Two women sat behind me. They were in their 80's, maybe 90. One said, during the previews, "Either they need to adjust their speakers, or I need to adjust my hearing aid."
The theater was only about a third full (which is crowded for that theater). The women commented several times during the movie, and I did not mind One BIT, because they were alive in all the days of the story,and their comments were interesting and helpful. Also, I don't like to watch movies alone, and it was less like being alone, to have their additions. It was like having native guides to the 30's and 40's. I wish they had talked more. There was no one else near enough to us to have been disturbed.
At the end of the movie, the main character/narrator/POV-person is saying she's been diagnosed with something-something, which is like a series of ongoing strokes and she's losing words. When the credits started rolling, the ladies behind me had this perfect exchange:
"What was it?"
"They used to call it 'aphasia.'"
"Oh, right. I had forgotten that word."
Then a few days passed and we got two cords of firewood dumped in the driveway by a big dumptruck. Perhaps it's some cave-woman instinct, but I feel safe and rich when I have lots of wood.
Holly and I were in the window upstairs watching the wood fall. I love the sound of that much wood and I like dumptrucks. I told her that with taxes and delivery, that was $450 worth of wood. She said "You're wasting your money."
I said "We use the hot tub a lot, and I like to use the fireplace. What do you think we should do with $450?
She thought. "Give it to me," she said.
I thought. "What would you do with $450?"
She thought. "Save it."
What a weird kid. She and Marty have both inherited Keith's good money sense and ability to save. Good for them!
And they can take care of the more spending-happy Kirby and me. (Kirby's pretty good with money too, though. They can all take care of me, I hope.)
Oh! Then in five pickup-trips around the block to the back gate, Keith and Marty moved the wood. I was stacking it into small enough to use, easy to split and hard to split, whie they were up front getting more. A little tumbleweed blew by me. I thought "How picturesque. Some of my online friends might like to be stacking wood in New Mexico when a tumbleweed blew by," and I wished a few WERE here to help me. Then I thought "What the hell's a tumbleweed doing in my yard!?" Keith had left the gate open. I shoved it in the hot-tub stove.
Eventually Marty and Keith were back there helping, and it was all stacked. I lasted through the whole stacking job, but not without whining and getting a couple of splinters. They wore gloves, but I don't like gloves. Holly didn't feel good, or she would've helped too.
I was tired but very happy.