Monday, April 26, 2004
Over the weekend, on a whim...
...I suggested we watch my copy of the DVD of American Splendor. I've had it since the DVD hit the sales stands and I've watched it a couple of times but always when Mom was asleep or otherwise engaged. I didn't think she'd enjoy the movie mainly because if one is not familiar with the comic book series it takes a bit of concentration in the beginning to catch the movie's wave.
My interest in American Splendor began in 1985 when I became involved with a strange and delightful man who followed comics and graphic novels written for adults (not necessarily "Adult X-rated" but, certainly, the category includes material for these audiences). He introduced me to the incredibly fertile area of graphic literature and American Splendor became my favorite. My mother was introduced to American Splendor when I moved in with her in 1994 and she and I were unpacking my stuff. She noticed the one comic book I'd been able to retain from our collection "Our" meaning MDL's and my American Splendor. collection, which was with him during a separation we were enduring for a month or so before his eventual suicide while he was a self-admitted patient in a mental hospital. After his suicide his natal family confiscated all his possessions and threw everything away, being a fundamentalist Christian family and deciding that everything he owned was "devil inspired". I was left with only one issue I'd bought during his hospital stay which I had intended to add to our collection. My mother thought it was a holdover from when I was a child (although I didn't read comic books when I was a child) and thumbed through it. I remember her realizing that it wasn't what she thought and saying, "Well, that's very nice, but there doesn't seem to be a point." I wasn't surprised that she saw no point to the series. Thus, over a decade later when the series had morphed into a movie and I'd bought the DVD, I didn't expect that she'd appreciate watching it.
This weekend I had a hankering to watch the movie. Mom, however, spent a great deal of time (for her) awake and I wasn't interested in accidentally neglecting her (which I assumed I'd have to do if I watched the movie while she was awake) so I put off watching it until yesterday the urge became so strong that I decided to try watching it with her, internally vowing that I'd turn it off when she became distracted or said something which would be distracting to me, such as, "I wonder why that movie was made," or "I don't see the sense to this."
She was riveted, from the menu presentation on. Her attention to the film actually broadened my appreciation for it. When, for instance, the menu came up and I moved to enter Play Mode, she stopped me.
"Wait," she said. "I want to see where he's going."
"He doesn't go anywhere, Mom, he's just walking."
"Well I want to see."
So we followed Harvey down the street. When the music skipped to the beginning and the Bar reappeared, Mom laughed and said, "You're right! He's not going anywhere, he's just walking!"
I realized that this is one of the small moments in the film presentation that weaves its structure so unusually tight: Throughout Mr. Pekar's life as portrayed in the series and highlighted in the movie, he struggles (as, I guess, we all do), with the question of whether his life is "going anywhere", and whether it 'should'.
She also chose this showing of this movie to decide she wanted to examine a DVD. She scrutinized the picture on the top and noticed something I hadn't: The file Harvey is holding has "DECEASED" typed on it. We both found this provocative, especially in connection with the scene in which Harvey drops a load of "DECEASED" files and discovers the file of a man whose life appeared to be as despressingly small as he sometimes imagines his life to be.
She especially liked Mr. Boats and the sequence wherein Harvey and Joyce become accidental parents. Since she's a David Letterman fan (which she is loathe to admit) she also enjoyed Mr. Pekar's appearances on the show. She expressed disappointment in Letterman over his final inability to "handle" (Mom's word) Harvey.
At least a couple of times a month I continue to underestimate and mis-assume my mother's ability to concentrate on and become involved in a variety of activities, even after all these years I've been with her. Weekends like this last are a significant, welcome reminder to me that negotiating another's Ancient One status is tricky business and requires advanced vigilance. How often do we caretakers inadvertently neglect our Ancient Ones by forgetting that we cannot make assumptions about them in the same way we make assumptions about humans who haven't reached Ancient One status? One moment our Ancient One may be traveling the track of befuddlement, the next they may switch to a curve of attention and perception that outclasses any level anyone of us who aren't Ancient are able to achieve. Nothing is predictable because we simply haven't been where they are. As well, if and when we arrive at Ancienthood there isn't anyone around who's been through it come out the other side and can advise or correct us. It is not, despite our entrenched beliefs to the contrary, anything like Childhood, but it is often traveled in the company of people who are understandably incapable of grasping this and who unwittingly (and unsuccessfully, always unsuccessfully) try to waylay the Ancients we are accompanying. It is, truly, the most solitary journey any of us who remain here long enough to take it will ever endure.
I'm still struggling with this. It's hard to 'go with the flow' of Ancienthood, when one isn't the Ancient in question. The trick, I think, is to have no expectations, to be open to everything. I have not yet mastered this trick. With each of her track switches I either celebrate a development or mourn a devolvement and project each switch into the future based on what I know about life. The catch is, I know nothing about being an Ancient and it's anybody's guess whether I ever will. But I continue trying. I sometimes wonder if it is as wobbly for her to keep track of me as it is for me to keep track of her. Somehow, though, through exercising vigilance and patience with one another we stay on track; or perhaps it is more accurate to say, at this point, we stay on the tracks. Although I retain my Lower Level (as compared to Ancient One Status) expectations and these often frustrate my efforts to protect and guide her life, I think, finally, in fits and starts, I'm beginning to appreciate The Eccentric Journey of the Old. It is the most confusing journey on which I've ever been a passenger, especially since it took awhile for me to realize I was, indeed, a passenger and not a co-engineer. It is also the most wondrous.
My interest in American Splendor began in 1985 when I became involved with a strange and delightful man who followed comics and graphic novels written for adults (not necessarily "Adult X-rated" but, certainly, the category includes material for these audiences). He introduced me to the incredibly fertile area of graphic literature and American Splendor became my favorite. My mother was introduced to American Splendor when I moved in with her in 1994 and she and I were unpacking my stuff. She noticed the one comic book I'd been able to retain from our collection "Our" meaning MDL's and my American Splendor. collection, which was with him during a separation we were enduring for a month or so before his eventual suicide while he was a self-admitted patient in a mental hospital. After his suicide his natal family confiscated all his possessions and threw everything away, being a fundamentalist Christian family and deciding that everything he owned was "devil inspired". I was left with only one issue I'd bought during his hospital stay which I had intended to add to our collection. My mother thought it was a holdover from when I was a child (although I didn't read comic books when I was a child) and thumbed through it. I remember her realizing that it wasn't what she thought and saying, "Well, that's very nice, but there doesn't seem to be a point." I wasn't surprised that she saw no point to the series. Thus, over a decade later when the series had morphed into a movie and I'd bought the DVD, I didn't expect that she'd appreciate watching it.
This weekend I had a hankering to watch the movie. Mom, however, spent a great deal of time (for her) awake and I wasn't interested in accidentally neglecting her (which I assumed I'd have to do if I watched the movie while she was awake) so I put off watching it until yesterday the urge became so strong that I decided to try watching it with her, internally vowing that I'd turn it off when she became distracted or said something which would be distracting to me, such as, "I wonder why that movie was made," or "I don't see the sense to this."
She was riveted, from the menu presentation on. Her attention to the film actually broadened my appreciation for it. When, for instance, the menu came up and I moved to enter Play Mode, she stopped me.
"Wait," she said. "I want to see where he's going."
"He doesn't go anywhere, Mom, he's just walking."
"Well I want to see."
So we followed Harvey down the street. When the music skipped to the beginning and the Bar reappeared, Mom laughed and said, "You're right! He's not going anywhere, he's just walking!"
I realized that this is one of the small moments in the film presentation that weaves its structure so unusually tight: Throughout Mr. Pekar's life as portrayed in the series and highlighted in the movie, he struggles (as, I guess, we all do), with the question of whether his life is "going anywhere", and whether it 'should'.
She also chose this showing of this movie to decide she wanted to examine a DVD. She scrutinized the picture on the top and noticed something I hadn't: The file Harvey is holding has "DECEASED" typed on it. We both found this provocative, especially in connection with the scene in which Harvey drops a load of "DECEASED" files and discovers the file of a man whose life appeared to be as despressingly small as he sometimes imagines his life to be.
She especially liked Mr. Boats and the sequence wherein Harvey and Joyce become accidental parents. Since she's a David Letterman fan (which she is loathe to admit) she also enjoyed Mr. Pekar's appearances on the show. She expressed disappointment in Letterman over his final inability to "handle" (Mom's word) Harvey.
At least a couple of times a month I continue to underestimate and mis-assume my mother's ability to concentrate on and become involved in a variety of activities, even after all these years I've been with her. Weekends like this last are a significant, welcome reminder to me that negotiating another's Ancient One status is tricky business and requires advanced vigilance. How often do we caretakers inadvertently neglect our Ancient Ones by forgetting that we cannot make assumptions about them in the same way we make assumptions about humans who haven't reached Ancient One status? One moment our Ancient One may be traveling the track of befuddlement, the next they may switch to a curve of attention and perception that outclasses any level anyone of us who aren't Ancient are able to achieve. Nothing is predictable because we simply haven't been where they are. As well, if and when we arrive at Ancienthood there isn't anyone around who's been through it come out the other side and can advise or correct us. It is not, despite our entrenched beliefs to the contrary, anything like Childhood, but it is often traveled in the company of people who are understandably incapable of grasping this and who unwittingly (and unsuccessfully, always unsuccessfully) try to waylay the Ancients we are accompanying. It is, truly, the most solitary journey any of us who remain here long enough to take it will ever endure.
I'm still struggling with this. It's hard to 'go with the flow' of Ancienthood, when one isn't the Ancient in question. The trick, I think, is to have no expectations, to be open to everything. I have not yet mastered this trick. With each of her track switches I either celebrate a development or mourn a devolvement and project each switch into the future based on what I know about life. The catch is, I know nothing about being an Ancient and it's anybody's guess whether I ever will. But I continue trying. I sometimes wonder if it is as wobbly for her to keep track of me as it is for me to keep track of her. Somehow, though, through exercising vigilance and patience with one another we stay on track; or perhaps it is more accurate to say, at this point, we stay on the tracks. Although I retain my Lower Level (as compared to Ancient One Status) expectations and these often frustrate my efforts to protect and guide her life, I think, finally, in fits and starts, I'm beginning to appreciate The Eccentric Journey of the Old. It is the most confusing journey on which I've ever been a passenger, especially since it took awhile for me to realize I was, indeed, a passenger and not a co-engineer. It is also the most wondrous.
