I'm not certain that I've mentioned Niko's fall and brain injury, but surely I have. She feels much on the road to recovery now, as she reported when we met for coffee on Weds., but we have not been doing so much yoga, so my Mondays With Niko postings have fallen away. So now it's a Sat at B&N between classes at the Y, sipping a coffee and eating a bar--a Kashi bar.
Doug is 3 weeks into his rotator cuff surgery, and I think, doing well. Three more weeks in a sling, however, then we'll see how he rehabs. Has a PT appointment this week. But in three weeks, he should be ready to drive and more independent, although he is busy checking out bus schedules and the like. He is in so many ways the ideal patient, positive about recovery, staying on top of pain, following Dr's directions. But, of course, there has been the downside, the strangest of which, really, is that we go our separate ways at night, me on the futon (usually with Miranda, whose choice of beds has to do with where I'm sleeping) and Doug, sling on, in our queen size. It's not altogether bad, but does feel strange. I do get up in the mornings and make coffee and bring it to our bedroom, and we sit and talk--or sit quietly because I like for the day to come on slowly. The sling is large, because it has about a 4" foam block that curves into his torso to keep his arm stable, so there is the fear that he would either turn over and whop me, or that I or Miranda, who would surely follow me back into our bed, would toss around and injure him.
We have spent some deliciously quiet days together, however, and take evening walks. Yesterday, we decided to watch a Netflix right after lunch: The Best Years of Our Lives, which was my idea after we watched series 5 of Foyle's War, a great PBS mystery series set in England during WWII, and much emphasizing the price we pay when we send young men off to war, not matter the cause and the perceived "rightness" of it. I remembered The Best Years of Our Lives, (1946), although I'm not certain when I first saw it, but thought it was rather stunning to see a movie so soon after the war that itself dealt with the psychological consequences of homecoming--of the great disconnect between what these men had been doing for the last 3-4 years and the expectations (theirs and their families and loved ones at home) of the culture they find themselves back in.
And just in case we buy into the myth that Vietnam was our great shame in our treatment of vets, William Wyler, the director, takes special care in exploring the range of responses of civilians:
--I just want you to know that we have no obligation to reinstate your job.
--Don't talk about the war--just put it all behind you.
--we want to observe the GI Bill in our loan department, but we have to keep our lending standards the same (in other words we don't want to observe the GI Bill of Rights).
--You boys fought the wrong war (said to a double amputee, a star in this movie, but also a veteran who lost both arms).
--All our jobs are being threatened by all these GI's coming home. There's not going to be anything left for us.
No spitting, jeering, ir placards being held upas "the boys" returned--we were actually a far more polite society then, but still.
Yes, this is an incredibly kind film and Wyler, the master of the small gesture that contains volumes of meaning
--Virginia Mayo, slumped in a chair, pouting, and peeling off her false eyelashes when Dana Andres says they're not going our for dinner.
--Teresa Wright tucking Dana Andrews in her bed, after he cannot get into his apt. the first night home.
--Homer's father buttoning his son's pajama tops after Homer has removed his prostheses.
--Dana Andrews in a shabby civilian suit--a transformation that takes him from a dashing airman to an ordinary chump looking for a job.
My ideas for a new blog: A childhood of movies, books, and music--what I learned.about life.
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