Good Things in Threes

The saying goes "bad things come in threes."

Several months ago, the famous deceased threesome of the hour, so to speak, was Luciano Pavarotti, Jane Wyman, and Madeline L’Engle (if these names mean nothing to you, look them up–they’re worth it.) Each one died within a week or so of one another. I can remember when the first one died (and I think it was Pavarotti) I thought, well, that's one. Wonder where the other two will come from? Sure enough, two and three fell into place.

All sayings, like stereotypes, have some truth to them. This time it got me wondering: why is it that we expected death to come in threes, but we never expect happiness to follow suit? Something good happens to us and we celebrate it (as we should). On rare, blessed days, things may fall miraculously into place one after the other. But for the most part, we're pretty happy just to have one thing go right in our crazy, busy lives.

I think we're cheating ourselves. We should look for good things in threes - nay, we need to expect them, demand them, determine that we are going to have them, dang it. [sidebar: If you're one of those "glass half full" people who daily find the joy in everything around them, like a hyped up Kenny the Page from 30 Rock, you may be reading the wrong blog.]

I started that same day admiring my friend and co-worker Anne’s lovely bouquet of eucalyptus, (courtesy of Costco though you wouldn’t know it to look at it) its tangy scent wafting throughout our office kitchen as she trimmed stalks and filled a vase with water. All those blooms burst forth from the bouquet, shepherding the welcome, clean scent of eucalyptus. It all seemed to suit Anne who daily and effortlessly bursts forth in beauty with her long black, glossy hair (recently chopped to a fashionable bob) and olive-tinted skin topped with dark expressive eyes that are framed by her sooty lashes. She's one of those effortless beauties you wish were a hateful beeotch so that you didn't have to like her on top of it.

The eucalyptus stalks dusted the air in clean, fresh scent and I just wallowed in their scent. Anne told me she bought them just to have something to brighten up her office and I remember admiring the freedom that allows such an impulse buy without qualm or consideration when I nickel and dime my own excursions to an annoying degree.

Later on I walked through Michaels craft store and caught another eucalyptus scent. I always feel overwhelmed and out of place in craft stores. My latent nesting/maternal instinct strains to be let out and sink into the great possibilities of all the arts and crafts projects spread out before me like unattained potential as though I’m a glue gun away from being Martha Stewart’s rival. That’s usually when my common sense rears up to remind me what a complete and utter disaster I am with anything remotely homey. Really, the only thing I get with a glue gun is fantastic glue gun burns.

But I needed Gorilla Glue to fix my funky, much loved, Indian-style (dot, not feather), wedge-heeled shoes. I went to two Payless Shoe stores to get the right size and fit on these shoes, at 9:30 at night too, dragging my poor mother with me like shopping ballast, which made them worthy of repair and not the trash bin. So there I am in Michaels, part of me aching to be the woman I’m somewhat genetically engineered and certainly conditioned to be, the rest of me glad to be the damn-the-torpedoes, buck-the-expected person I am, perusing the Mary Engelbriet $1 Christmas extras when I smelled eucalyptus – again. And I kid you not, I actually sniffed around the plastic flower displays seeking the scent’s origin, but no dice, because – and I know this is a shocker – plastic flowers have no scent. Sometimes my Polish genes are just working overtime. (Later on, I did not sniff around the check out counter to find the burning glue gun I smelled while going gray (more gray!), waiting for my turn. My nose is an amazing, complicated thing.)

So that was two and now, like a good celebrity death watch, this question lurked in the back of my mind; will the eucalyptus come in threes? (Also, I’m wondering where in the hell is my cuddly koala? With all this eucalyptus, you’d figure a fuzzy bear with sharp claws, fluffy ears, an Australian accent, and a penchant for climbing eucalyptus trees would mosey on over too, wouldn’t you?)

That evening I abused the hospitality of Steve and Marcy, two of my favorite people in the world, as I tend to do from time to time (like most Tuesday nights.) Interestingly, I rarely think of them as Marcy and Steve; it just flows better as Steve and Marcy. Sorry Marce! So we had dinner (tacos, I think, an all around favorite and yes, mine was devoid of vegetables. I’d hate to disappoint) and laughed as we often do, and Marcy and I said the same thing at the same time as we sometimes do, and Steve just shook his head at us as he usually does, and we confirmed our advancing years by watching JEOPARDY and proving how smart we are while snarking on the contestants when we got the answer wrong. [Steve claims that whenever I answer a question and get it wrong I say “it’s the same thing” and I’m thinking he’s probably not that off about that. Part of the bliss that is me, I guess.]

So my eyes are tearing (from all the laughter – follow the bouncing ball people) as I slipped over to the bathroom (hardwood floors meet knee-high socks and zoom!) where I was yet again blessed with the soothing, tart odor of eucalyptus thanks to Marcy’s handy bathroom hand soap and lotion. I thought, geez Louise, is it my day for eucalyptus or what? And then I rubbed the lotion deep into my hands so I could bring the scent home with me for a little while.

Every day should have good things that come in threes. Sadly, few do. Now, when I see a triptych of death, I wonder where the trio of good is. And every time I smell eucalyptus, I think of my three-pronged day. Most times it makes me smile (though I’m still looking for the damn koala). Sometimes it makes me wonder why I don’t have three good things today. Often it makes me want to find three good things every day. (The Trinity doesn’t count – that’s a given.)

So what were your three good things today?

Cinematic Harmony

I've been listening to the CD soundtrack from the movie Once in my car since I picked it up last Friday and I just have to mention it here because it's great and makes me happy.

But first a little about the film. Once is an independent film released last year about a Guy in Dublin with a newly dented heart (courtesy of ex-girlfriend) who fixes vacuums in his father's business but whose real passion is music. Every day he goes and sings on Grafton Street as a street musician, his playlist made up of the songs that attract the tourists and their money, but he breaks out his own material at night. He meets an Eastern European Girl who passes out flowers on Grafton Street. She approaches him while he's playing one night and sings (pun intended) his praises. They bond. They make music - literally. She inspires and encourages him to record a demo and helps him secure a bank loan to do so. He rustles up some street musician friends to be the band and they record said demo so that he can go to London, make up with soon-to-be-not-ex-girlfriend, and we are left to believe that success lies around the corner for him as he conquers the music business with his singer/songwriter tunes.

I thought the movie was lovely, but I can't laud it without caveats. It's a little slow and is basically a series of songs linked together by a nice little script, which makes it great if you're a fan of music but not so great if you're looking for a more traditional movie. It's has a typical independent film feel with a little shaky camera work and lots of use of authentic locations, which include the wonderful treat of seeing different parts of Dublin. Movies like this one often makes me wonder whether the people in the background are extras hired for the scenes or just regular people going about their day. I love the ambiguity of that. This guerilla style film making is most obvious when filming our street musician performing on Grafton Street in Dublin while hoards of shoppers and tourist flow naturally around him.

It's such a sweet story of a thirty-something man with a dented heart still seeking his dreams, playing his music when he can while fixing vacuums with his newly widowed father. He clicks with this woman who plays piano in the back of a piano shop on her lunch hour b/c she can't afford one for herself. In a very short time, these people have an enormous effect on each other, their lives subtly reinvigorated from their time together. They're never given names - simply listed as Guy and Girl in the credits - and I for one never noticed the lack till the end. And for a film marketed as a romance, there's very little overt romance in the film. They're just two people who click with together and fill a need in each other's lives long enough to get to the next step in their journey.

And then there's the music. I've been listening to it nearly nonstop since I bought the CD. I really like it; for some reason, the songs are still spinning around in my car and in my head. They're written (with the exception of two Van Morrison covers) and sung by Glen Hansard a singer/songwriter who is the former front man for The Frames and who plays Guy. I'd never heard of him before, but he's very talented and he sings every song on the CD accompanied on many by Marketa Irglova (Girl), also a singer/songwriter who contributes material as well. They're musicians, not actors, which makes me think that they were probably playing themselves for the most part in the movie, but it works, so no worries.

Really, it's the music that resonates with me more so than the movie. One scene that sticks with me where the music and movie function inextricably - one unable to exist without the other in order to create the desired effect - is when Guy takes Girl to a large dinner party where it's loud and boisterous with everyone having a good time eating and talking and then the instruments come out and there was music. I watched this scene and thought "this would be a perfect evening for me" and that's true because that is indeed what I would consider a perfect evening; good friends, great food and conversation, and then music and singing and joy.

I listen to track 14 on the soundtrack "And the Healing Has Begun" where Glen Hansard sings a cover of Van Morrison's great song with such passion and commitment...

we're gonna make sweet music under the stars/
we're gonna play to the violin and the two guitars/
and we'll sit down and play for hours and hours and hours and hours/
when the healing has begun

...and I think of that scene and the times I've sat around with people and music and just sang (something that hasn't happened in a long time) and had joy . I still find myself driving along listening to this track, thinking on this scene and smiling. Sweetly, sadly, but smiling.

Track #2 is another favorite where a very different emotion is evoked when Marketa sings:

are you really here or am I dreaming?/
I can't tell dreams from truth/
it's been so long since I have seen you/
I can hardly remember your face anymore/
when I get real lonely/
and the distance causes our silence/
I think of you smiling/
with pride in your eyes/
a lover that sighs/
if you want me/
satisfy me

It's so haunting, so aching with loneliness and desire, and yet so beautiful. I get out of the car and that song just stays with me, floating around in my head all day. Cinematic harmony.

So go rent the movie for a lovely film about two people at a crossroads who, for a short time, find kindred spirits in one another and are able to move to their next stage of life because of that brief relationship. Then get the CD and dive into the music. If you like acoustic guitar heavy, singer/songwriter music like Dave Wilcox, early Cademon's Call, or the great Van the Man, then give this a listen. And the healing may begin.

Friday Afterthoughts

Only a few quick afterthoughts today as I am feeling particularly non-engaged. I'm blaming the rain for that. I am about to head out into rainy New Jersey, Friday night, Lincoln Tunnel rush hour traffic. (Why is it that drivers seem to loose brain cells with every rain drop?) So here's the short and sometimes sweet:

• If you live in the Bergen County area and haven't already checked out Wide World of Bagels in Ridgewood then you must do so right away. Their bagels are fantastic, all soft and fluffy and they don't scrape off the roof of your mouth when you're chewing. I had a salt bagel from them this week and it was perfect; not so drenched in salt so that you immediately needed a saline IV to balance your system, just enough to give it a bite . And their cream cheese is delish, creamy and lush. It's also a deli and has catering, but I can't vouch for that just yet. Their Web site (look at me - I'm linking!) says it's on N. Maple Ave in Ridgewood; It's down the street from the Goffle Grill, which I thought was on Goffle Ave in that Hawthorne/Midland Park/Ridgewood wasteland where you're never sure exactly what town you're in at a given time. But then I'm a native Essex County girl. You may wonder why I'm touting a bagel store. Do you know how difficult it is to find a bagel worth the name? Sure, I can make do with some inferior versions or the occasional good effort bagel. But once found, a prime bagel provider should be held on to fiercely. Trust me - I spent 6 bagelless months when I first got to England before I discovered George & Davies ice cream shop, which, ironically, had real bagels. And Bailey's Irish Cream ice cream, but that's a different story. Anyways. Check them out.
• If you want to see good people doing great things for animals, check out Best Friend Animal Shelter, an organization I discovered today, courtesy of the Guidelines magazine that my boss pawns off on me every so often. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of having my own ranch with all the cats and dogs that no one wanted; I imagined being able to tell surrounding shelters to send their unwanted ones to me rather than euthanize them. Here are people who are actually doing that exact thing.
• On a much more irreverent but funny note, there is a clip of comedian Sarah Silverman on the Jimmy Kimmel show from last night that is very funny. WARNING: it's not "family friendly" by any stretch of the imagination and I'm certainly no proponent of Silverman's work. But I laughed big time at this one.
• A few weeks ago, we had a Krum family party for my grandmother's 95th birthday, a luncheon that my uncle kicked off with a list of Krum/Litzenberger (my grandmother's maiden name) traits. One in the long list was OCD, which, okay, to some extent, yes. But it made me wonder if there was a more personally accurate OSD - Obsessive Snark Disorder. 'Cause I'm pretty sure I got that.

Happy Friday everyone!