Saturday, after three days of rain, we went to the movies. "Up" was playing in 3-D at Shoppingtown Mall on the east side, so we had dinner at El Canelo - I wish they hadn't left Grant Ave.! - and then window-shopped for shoes for me for the wedding.
"Up" was amazing. It wasn't just a 3-D movie but a grand story that happened to be in 3-D. I thought it would have something to do with the play we had seen at Syracuse Stage this spring, about a man who tied balloons to his lounge chair and flew up into the clouds. Same title - vastly different story, much, much better.
I am still under its spell. But I won't ruin it by telling the story - just urge you to go see it.
One part that made me spin was the "passage of time" segment. You know - like when the candle burns down and indicating several minutes or hours have passed. In this case it was a mailbox.
I remembered other mailboxes. I have a good friend from high school who painted his box a brilliant fuchsia. I passed it for years down East Lake Road, and watched as the color faded. It's now white.
I remember Patience painting one of her lovely, delicate fishes on her mailbox years ago. I was at the house for something, and as I left I made a remark - rather snarky now I think - that if the greeting cards didn't take off, she could always paint mailboxes. The box is gone now, or re-painted a light green without a fish adorning it.
One of my favorite movies, "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir" (the movie, not the TV series) has a post stuck in the shoreline with initials carved in it. As the years go by and the ghost becomes only a fond memory, Mrs. Muir passes it on her walks while it weathers and bends.
Real estate. It pushes its way into every conversation, every story. Our lives are based on people, time and settings. And all change, no matter how much you want them to remain the same. And that's not always a bad thing.
Go see "Up."