wild winds and cinema dreams
As I dust off the corners of this old blog, the wild winds outside usher in more winter weather. The sky was rich with clouds in every shade of grey this afternoon when I walked out of the movie theatre with my family. I consider myself something of an expert in the field of Mary Poppins. Julie Andrews' autobiography sits next to the life story of P.L. Travers on my bookshelf.
And as the credits rolled, my four-year-old walked down the long row of seats to the aisle, popped open her umbrella, raised it into the air and jumped. She laughed the most delightful sound. It's the same sound I felt with my entire being while watching Mary Poppins Returns.
Sure, this is a case where book to movie translation is dramatically warped, and we could argue that all day long. This post is not for critics, this is for lovers and Disney's Mary Poppins, is the one who stole all our hearts and graced us with a generous allowance of wonder.
Adults always forget, yes, but there are those of us with Peter Pan souls and Anne Shirley spirits and we have fought that upstream current of practicality to remain fueled by wonder. We are hunters of magic found in ordinary spaces who still have to pay the bills and fold the laundry. I still dream of jumping into chalk drawings and dancing on rooftops at night.
I looked down the row this afternoon, everyone is big enough now to hold down the spring of the seats. No one moved a muscle and three bodies sat straightforward with eyes glued to the screen as Mary and the three children sank into the bathtub of dreams. My ten-year-old squealed out the words, "How did that happen?"
My heart leaped as I delighted in all witty details, every sweet morsel of nostalgia, and the way the real heartaches of life were lightened with hope. Yet, beyond how I was once again captivated by the story of Mary Poppins, all these years later, I saw something planted into the hearts of my children. That deep flicker of magic that doesn't always appear in the abundance of media we consume these days. A new generation has been graced with the whimsy of a mystical nanny and the resolve of the human heart.
And for the gloomy streets we will traverse, for the losses and struggles we must endure, the resolve of the human heart is a thing of beauty. As a dreamer and idealist, I am certain, that beauty will save the world.
I'll sign off from my little corner where I don't write enough words with a full heart and wild eyes.
The winds are howling. Anything is possible.
And as the credits rolled, my four-year-old walked down the long row of seats to the aisle, popped open her umbrella, raised it into the air and jumped. She laughed the most delightful sound. It's the same sound I felt with my entire being while watching Mary Poppins Returns.
Sure, this is a case where book to movie translation is dramatically warped, and we could argue that all day long. This post is not for critics, this is for lovers and Disney's Mary Poppins, is the one who stole all our hearts and graced us with a generous allowance of wonder.
Adults always forget, yes, but there are those of us with Peter Pan souls and Anne Shirley spirits and we have fought that upstream current of practicality to remain fueled by wonder. We are hunters of magic found in ordinary spaces who still have to pay the bills and fold the laundry. I still dream of jumping into chalk drawings and dancing on rooftops at night.
I looked down the row this afternoon, everyone is big enough now to hold down the spring of the seats. No one moved a muscle and three bodies sat straightforward with eyes glued to the screen as Mary and the three children sank into the bathtub of dreams. My ten-year-old squealed out the words, "How did that happen?"
My heart leaped as I delighted in all witty details, every sweet morsel of nostalgia, and the way the real heartaches of life were lightened with hope. Yet, beyond how I was once again captivated by the story of Mary Poppins, all these years later, I saw something planted into the hearts of my children. That deep flicker of magic that doesn't always appear in the abundance of media we consume these days. A new generation has been graced with the whimsy of a mystical nanny and the resolve of the human heart.
And for the gloomy streets we will traverse, for the losses and struggles we must endure, the resolve of the human heart is a thing of beauty. As a dreamer and idealist, I am certain, that beauty will save the world.
I'll sign off from my little corner where I don't write enough words with a full heart and wild eyes.
The winds are howling. Anything is possible.
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