of a searingly hot summer hike pass like a gentle breeze. It is good to have strong and energetic daughters made of hardy stuff, and better yet when they make pleasant traveling companions. I do love adventure, but love it best with my kids, and feel far more blessed by their company than they are by mine.
Post Script: Three long-cherished outdoor companions may have taken their last hike. First, my Nalgene bottle cracked when dropped in a pack on a downclimb. It was the first one I owned, a plain white opaque model that was Nalgene's only choice before their marketing department discovered translucent plastic in vibrant colors. Also, my North Face shorts, which have lived long past any reasonably expected life span, and have survived countless days in sandstone canyons, the harshest test of all for pants. And finally, my Escalante cap is falling apart. The band long disappeared, and its red dye weathered, it somehow it always felt like it belonged in canyon country. I have become curiously attached to these inanimate items, not for their style or utility, but simply because we have been together so many times as we explored the back-country. Losing them reminds me that I am wearing out as well, and one day will make my final trip, either because I have cracked suddenly like the Nalgene or, as the shorts and cap, declined gradually, a fading casualty of heavy mileage and rugged terrain.
Overall, not the stuff for the weak-kneed or faint of heart. So I was very proud of my girls, who were brave, tireless and unwavering. And throughout the trip, there was plenty of laughter which made all the discomforts of a searingly hot summer hike pass like a gentle breeze. It is good to have strong and energetic daughters made of hardy stuff, and better yet when they make pleasant traveling companions. I do love adventure, but love it best with my kids, and feel far more blessed by their company than they are by mine.
Post Script: Three long-cherished outdoor companions may have taken their last hike. First, my Nalgene bottle cracked when dropped in a pack on a downclimb. It was the first one I owned, a plain white opaque model that was Nalgene's only choice before their marketing department discovered translucent plastic in vibrant colors. Also, my North Face shorts, which have lived long past any reasonably expected life span, and have survived countless days in sandstone canyons, the harshest test of all for pants. And finally, my Escalante cap is falling apart. The band long disappeared, and its red dye weathered, it somehow it always felt like it belonged in canyon country. I have become curiously attached to these inanimate items, not for their style or utility, but simply because we have been together so many times as we explored the back-country. Losing them reminds me that I am wearing out as well, and one day will make my final trip, either because I have cracked suddenly like the Nalgene or, as the shorts and cap, declined gradually, a fading casualty of heavy mileage and rugged terrain.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Fathers Day
One of the salubrious effects of holidays is that they sometimes cause us to ponder those things that matter most but are not timely and often ignored. So it was last Sunday, that in my quiet moments I reflected on my fathers. I thought most about my adopted father, I supposed because I spent my formative years in his company.
It was an interesting start to the relationship, because I chose to make him my father. Being adopted at such a late age (11) I had veto rights. But I had spent enough years in foster homes and orphanages and the like that the idea of permanently joining a family was so appealing that I was not inclined to be picky about such relatively trivial matters as culture, attitudes and interests.
As a result, I found myself a son to Fred Aho, who I then thought could not possibly be more unlike me than any man I had met. I loved sports, while his athletic interests were strictly limited to bowling and occasionally volleyball at church picnics and family reunions. I remember getting him a baseball glove as a gift, hoping it would inspire him to take up the game. It was a first baseman's mitt, which seemed appropriate for someone of his girth. Alas, our few efforts at playing catch ended in frustration (mine) as I'd have to dig in the hedges for all the balls that he had missed. He had given it the college try, but I was still disappointed and unfulfilled.
We were unlike in almost every other way. He was quiet, soft-spoken and unassuming, and I was loud, obnoxious and keenly intent on being the center of attention. He adored food, for which I could care less. His idea of a great Saturday night was visiting relatives at their farm and taking a sauna. I would have preferred activities that generated a little more adrenaline.
To the best of my recollection, we had only two things in common--playing cards and The Tonight Show. Even as a kid I was a night owl, and we used to stay up and watch Johnny Carson almost every night. It started at 10:30, and he rarely made it through the entire show (whereas I rarely missed any of it). It was the one shared ritual in our lives, neither one of us saying a word, him playing solitaire and me looking over a sports magazine. In retrospect, it was a rather meager form of bonding, but we were together and it was, I presumed, what fathers and sons did.
Dad also taught me to play cards--double-solitaire, spades, diamonds, rummy, cribbage and even bridge. Mom was a terrible card player, which used to frustrate him to no end. She just didn't see the point in it, and winning the game was never an important object for her. Further, she never grasped the strategic elements of the games. So their early efforts at social bridge were quickly aborted in favor of a longer marriage. I, on the other hand, loved playing cards with Dad, and he was always up for a game. We were competitive, but never bitterly so. I was neither upset when he won (because of his added experience and wisdom) nor surprised when I did (since even then I suffered from delusions of grandeur). So we played often, and when I would get bored and do something else, he would switch to solitaire, which I believe consumed at least 50% of the discretionary hours in the last 20 years of his life.
Despite our difference, I learned a lot from Dad, and wish I had learned more. He was always willing to work, and we spent many hours together in the garden. From him I learned how to plant and cultivate and weed. We would pick up aged manure from the country and mix it with soil when planting the tomatoes. Together we would pick rocks and turn soil. Every spring I had to till the garden, which only became fun after we got a gasoline-powered rototiller. And it wasn't just our yard that got our attention--we also mowed and trimmed and gardened at the church, and for widows and sick neighbors and others. I never enjoyed it at all, and did my best to get out of the responsibility, but he would have none of my excuses and so yard work become a habit. To my surprise, as an adult I have come to enjoy gardening in all its forms.
My dad was as honest as the day is long. He was humble and submissive. He was a great example to me, and though I may have been blessed with many talents that he lacked, I will labor all my days to match his examples of patience, charity and industry--traits that now, in the back half of my life, I view best over infinite horizons.
It was an interesting start to the relationship, because I chose to make him my father. Being adopted at such a late age (11) I had veto rights. But I had spent enough years in foster homes and orphanages and the like that the idea of permanently joining a family was so appealing that I was not inclined to be picky about such relatively trivial matters as culture, attitudes and interests.
As a result, I found myself a son to Fred Aho, who I then thought could not possibly be more unlike me than any man I had met. I loved sports, while his athletic interests were strictly limited to bowling and occasionally volleyball at church picnics and family reunions. I remember getting him a baseball glove as a gift, hoping it would inspire him to take up the game. It was a first baseman's mitt, which seemed appropriate for someone of his girth. Alas, our few efforts at playing catch ended in frustration (mine) as I'd have to dig in the hedges for all the balls that he had missed. He had given it the college try, but I was still disappointed and unfulfilled.
We were unlike in almost every other way. He was quiet, soft-spoken and unassuming, and I was loud, obnoxious and keenly intent on being the center of attention. He adored food, for which I could care less. His idea of a great Saturday night was visiting relatives at their farm and taking a sauna. I would have preferred activities that generated a little more adrenaline.
To the best of my recollection, we had only two things in common--playing cards and The Tonight Show. Even as a kid I was a night owl, and we used to stay up and watch Johnny Carson almost every night. It started at 10:30, and he rarely made it through the entire show (whereas I rarely missed any of it). It was the one shared ritual in our lives, neither one of us saying a word, him playing solitaire and me looking over a sports magazine. In retrospect, it was a rather meager form of bonding, but we were together and it was, I presumed, what fathers and sons did.
Dad also taught me to play cards--double-solitaire, spades, diamonds, rummy, cribbage and even bridge. Mom was a terrible card player, which used to frustrate him to no end. She just didn't see the point in it, and winning the game was never an important object for her. Further, she never grasped the strategic elements of the games. So their early efforts at social bridge were quickly aborted in favor of a longer marriage. I, on the other hand, loved playing cards with Dad, and he was always up for a game. We were competitive, but never bitterly so. I was neither upset when he won (because of his added experience and wisdom) nor surprised when I did (since even then I suffered from delusions of grandeur). So we played often, and when I would get bored and do something else, he would switch to solitaire, which I believe consumed at least 50% of the discretionary hours in the last 20 years of his life.
Despite our difference, I learned a lot from Dad, and wish I had learned more. He was always willing to work, and we spent many hours together in the garden. From him I learned how to plant and cultivate and weed. We would pick up aged manure from the country and mix it with soil when planting the tomatoes. Together we would pick rocks and turn soil. Every spring I had to till the garden, which only became fun after we got a gasoline-powered rototiller. And it wasn't just our yard that got our attention--we also mowed and trimmed and gardened at the church, and for widows and sick neighbors and others. I never enjoyed it at all, and did my best to get out of the responsibility, but he would have none of my excuses and so yard work become a habit. To my surprise, as an adult I have come to enjoy gardening in all its forms.
My dad was as honest as the day is long. He was humble and submissive. He was a great example to me, and though I may have been blessed with many talents that he lacked, I will labor all my days to match his examples of patience, charity and industry--traits that now, in the back half of my life, I view best over infinite horizons.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Zion Fatal
There were three deaths this week in Zion National Park. The first was a canyoneer from California in Heaps Canyon. Heaps is one of the most challenging canyons in Zion. The deceased had a lot of canyon experience in Utah and elsewhere, and was with two other experienced canyoneers. But Heaps makes for a long day, and they didn't get to the final rappel into one of the Emerald Pools until 10:30 at night. It was cold and dark, and they were all fatigued. The first two dropped safely, but going last, a rigging error caused him to fall 200 feet to his death.
The other two both occurred on Angel's Landing, a non-technical climb that is popular with more mainstream visitors, but involves some knife-edge precipices that require holding on to a guide chain to maintain control. Both deaths were the result of falls, one caused by a heart attack.
I have been in a canyoneering discussion group on the web, where there have been hundreds of emails offering condolences, analyzing the incident and gathering what might be learned from the experience. There has been a profound sense of shared tragedy, as if we have lost one of our own, and many have been left to contemplate our own mortality, and the risks we take descending these canyons armed with rope and hardware and our own devices.
The experience has affected me, and I have a healthier respect for the canyons, with perhaps a twinge of fear. And I have committed to get more training, to be more cautious and in the future to enter canyons better prepared for surprises, problems and unexpected contingencies.
I don't want a risk-free life, and I enjoy the adrenaline rush of experiences that challenge and even frighten me. But to meet these challenges, I prefer to rely on planning and preparation every bit as much as courage and confidence.
The other two both occurred on Angel's Landing, a non-technical climb that is popular with more mainstream visitors, but involves some knife-edge precipices that require holding on to a guide chain to maintain control. Both deaths were the result of falls, one caused by a heart attack.
I have been in a canyoneering discussion group on the web, where there have been hundreds of emails offering condolences, analyzing the incident and gathering what might be learned from the experience. There has been a profound sense of shared tragedy, as if we have lost one of our own, and many have been left to contemplate our own mortality, and the risks we take descending these canyons armed with rope and hardware and our own devices.
The experience has affected me, and I have a healthier respect for the canyons, with perhaps a twinge of fear. And I have committed to get more training, to be more cautious and in the future to enter canyons better prepared for surprises, problems and unexpected contingencies.
I don't want a risk-free life, and I enjoy the adrenaline rush of experiences that challenge and even frighten me. But to meet these challenges, I prefer to rely on planning and preparation every bit as much as courage and confidence.
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