This morning I ate half of a ruby red grapefruit while watching the biscuity Supermoon descend over the New River.
Saturday evening Hania and I drove over to Savor Cinema to watch the five short action films that have been nominated this year for an Academy Award.
The first was about a little boy – heard through the telephone, talking with his mother in Spain – who has been abandoned by his father on a beach in France that is empty save for a man who starts coming after him.
The second was about two older boys in Quebec who are playing in a cement yard until one of them gets sucked into the cement and disappears.
The third was about an elderly woman living alone in Quebec who regrets, to her lesbian caretaker, not having followed through on her youthful love for a woman.
The fourth was a dramatized reenactment of the police interrogation in Liverpool in 1993 of the two 10-year-old boys who abducted and murdered a two-year-old boy.
The last one was about a white man who brutally beats up an African-American man at a gas station and then, a few days later, gets kidnapped by the man’s friends, drugged, and tattooed – body and head – in black. Staggering home, he is mistaken for an intruder and shot in the back by the son he has taught marksmanship to.
Saturday night at the movies.
Forty years ago this month I traveled on a series of overnight trains from Warsaw, Poland, to Athens, Greece. Yesterday I symbolically made the journey in reverse, going from the Greek Festival at St. Demetrios Church to the Dar Mlodziezy in Port Everglades. The first was an annual event, the second a rare visit to Florida of Poland’s elegant tall ship, which, like the festival, is an embodiment of the nation’s spirit.
How I could wipe up on Jeopardy: American Humorists, British Travel Writers, Polish Poets, French Chansons, Tennis Legends, 1960s San Francisco Giants.
The press release began: “Hello, we wanted to pass on the below news from…”
So apparently, there is hard news, fake news, and below news.
A flawless winter’s day in Florida beats a flawless summer’s day up north because – at least to the transplanted northerner – it seems to be not only a gift but also a miracle.