Pride and …what??

 

 

“Confession: I have read Pride and Prejudice about 200 times. I get lost in the language; words like thither… mischance… I’m always in agony over whether Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are really going to get together. Read it, I know you’ll love it!”

Kathleen Kelly, You’ve Got Mail

 

Hi, my name is Ellie, and I love Jane Austen. All Jane Austen. Even her unfinished works. It’s true … and sad … and I am sure that they have a group somewhere for people like me [sound of my husband laughing hysterically], but that’s not the point of my thoughts today.

This last week, I was watching A&E’s Pride & Prejudice and was struck again by how good it is.   And how no other version can compare.  My apologies, Keira.

So, why should you watch A&E’s Pride & Prejudice and not the newest adaptation?

Here are my top five complaints about the film made in 2006:

  1. “The A&E version is 5 hours long and takes too much time out of life which is why the 2 hour version is so much better!”: If you’re going to take the time to invest in classic British literature, do it right! 5 hours, baby! Grabbing the newer version and saying you “get it” is like buying store-bought cookies or the woman who says she was in labor for 45 whole minutes. No pain, no gain. You CAN do this!
  2. Mr. Darcy’s aloof quality really stems from his shyness: Nice try, Mr. Matthew MacFadyen. Please try again. Mr. Darcy was proud and slightly prejudiced. We get a big, fat hint on this one in the title!
  3. Mr. Bennett was a farmer: Say what? At no point is this mentioned in the book, and in fact, in Elizabeth’s great and dramatic argument with Lady Catherine in regards to her parentage, she expresses that: “In marrying your nephew [Darcy] I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter: so far we are equal.”  I’d love to know who thought up the farming idea.  Really.
  4. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett’s total want of propriety in some way stems from alcohol: Untrue. In fact, this is the cringing “I can’t look away from the train wreck!” aspect of the story.   Elizabeth’s parents are actually that embarrassing SOBER.
  5. Wickham is in some way misunderstood and isn’t as bad as you think: Oh, he is that bad. And probably worse. This was potentially the biggest omission of the new film –  the development of Mr. Wickham’s character. If the powers that be took the time to let the audience know about Wickham’s predilection for girls of 15 and their fortunes, you would not be left wondering at the distress of the family when Lydia runs away with him.

I could go on, but I’ll stop. … about Regency style and behavior, how Elizabeth wasn’t an early feminist interested in throwing off propriety, how there wasn’t an instant connection between Elizabeth and Darcy … stop it! [pulling myself together]

So, in case I haven’t mentioned it … go find the A&E version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle!  

Signed,

The Snob*

 

*who is neither a literary or movie critic

**my apologies for all the images … I just can’t help myself.  As a matter of fact, I don’t know that there are really enough … Okay, I’m done now.

March 5th, pt I

Far from being settled, I felt like the last weeks of my pregnancy seemed even more in a state of upheaval than the fall.

February had passed in a blur of family events and the settling of my grandma’s estate. There were now only a few weeks until the baby was to be born and I was still receiving phone calls and e-mails and having conversations in which it was becoming increasingly obvious that there were very few people around me who were at peace with unwed pregnancy in general and my unwed pregnancy in particular. Occasionally, speculation would reach me: “Where is she at spiritually? Does she understand what all this is about? Does she know how hard her life will be?” It was almost as if people needed a place to categorize me (repentant sinner, rebellious sinner, fallen, etc.) in order know how to process my life and know how to deal with me.

This was disconcerting at best.

Not just for me, but this especially plagued me for my unborn daughter. How would they treat her? When she was two and going through the “terrible twos,” would they say, “Oh, that’s so normal, every child goes through that”? Or would they say, “Oh, look at that child acting out! It’s clear she has a non-traditional family atmosphere and has no father-figure.” Would she always carry the weight of my bad decisions? This horrified me!

Yes, a little dramatic, I know, but I really thought about these things!

This was still being viewed a problem. My child was an ISSUE.

I believe that one of the most amazing aspects of pregnancy is the mother’s joy in the feeling of life. Sooner or later, no matter how difficult the stress surrounding a pregnancy, all women (or something like 99.875% of women) begin to enjoy and anticipate their child. However, any impending joy in the amazing feeling of life and my imminent motherhood was interpreted as some kind of disconnectedness from the seriousness of my situation and prospects. How long before it was appropriate for me to feel joy over my baby? Was it not possible to fully realize the gravity of my situation, the grace covering my sin, and still, STILL to feel joy at God’s gift of a child in the midst of it?

I remember one conversation with my mom in particular where I just sobbed to her, “When will my baby get to be a baby and not an issue? Will I ever be able to feel joy at her life?!”

How much time I wasted in worrying …

At the end of February, I met with Daryle (my senior pastor – I think I’ve mentioned him before) again. We talked through several things, and at the end of our time, he spoke of what he felt was the need for the church to hear my heart. He knew where I was, and my close friends knew where I was, but he and many with him felt like the church as a whole would greatly benefit from hearing where God had brought me.

This was not to be a public confession; it was about sharing the faithfulness of God in MY life and also beautiful moment of awareness for those around to support me in prayers and encouragement as I looked forward to raising this child. He said that from that point on (marking the time that I would be sharing), I would be able to look back and point to that day as a day of remembrance – I would look back and see the goodness of the Lord and could direct others to do the same. It would cease to be an issue, and start to be a baby over whom we could all feel great joy!

I remember that my mom and I looked at each other in speechless awe. We hadn’t told Daryle about our conversations.

Looking back, I’m still amazed at how God had all of us arriving at the same place from so many different directions.

If You’re Lucky, You Get a Phone Call

My mom’s voice on the other end of the phone was heavy with emotion and exhaustion. “It’s time. Your dad and I want each of you to talk to her tonight and say goodbye.”

Valentine’s Day …

My mom’s voice on the other end of the phone was heavy with emotion and exhaustion.   “It’s time. Your dad and I want each of you to talk to her tonight and say goodbye.”  

There was a sick feeling as the logic of her words hit my heart … How ridiculous!   I couldn’t say goodbye because Grandma wasn’t going to die.   She couldn’t!  She had been doing so much better, and she was so close–literally just a few weeks–from seeing her first great-grandchild!

I remember very little of my final conversation with my grandmother. She couldn’t speak at all, so it could hardly even be called a conversation. I spoke to her about the baby, and told her I loved her. I think I might have even talked to her about how soon the baby would be born.  As I consider it now, I wish I hadn’t done that.   I can’t imagine being in the final hours of your life and having someone else bring up some of the things you’ll miss in the near future.

Within 24 hours, she was gone.

Another loved one, another death, another moment when I pleaded for her to not go … but there was a vast difference this time. I wasn’t bitter or resentful. My heart, while sad, was ultimately peaceful because, rather than blaming God, I was trusting Him.

I would add only this in closing – if you have someone you should have talked to by now, a relationship you need to restore, a person you need to forgive, even someone you’ve been meaning to catch up with and you haven’t … do it. Do it today.  Because you’re almost never lucky enough to get a phone call.

My War On Germs

Is it Spring yet?

Sickness, be gone!  BE GONE, I say!  …hmm, this isn’t working as well as I thought it would.

I’m stymied as to how the last several weeks have turned green (in a snotty, not Spring-y or environmental-y way).  Are my children licking each other?  I’m seriously considering renaming one child “The Nose”.  Seriously.

I can handle the noses, and the coughs, and the sneezes, wheezes, hacking, fussing, fevers, …you get the picture? … there is one thing I absolutely can’t handle.

What I absolutely can’t stand in this house (or anywhere else for that matter) is the STOMACH FLU.

This last week, the cheeky germ decided to appear despite my sternest warnings that it should not.

[tangent alert]

On this topic, have you ever noticed that kids only seem to throw up in public or at 3:30 in the morning? I’ve always wondered about that … it’s like some twisted flu protocol that throwing up must occur at the worst possible moment for all individuals involved.  Come to think of it, I’m not really aware of a good time, to get the flu, but I still don’t get why it can’t suddenly come upon you at say, 7:30 PM while you happen to in the bathroom already.

I once had the flu onslaught in a moving car …on the way home from a babysitting job … being driven by the person who’d hired me to babysit … True Story. (but I’ll save my gross embarrassments for another post)

[phew, back on track…]

The “stats” on the germ warfare in the Ewoldt household currently include: one trip to the ER for rehydration, 15 gallons of electrolyte-infused beverage (perhaps a slight exaggeration), and so many loads of laundry that I’ve lost count and my washer and I are no longer on speaking terms.

After the typical fashion of my genetic material, I’ve spent most of the week in circles … “Where’s the disinfectant?!”, “Somebody grab the wipes!”, “Can I get more paper towel?” … until yesterday morning, when I had a breakthrough which  must be akin to the discovery of fire or some other equally ground-breaking scientific discovery.

Behold, THE BOX!  Yes, I’m aware that I need a much better name for a survival kit of this magnitude, but at this moment, it alludes me.

Equipped with handles for quick carrying action and stuffed with everything you need in case of a projectile emergency on the part of your two year old (who is currently eschewing the whole “vomit into a receptacle” theory as antiquated and below him), I thought it was so cool, I had to take a picture! Just for you!

I also had to include the picture of my other survival kit. Though not neatly ensconced in a box (candles and boxes not mixing well, etc), this is … what can I say?   Again, just had to help you picture it:

Ah, I’m feeling more relaxed already!

 

What’s in YOUR household “survival kit”?

 

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