Good Days in the U.S. Virgin Islands

Well, it took some doing. But I’m happy to say I’ve been to the U.S. Virgin Islands, specifically the island of St. John. It was arranged through 4 Seasons Hiking, a group event with 28 people, planned over a year before. Did the year go by fast?

Yes, but not fast enough. Finally the date arrived: Saturday, January 27, 2024.

Arriving in the early evening at Cinnamon Bay Campground, it struck me that this didn’t look like a campground. What met my eyes was a large compound of buildings that included an open air dining area, office and general store. Our leader Danny Hughes was there to greet us and give us directions to our lodgings.

I met up with Chris, my roommate for the week, and we set out to find our cabin. It was a very nice cabin. Just one large winged insect clinging to my pillow, but after several shakes I was able to dislodge it. Welcome to the Islands.

We were all weary travelers that first night. The ocean lay just out there, beyond a fringe of small trees. The waves were loud, insistent, pounding. After a while, it was nice.

Kokomo – Beach Boys

First night and next day was for socializing and getting acclimated. I foolishly missed the grocery store taxi by two minutes. It was okay; Chris had packed four Ziploc bags of trail mix and invited me to help myself. Thanks again, Chris.

I spent the day wandering the campground, the beach, the nearby trails. I think I socialized, or just bumped into fellow group members here and there. Dinner was in the open air dining hall – I can’t remember who I ate with, but I do remember the Turtle Talk in another part of the hall. As I would soon find out, turtles are cool.

Day 3 was a visit to Trunk Bay, a nearby beach for snorkeling. This is something I hadn’t done since the seventies. I rented a mask, snorkel and oversized swim fins. Others had brought their own gear, including black socks/booties to reduce friction.

I wish I had known about the booties and brought my own. My blistered and chafed feet were still healing two weeks later.

Snorkeling was a blast. In the shallow, clear water I felt I was inside a tropical fish tank. What kinds of fish? Technically, they were yellow, blue, green – every shade of the palette. I went out twice and hit the jackpot both times.

Lunch and a beer were provided by a nearby food truck. The beer was brewed in the Virgin Islands and really hit the spot.

Day 4 started with a hike for many of us. I had planned to go, but it had rained during the night and the day was very hot and humid. Also, my feet still hurt. I decided to take a personal day. But then – a few of us took a different, shorter hike, to the ruins of an old sugar mill. The views from the hilltop were majestic.

It was then that the feeling hit: I’m really here.

Later that day I joined a bunch of folks for lunch at Skinny Legs, in a nearby town. Loved the food (blue cheeseburger), beer (blonde ale) and the company. I even got the pale blue tee shirt.

Day 5 was the day of the Dueling Boat Trips. Bad Kitty was the trip to the British V.I., and Good Kitty was the closer trip, snorkeling (turtles!) with a pizza and dance party thrown in. I opted for Good. Those on both excursions raved about them later.

My own best memory: Cruising back to St. John under the setting sun, a couple or three Rum and Cokes in my belly, while Van Morrison belted out his ode to the Brown Eyed Girl.

It just doesn’t get any better. Does it?

Sail On Sailor (Live) – Beach Boys

Day 6 was supposed to a tour of a sugar plantation, but everyone was too tuckered from the boat trips. It was a personal day for all. A lot of folks went to a bar that night and had a great time. Later, I watched Chris’s video of the exuberant dancing. Why didn’t I go? Beats me.

Day 7 was our last full day and we could do whatever. I walked with a small group to a nearby beach. Space on the beach was tight, I didn’t want to snorkel, and there wasn’t much to do. So I ordered the best Pina Colada I’ve ever had, savored it slowly, then walked back to camp.

That night we had a ceremony for Danny, a kind of salute/sing along. (He had planned and organized this whole trip, a job well done.) Then Danny gave out a few awards, including one for me. Did I deserve it? I don’t know, but I felt I’d won an Academy Award.

Later, at the last happy hour, I proudly displayed my new drink cozy (or whatever they are called). I’m now using it at home.

Day 8 was a bit melancholy; the folks I talked to seemed a bit grumpy about their vacation ending. It was a confusing time of small groups leaving by taxi, then maybe seeing them again, hours later, at the ferry or the airport.

My last meal was at an airport eatery with Kevin, the gentleman who typically wore a hat. The food was pretty good (egg rolls and rice) and the conversation interesting, even over the crowd noise.

The airline had called my flight. Walking to the boarding line, I thought about the many good days I spent in this good place. With some good people.

Maybe I’ll come back. With booties this time.

Here I Come To Save The Day

So I’m watching one of Ashleigh’s reactions, to a movie called Hook. One of the characters makes a reference to Mighty Mouse. Ash looks puzzled. “Who’s Mighty Mouse?” she says.

Suddenly, I felt 969 years old.

And I wasn’t the only one. Reading the comments, it seems lots of people remembered the little superhero, modeled after Superman. Many of the 40-50 year old crowd did, although Ashleigh, a millennial, never got the memo.

Here’s what I recall. Mighty Mouse was everywhere during my formative years. You might catch his cartoon adventures on Saturday morning, before or after school, or really, any old time.

A basic plot line had a villain, usually a cat or a wolf, who’d begin to terrorize a peaceful community of mice. Things looked bad for a minute or two, but then someone would summon Mighty Mouse.

He seemed to live in the sky, or outer space. MM would materialize from a cloud, a star, a crescent moon, or even a shack high atop a tree. Hearing cries for help, he’d beeline for trouble, making short work of the evil cat/wolf (with plenty of sound effects).

If there is a damsel in distress, she will be in Mighty’s strong arms at cartoon’s end.

MM began life in the 1940’s as Supermouse, from Paul Terry’s Terrytoons factory. My guess is that someone threatened a lawsuit, so Supermouse became Mighty Mouse. You’d see his short cartoons in movie houses, then later, in everyone’s houses; Terrytoons just kept making them for the television age. There seems to be a never ending supply on YouTube these days.

Some odd things about these six-minute cartoons. There is a lot of opera sung, I mean a lot of it. Was Paul Terry an opera fan? The characters sing their dialogue instead of speaking it. And the theme song that most of us remember hardly figures in the individual films. Just lots of dramatic opera singing and old timey tunes, like “Dixie”.

One person who definitely remembered the theme song was comedian Andy Kaufman. His did a bit on Saturday Night Live where he pantomimed with the tune, reenacted for the film Man on the Moon. Better seen than described.

Anyway, for Ashleigh and those of her generation, that’s who Mighty Mouse is.

Yes, it was before your time. But Betty Boop was before mine, and I know all about her.

Take that, Cat/Wolf!

Like a Big Pizza Pie

I just found out there’s a new pizza place in town: Sour Joe’s. Joe, from what I gather, makes gourmet, rectangular pizzas that he cuts into smaller rectangles, like the lunch ladies at your high school used to do.

These are not cheap. It’s roughly $29 per pizza, before tax and tip. You get about eight slices. They better be good, that’s all I can say. On the plus side, Joe uses sourdough to make his crusts. Sourdough, Sour Joe. Get it? I hope to try it soon, despite the price.

Pizza has been part of my life since I was a preschooler. I can’t remember my first experience with it, but the second one remains clear. I’m riding in the backseat of my grandfather’s convertible on a pleasant spring day. My mother is in the passenger seat. We’re going to get pizza for lunch.

I’m excited. I loudly proclaim from the back that I want cheese on my pizza. No one seems to hear me over the wind and engine noise so I repeat myself. Cheese, I say, I want cheese! It would be beyond sad if the pizza appeared with only a reddish sauce on it, like in those vintage drive-in movie commercials.

The pizza arrives, the cheese is there, and everyone is happy.

Later in life, I learned to make these things, at a place called Pizza Train. The train had three ‘rooms’, one for pizza, one for subs, one for everything else. I was originally assigned to the Sub Room but after learning to make all the sub varieties, I grew bored. I could see others in the Pizza Room having fun, tossing the dough high in the air. I wanted in.

One night, I stationed myself in the Pizza Room while it was empty. The owner’s wife, who normally made the pizzas by herself, walked in and did a double take. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m into pies tonight,” was my laconic reply. By some miracle, she tolerated my presence for the next few hours as I learned the tricks of the pizza trade. I can still toss a mean dough.

By the way, pies. That’s what we called them. Nobody says ‘pizza pie’ anymore but way back when, you would hear the expression in songs and movies. Pies, to us, was a kind of shorthand.

There have been many pizzas over the years, but one that stands out is from Sourdough Annie’s in Haines, Alaska. It’s 1982 and I’m in the middle of my cross country trip. Most of it I spend in Alaska, driving everywhere I can to see the sights. (They are incredible.) But now I’m camping near a creek a few miles from town and it’s dinnertime. Didn’t I see a pizza place on the way here?

Yes I did. Not sure if I called ahead but I remember insisting on a particular type of crust. Sourdough, I say, I want sourdough in my pizza! Back at the campsite I savored every bite. I wish I could remember the kind of beer I had with it.

So yeah, full circle. Sourdough is back, baby. In bread mostly, these days, but also in pizza. My next step is to procure a cash loan, or maybe a sack of gold dust, to bring to Sour Joe’s. In exchange I want the kind of pizza that I’ll remember 40 years from now.

It won’t be shaped like a pie, though. That’s okay. No need to be sour.

This Is What We Have To Do Now

First, there was a mass shooting in Maine. Then one in Vermont. The thoughts that came into my head at the time went like this:

Geez, this is getting close to home. New Hampshire has been quiet up to now. Are we overdue?

I’m not sure if my fellow New Hampshirites had the same thoughts, but I’d wager they have.

We came close to a mass shooting event on November 17. Someone tried to enter New Hampshire Hospital (near my own workplace) and shot and killed the security guard, an ex-police chief. A state trooper who was stationed there shot and killed the gunman. Outside, law enforcement found a U-Haul truck with a rifle and ammunition inside.

The next day, a new thought. Things are going to change around here.

Back in 1985 I was a brand new Interviewer Trainee. I sat in a group of eight cubicles arranged in two rows. Think of an ice cube tray. I was in the middle, on the left. That was my home away from home for the next three years.

To my left was the downward stairway to the back door. It was for employees only, although sometimes the general public would make their way up. No locks, no security. People would stumble in, thinking the back door was a fine way to enter, or they needed someone to move their car. I would sometimes address them, asking them to use the front entrance next time.

Thank goodness, nothing ever happened.

In 2014 we moved to a new building. It was designed so that no intruder could get to us. We had to use a card key to enter the building, than again to enter our floor. Some offices had yet a third locked door to get through. Since then I’ve felt very safe.

Until the New Hampshire Hospital event. They had a guard and a trooper to prevent trouble. Our building has nothing of the kind. If someone really wanted to get in, they possibly could. So after two weeks of eerie silence, the answer to my silent thought arrived.

In an email, my coworkers and I were directed to CRASE training. Civilian Response to Active Shooter Events. It was held in an auditorium across town, and I only had a vague idea what to expect.

Were they going to yell at us, like in Scared Straight? Were we going to engage in mock combat?

Actually no. It was a mix of lectures (by two police officers) and several audios and videos from real events. Harrowing 911 calls from a high school, terrifying video from a school board meeting gone wrong. Etcetera.

In the school board video, an elderly lady tries to dispatch the shooter from behind with her large white handbag.

“Don’t do that,” advised one of the cops.

We learned the basic response sequence: Avoid, Deny, Defend. (Defend is always the last resort.) We learned the difference between a Human Brain and a Lizard Brain. We learned to always look for the exits when entering any unfamiliar building.

In a university shooting, an entire classroom was saved when two students lay on the floor and pressed their feet against the door, denying entrance to the shooter.

So at the end of 2.5 hours, we learned the basics. But later I realized that what we learned was only the tip of the iceberg. There had to be more. I’m glad I went – but was it enough?

That’s the question that will haunt me when stepping into any public building.

Movie Review: What Happens Later

So, this was an experience. Based on the trailer I watched, it seemed this new film was going to be a rom-com with slightly older people, or maybe a satire of one. But having seen it, it’s hard to pigeon-hole. It is what the original playwright devised, with new input from director Meg Ryan. A kind of play/movie mashup, perhaps.

In What Happens Later, Ryan also stars, along with David Duchovny, and they are the only ones. It’s what they call a two-hander. But yes, a disembodied voice from an airport PA speaker might qualify as a character itself.

The actors play an ex-couple who’ve been out of touch for 25 years, who bump into one another in a regional airport. The weather is acting freaky, and there’s no telling when their flights, to Austin and Boston, might take off. So there’s lots of waiting by the gate, in those ubiquitous chairs, and talking to each other.

They discuss everything under the sun; what led to their breakup, a distant tragedy, whatever happened to good music? The music, by the way, is mostly covers from bands whose heyday was late 80’s to early 90’s. What are the odds? A standout track that is not a cover is “Pure” by the Lightning Seeds. A key scene in the movie revolves around it and that’s all I will say.

Did you ever run into an old friend and in seconds, fall easily into the old patterns? They haven’t changed one bit. You haven’t changed one bit. The chemistry is still there. How is that possible?

You feel the chemistry between these two. The facts as presented, that they were once a couple who have been through a thing or two, seem authentic. They remember stuff, the good and the bad. Tempers flare. Kisses are exchanged. Little waves and looks, traded near the end, that say a lot.

I think that Ryan, who collaborated on the script, wanted a realistic outcome. Not the typical satisfying rom-com ending. Life happens. People move away. Sometimes they move back. But not often. What happens later is up to the universe, and luck.

Did I like the movie? Let me put it this way. If this piece were to appear on a well-known movie review site, it would have a plump, red tomato next to it instead of a splattered green one.

The Plangent Tone – Part 2

Everything comes in cycles. Just when I thought my country music phase was long gone, here it is again. Thanks to a friend who happens to like this music as much as I do.

The spark was a recommendation from J., someone I know mostly from YouTube. She found out I liked country and suggested Boston Country Oldies, a one-hour radio show produced on an AM station from Worcester, Mass.

So let’s see; in this age of 24/7 streaming I needed to show up at 7:00 pm on Sunday to hear these oldies, complete with vintage-sounding commercials?

Yes I did, and still do.

Mike and Stu are the hosts, and it sounds pre-recorded, as if the two guys are in separate places. But the music, mostly requested from listeners, is mind-blowing. Something about the immediacy of radio gives these tunes an extra luster and importance. And in listening, I was reminded of what one writer called the Plangent Tone.

The phenomenon is described this way: “They fall on listeners like electric shocks, making your hair stand on end, your ears tingle, and even, sometimes, your eyes weep tears.” So to continue and illustrate these thoughts, here are some artists I’ve heard on Boston Country Oldies, with one song I discovered on my own, plus one from my youth.

Dottie West was a favorite of the first President Bush, and I can see why. I’d never heard anything of hers, but this one song I believe was played on two consecutive Sundays. I liked it immediately. Despite the happy, upbeat title, something in the lyrics (written by West herself and her husband) tells me she is not looking forward to this reunion. Recorded in 1964.

Dottie West – Here Comes My Baby

Anne Murray burst on the scene with “Snowbird”, which remains my favorite song of hers. The plangent tone is a bit buried in production though. For that, you have to go to her subsequent hit, a cover of a Kenny Loggins song. Murray’s 1972 version has awesome steel guitar, harmonica, and the gentle bass notes needed for a country song. Listen to the way she sings, “If you find he helps your mind, better take him home.”

Plangent, all the way.

Anne Murray – Danny’s Song

Everyone knows Tammy Wynette’s big song, “Stand By Your Man”. It’s a good song, with a great vocal and some surprising lyrics. On most of her songs, there’s a catch in her voice, as if she can’t keep the emotions at bay. I found this one, recorded in 1987, that stopped me in my tracks. It may have been a hit. I hope so. To say I can relate to this song is an understatement.

Tammy Wynette – Talkin’ To Myself Again

These are some of the ladies in country music who can provide the tone, that extra something that makes a song memorable, and helps me look forward to Sunday night.

Mow, Clean, Fix: Turning CHAOS Into ORDER

When I arrive home after a hard day’s work, there are many ways to relax. In my experience, the best way is to watch a guy mowing a lawn. Or a young woman cleaning a trashed apartment. Or a do-it-yourselfer transform a piece of junk to a piece of art.

I wasn’t quite sure why, but now I think I know: I love to see order come out of chaos. It’s just satisfying to see a plan carried out, a true transformation of something not desirable to something that is. That’s my theory, anyway.

So my hat is off to these three YouTubers and many more, who have the skills and energy, plus the willingness to film, edit and share it all in a public forum.

Spencer from SB Mowing is a young, wiry dude from Kansas who loves nothing more than to work, work, work on people’s lawns all week, then seek out another lawn to do on the weekend. This time for free. Really. The more overgrown and wild the better. He simply knocks on the door and makes his offer. Most say Yes.

His system is this: Edges first. He will take his steel bladed edger and do all the sidewalks and driveways. Then the flat shovel comes out to remove the sod and dirt from the street. Then the leaf blower. Then the weed wacker. Then the stand-up mower.

I wish I had one of those stand-up machines, back in the day.

It’s all done in speeded up motion so that a full day’s efforts can be seen in much less time. The before and after shots are something to behold, and sometimes the owners come out to offer praise and thanks. All in a day’s work for Spencer, who takes no money, tips or even a cold drink in payment.

In faraway Finland and across Europe, Aurikatariina is helping those who can’t easily help themselves. The people she helps are not hoarders, per se, just those who are way, way behind on their cleaning. Sometimes the trash is waist-high, the sinks are full of sludge, the fridges full of last year’s food. Auri loves it all.

She seeks them out through social media and the requests roll in. It seems those chosen for this (free) service are those with the greatest need, or the saddest stories.

We see Auri doing her job in her own special way but she is happy to share her secrets. And her voiceovers, complete with not quite perfect English, are charming and heartfelt. I’m not a huge fan of cleaning but suddenly I want to turn my house upside down and clean it the way she does.

Jay, from the FlippingDrawers channel, is the DIY guy. A mild mannered gentlemen with a French accent, who lives in suburban England. He works mostly in his backyard, and his highly organized workshop would make Adrian Monk smile. He seems to have every material, tool, paint and stain known to man, in easily accessible places.

Jay sometimes roams the English countryside looking for worn out, rotten, torn, smashed furniture and then turns it into something you’d be proud to have in your home. And sometimes the pieces come to him. He states he’s only been doing this for a few years, but I dunno. You don’t get skills like this overnight.

I like the way Jay adds humor to his videos with sight gags, Jacques Cousteau impressions, and attention to visiting neighborhood cats, who he call his ‘inspectors’. It’s also fun to see him try to solve the myriad problems that pop up; and he always does.

So those are the YouTubers, a few of them, who turn chaos to order. And not a minute too soon.

Well, It’s Owl Right

“Exciting’ has been the word for wildlife this summer. A large deer munched on the bushes behind my condo. A muskrat swam back and forth across a pond with mouthfuls of grass. And an owl flew into my leg.

Wait, what?

I don’t think I ever saw a live owl in my childhood. Our neighborhoods were owl-free, although their images were everywhere; in movies, books, TV commercials, potato chip bags and cookie wrappers. Some of them even had professors’ caps, the kind with a tassel.

Why the cap? Where would they even get them – at the Avian Cap and Gown Store?

Anyway, I knew owls existed, even though I didn’t see them. Eventually, I could hear them.

Many decades later I did see real live owls, at the Squam Lakes Natural Science Center in Holderness NH. They had quite a selection, even the tiny Saw-Whet Owl, my favorite.

(Do you remember Rocky, the Saw-Whet who fell asleep in a spruce tree in upstate New York, only to wake up in busy Rockefeller Center? She’s back home in her native north woods now, thank goodness.)

At my current place, we have the Barred Owl. Often, outside my bedroom window I can hear their “who cooks for you” call. And I always answer, “I do.” Still, I had yet to see one of these round-headed beauties. But then…

Two nights ago I was walking late at night; nothing new for me. Passing my mailbox hut, I slowed down to check my box. That’s when I felt it, a definite body slam from a flying object. It hit the side of my right leg, flew around me, and headed for the nearest tree, with a ‘whoosh’ and a fluttering of feathers.

It only took a second. I yelled out in surprise, stood there stunned, then made my way home.

I knew from the wingspan (huge) and the feathers (brown and tan) that I’d had a Barred Owl encounter. But…what the hell? Why me, why then?

Google wasn’t much help. My query of “owls flying into people” brought up plenty of links to “owl attacks.” But it didn’t feel like an attack, more of an “Oops, sorry – my bad.” Perhaps I walked into his/her flight path as it headed for its evening meal. Or maybe it was really hungry.

Who knows? I’m just glad that we’re both okay.

In any case I have a new respect for these birds, the stealth bombers who…

Family Trips of the Distant Past

So I’ve recently discovered a new podcast, something to listen to on the way to work. Family Trips with the Meyers Brothers. It’s funny and covers a wide range of topics, but it’s mostly the brothers discussing their own childhood trips and those of their guest celebrities.

https://www.youtube.com/@FamilyTripsPodsTV

Seth and Josh Meyers are a talk show host and comic actor, respectively, who now have time on their hands due to strikes. So a podcast is a thing to do. I’m not a podcaster and certainly not famous, but I do have memories of my own family trips, with my parents and three siblings.

Not that I went on many of them. They occurred from 1964 to 1967, then stopped. Tell you why in a moment. Here they are, memories, fragments of memories, what might have happened (or could have been a dream). As far as I know, they happened.

Unknown Beach, RI. My first long car ride, to a beach or maybe also an amusement park. I recall only the beach. Mom packed a jug of Kool-Aid and many Velveeta sandwiches on white bread, some with mustard. (One slice of Velveeta broke free of its bread and landed in the sand. Might still be there.) No sunscreen, ever. “You want to get tanned, don’t you?”

Benson’s Wild Animal Farm, Hudson NH. This was no dream because I remember my dad driving us with a roadside picnic along the way. But the farm? Zero memory. I’m sure there was a variety of jungle beasts to observe, but are now blurred into critters from other zoos of my past. Years later I walked the farm (now a town park) and felt a sense of deja vu.

Partial mural from the Ape House, at Benson’s.

Bon Air Cottages, Moultonborough NH. We all went here for three summers, ’64, ’66 and ’67. Real vacations that lasted a week or more. What did we do? As a popular song of the era said, “the fishing, the swimming, oh boy it’s great.” In 1968 my parents bought the place. “It’s Bon Air for us every year.”

Beach House, Seabrook NH. A visit to our cousins’ summer place. We kind of merged two families into one house, but it seemed large enough. I discovered the Ice Cream Man and a confection called a Creamsicle, getting hit in the face by rogue waves, and walking on acres of wet sand. We spent the nights showing off our tans.

Various Beach Trips, Mass. My mom would take us to either Lynn or Revere Beach, along with assorted family and friends. Lynn was preferred, but we often went to Revere since that was my parents’ teenage hangout. Sun, sand, burning feet, the works. “Pass me a Velveeta sandwich, will ya?” Those were the days.

The trips ended with the advent of the Bon Air purchase. My summers went from goofing off, riding bikes and making potholders to moving huge piles of sand and painting fences 300 feet long. It wasn’t all bad but it was no vacation. Grown ups who visited would see the place and say, “Boy, you kids are lucky to live here.”

In retrospect, we were. My parent’s names are engraved on a stone bench on the lakeside beach, their thirty years of dedication marked for all time. Nice place to visit, relax, and remember those family trips of the distant past.

Movies I Watched with Ivone

Watching movies in a theater is something Ivone and I liked to do. We were together through all of 2016/17 and part of 2018. She passed away five years ago.

Since then, Ivone has not spoken to me in my dreams, materialized from a wall, or simply shown up like that dead wife in The Kominsky Method. Only radio silence. I miss her. So, memories will have to suffice.

Here is a list of the movies we saw, not counting all the nature documentaries and biopics about Mexican drug dealers we watched sitting on her red, extra large, living room couch.

National Parks Adventure: This was a cool, Robert Redford narrated documentary about three extreme campers discovering U.S. national parks. We saw it in IMAX format at the Boston Museum of Science, a place we loved to go. ‘Two thumbs up’ was our verdict. We held our breath when one of the campers, on his bike, tooled around on several rock summits, knowing that the tiniest of mistakes would send him over the cliff’s edge.

Doctor Strange: This seemed an odd choice, but Ivone had heard good things about it. It was my introduction to the Marvel Cinematic Universe and had a compelling story: the arrogant surgeon forced by a crippling road accident to learn superhero stuff. I think most of his powers came from his magic cape, though. Just saying. Ivone and I were blown away by the special effects.

A Man Called Ove: For this one, we visited my boyhood theater in Lexington, Mass. It was just as I remembered it, even the glass candy cases where super long Charleston Chews once sold for a shocking 45 cents. The Swedish film import we saw was a revelation, and one I’ve seen many times since. The American remake with Tom Hanks was just as good. I think Ivone liked it, hard to tell though. We didn’t always talk about the movie afterward.

The Accountant: This was a Ben Affleck vehicle; he plays an ordinary accountant by day, and some kind of vigilante/hero by night. I actually preferred the accounting parts. The fight scenes, by contrast, went on and on, with seemingly indestructible bad guys who never tired and always bounced right back from the fiercest blow. I dunno; if someone were to hit me so hard as to send me through a wall, I’d probably wave the white flag. Ivone liked this one more than I did.

The Zookeeper’s Wife: Ivone picked this one, likely because of her love of animals. But it was really a WW2 story with dastardly Nazis around and innocent victims hiding in a Polish zoo. I remember it as a nail biter when those in the crowded basement had to be absolutely quiet while the evil ones prowled about upstairs. And don’t let that baby cry! Emotionally draining, but good.

Oh yes, one more. Don’t Think Twice: As I recall it’s about a group of comedians who are traveling together, with some auditioning for a SNL type show which is the Holy Grail for them all. One gets in, the rest don’t. And there’s some fooling around on the road, maybe. We saw this in Waltham, Mass, on a very hot, humid day when there are worse things than sitting with your beautiful girlfriend in air-conditioned bliss. In semi-darkness. With snacks.

These are the films we watched together. An interesting assortment, and time well spent.