Oh well. I'm all under-slept and frustrated. I don't think I'll be getting presents done to ship for Christmas as it involves cooking stuff, but I'll figure something out. It doesn't have to be there until Epiphany anyway.
Which my brain is calling advent, because somehow some woman claims that her family celebrates LENT before Christmas, which confuses the hell out of me.
I've been a bit troubled that the last week, since Thursday night, have NOT involved a lot of emotional pain and flashbackery. I think, perhaps, I may be repressing, and I'm going to surgically prevent that ... I found the tape of the movie Penny made in college, with me and Brad and a friend of Brad's whose name eludes me because I'm being stupidly tired. This movie came about as a project for one of her classes required for the education degree which she never wanted to get, but felt compelled to do because "her mom did it" ... after the chronically useless head of the University of Oregon painting department (in 1975) proclaimed that she had no talent for art and should go study home economics.
No talent meaning, she found his pabulum courses to be a waste of time, disagreed with his pretentious attitudes about color and about realism versus the late-sixties abstract degenerated cubism he was mired in, and generally insisted that she had taste ... but never to his face, because she had that training to always agree with authorities, whether or not they were full of it. So she took his criticism to heart, and it took a decade before she finally accepted that he wasn't saying this for HER own good, but for HIS, because he felt threatened by anyone who could eventually surpass him, especially any WOMAN.
(I just lost two hours trying to find the guy's name and obituary. The obituary was Unkind. The brilliant and ever-useful Adobe 7.0 crashed my browser trying to load 140 pages of something that was described as being 14 pages. Yay. Fortunately Livejournal now saves drafts.)
So. She did this film course, and with threats of pummeling and bribes of M&Ms and Dr. Pepper (and Doritos!) we threw together a film that reeks of potential, except where it just reeks.
So that's on a DVD now, but not finalized. And next, I will be dubbing the hour or so of videotape of the christmas lights out at the O'Reilly farm ... we didn't know, when we went, and took all this, that it was the farm owned by our doll-club friend Marge and her husband. I recall a great deal of silliness, some singing, some bad jokes, and descriptions of various wierdness. We did this to send to sinick back before she was Sinickal.
This is probably the only surviving record I have of her voice. I'll probably give a copy of the DVD (once I finally finish it) to friends who want one.