My Classic Movie Reel

With Jon deep in film school application mode, the process of talking through essay topics, master thesis options, and personal statement talking points has gotten my heart going pitter-pat for old movies.

Also known as "my favorite movies from childhood."

Just a few weekends ago, my dad celebrated his 4,500th movie (that is, individual movies seen). He is a movie fan through and through, and instilled the same appreciation and devotion to great (and not-so-great) films in us. Whether by choice or by default, we were raised on Turner Classic Movies and American Movie Classics, with box sets of Humphrey Bogart videotapes sitting front and center under the television.

Watching black & white movies never phased us and silent films were just as easy to watch and ones with sound.

Did you know that my sister's and my favorite movie at age nine was To Have and Have Not, starring Bogart and Lauren Bacall?

It's true. We would turn it on before school, and when our best friend would come by our house to walk with us, we'd casually invite her in and hope that this time she would stop and say, "Oouu, what is this cool movie?" and then agree that it was, indeed, the best movie around. Sadly, she never did.

But we loved it. There was something inspiring about watching a thin, deep-voiced, 19-year-old Bacall take a wicked slap across the face by a waterfront ruffian without so much as a flinch and then manage to hold her own in a room with someone as intimidating as Bogie. This girl was tough-as-nails... an incredible role model for a girly little tyke like me.

Other than Disney's live action and animated features, I don't remember watching anything other than old movies when I was a kid. And until I was in the 5th or 6th grade -- when my friends were all going to see Mission Impossible in theaters and I had to stay behind -- I never even considered it wasn't a widely accepted form of entertainment.

I mean, didn't every little kid spend Saturdays watching Shirley Temple and Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movies?

Naturally all of my friends thought that Clark Gable was the dandiest leading man around... right?

And everyone knew that the comedy duo to beat was clearly Bing Crosby and Bob Hope.

Ahhh, floating head posters. Can ya beat 'em?? (That's a rhetorical question.)

Eventually I stopped daydreaming in black & white and technicolor and joined my friends at PG-13 rated movie screenings. I stopped letting my dad change the channel to TCM on a whim and refused to watch just any old thing that Robert Osborne happened to introduce that night.

My teenage years were difficult.

Now, of course, there is almost nothing I value more than my parents' choice of entertainment for us. Had it not been for those early years of Hitchcock and Bing Crosby, I don't think I would have been as open to these kinds of movies as an adult -- certainly not as a teenager!

When the holidays come around, I crave the comfort and warmth of old, classic movies... ones that make me nostalgic for holidays at home in front of the fire, listening to my father laugh at films that -- I know now -- have a special, nostalgic place in his heart as well.

Did any of you watch old movies as kids? Anything that's stuck with you 'til now? What was your favorite movie when you were nine?


Image Sources: 
(1) The Cameraman (2) How Green Was My Valley (3) Strangers on a Train (4) On the Waterfront (5) Dear Ruth (6) To Have and Have Not (7) The Big Sleep (8) Key Largo (9) Wee Willie Winkie (10) Top Hat (11) It Happened One Night (12) Road to Morocco (13) Road to Rio (14) The Best Years of Our Lives (15) The Kid (16) It's a Wonderful Life (17) Holiday Inn

Food Friday: Feierabend | German-Style Pub Fare

The Huhnclub Sandwich mit Pommes Frittes from Seattle's German-style pub Feierabend in South Lake Union.

I broke my week-long, post-oral surgery, soft-food-only rule with this:

Chicken breast. Bacon from Bavarian Meats in Downtown Seattle. Mixed greens, tomato, and chunky garlic mayo. A crown of crispy, fried onions and a skin in the form of an Essential Baking Company baguette. A hefty side of skinny parsley fries and curried ketchup rounded it off.

I might have hurt myself eating this sandwich, but it was so worth it. 

Jon and I pass this pub every single day on the way home from work, and every day it is packed, but we had never gone before. That is, until yesterday when I told Jon to stop the car and park so I could eat a fatty carb-filled pub dinner at 4 pm. So we did and my taste buds rejoiced.

It might be one of my favorite things to do: spontaneous food outings. I'm not a very spontaneous person in general (I like planning), but when it comes to food, I'll never say no. I'm susceptible to peer pressure. An unexpected sweet or salty snack never sounds like a bad idea.

"Feierabend" is a word that means "quitting time" in German, used to signify the end of the work day. This spot is one of the only pubs in this particular corner of SLU, surrounded by apartment complexes. It's nestled. It feels like Europe in there.

With the pain from my surgery acting up again, I will likely return to the land of mushy rice, eggs and bananas, so please... this weekend, for me, eat something magnificent.

Returning Home

SF CA Map Heart, woodblock print by LuciusArt

In exactly one month, Jon and I will load the dogs and last of our belongings into his car and begin the drive back to California. For good.

Just shy of three years after moving to Seattle with Ennis—jobless, penniless, and very aimless—I will be returning home two animals, one boyfriend, and a modest amount of savings richer. I might even have a plan. (I know, hold the phones.) Nothing concrete, nothing particularly exciting. But it's taken me a long time to get here; this place of comfort and being excited for the future was not easy to find. It was elusive and full of obstacles that made me question myself and my path.

I can see with clear eyes now that my time in Seattle was worth every terrifying and educational moment, but I say that with a tad of wariness. It was hard. I was not good at starting from scratch. The big difference now is that I am no longer looking back and bemoaning my mistakes; I am not bringing my baggage Home to roost, nor will I allow it to pollute my future... whatever it holds.

As early as September 2007, I wrote of moving to Seattle. I was so "certain" of my decision, something I find rather humorous now. But I did it; I actually did what I set out to do. I left California six months after graduating from college, after an extremely rough period at my parent's house. I was lost and unfocused and lazy and depressed. I had no money, no job, and no idea what I was going to do with my time. Despite the obvious reasons not to move, Seattle seemed right.

Wine Country Hills, photo by Julie's Boutique

I distinctly remember driving around the Bay (probably absolutely furious about something) and looking out on the golden, rolling hills of California, and I was... disgusted. I was ill merely at the sight of this landscape, of this dry, burnt atmosphere that had surrounded me my entire life. Even in idyllic Santa Barbara—my home for four years—I grew tired of the dusty hills and the brown, brown, brown always in view. (I chose to ignore the fact that there was an intense ocean blue always in view if I looked in the opposite direction. I was angry about stuff, people.) All I saw come autumn of 2008 after an East Bay summer, with temperatures consistently in the 90's, was the absence of any green in them there hills.

Never mind the three years of near-perfect weather that coastal California had experienced since El Niño struck in 2005. I suppose I wanted rain, gray skies, and all the green my eyeballs could handle.

Something was wrong with me, but I was 22, so that was my right.

The funny thing is that just a year and a half later, as I flew into Burbank airport to visit my then-new boyfriend, I looked out on the golden hills and almost cried. They were beautiful and familiar and felt like home... a welcome feeling after a very (double-emphasis on the very) rough year. I knew with certainty—much like I did when planning the move up north—that I would return and California would be my home again.

But I wasn't so angry and disgruntled this time. I have much love for Seattle and the kind of city that it is. Our experiences here are priceless. I plan to write much more about my city in the weeks to come.

California Poppies by Jill Bliss (I know I've posted this before but... I love it, so sue me.)

Until then, the immediate plan:

In one month, Jon and I will begin our temporary stint back at my parent's house in the Bay Area while he focuses on applying to grad school. We will work and save up for another impending move—somewhere else along the California coast—and get ready to embark on a new journey: Jon toward a PhD in Film Studies and me... well, I plan to be by his side and see him through. I care less about what I am doing than with who I am spending my days.

Thank you, Seattle, for teaching me that.

I'm open to all possibilities.