Lotte Reiniger's Fairy Tale Films

Image from British Film Institute

How did I miss the British Film Institute's release of a collection of Lotte Reiniger's fairy tale films on DVD? The two-DVD set was just released late last year, and it's an amazing resource for film historians and fans of Reiniger's animated silhouettes. I first encountered Reiniger's work in a magazine find from a used-book sale, and I'm still amazed at how ahead of her time she was. I think this DVD is certainly worth relaxing our family's no-TV experiment for a special screening. I'll be sure to post a review.

Ice and Sun

March seems to have transformed my blog into The Weather Channel. Every day seems to bring new changes to marvel at. We've had a string of sunny days, with temperatures still hovering near freezing at night.

At the lake this past weekend, we saw the ice transformed into transparent sculptures on the rocks and branches. Sheets of icicles hung from fallen trees and dripped into the lake.

I guess the algae that usually fills the lake dies off during the winter, because the water was very clear near the shore. We sailed bark craft off into the calm lake. One rock passenger earned the nickname "Zen Rock" as he patiently sat in the middle of his boat and bobbed peacefully in place.

March Wildness

The recent rains have swelled the creeks. I love the wild sound of the water rushing to join the lake, so I decided to take my morning walk along a nearby creek.



A little hamlet straddles this creek. Charming houses, with their two-story barns, line the road only a few feet from the passing traffic. Little evidence remains that the hamlet once bustled with industry. In the 19th century the creek powered a variety of mills. Sawmills and a furniture factory transformed the trees of the nearby forests into essential products. Grist mills and woolen mills processed the riches of the area's farms. Heavier industries, such as a foundry and plaster and gunpowder mills, also prospered.



I wonder if the hum of these mills could have been heard over the rushing waters.

Bird Signals

The month of March--which I must qualify with: here in the northeastern part of the northern hemisphere in the confusing days of climate change--is so full of excitement and promise and growth ready to explode. For me, March suits my personality the best. It's moody and unpredictable, a wild promise. The creeks are full and boiling with snowmelt and rainfall. Yesterday I walked along the lakeshore, and the wind whipped up angry waves and blew my cheeks numb. Today, though gray, feels warmer, with the air heavy with an expectant humidity. The morning was raucous with bird cries. Literally hundreds of Canada geese called out "North! North! North!" above me as they arrowed their way home. On my walk, I stopped to listen to the high, excited chirps of about a dozen black-capped chickadees in a tall oak tree. A crow scolded me as she swooped away. I didn't have my camera with me to capture this complicated symphony, but I've included a clip of a clear cardinal call I captured last week (it starts at the 12-second mark).

Foggy Day

Spring is very wet and mucky here, and yesterday was a harbinger of the muddy months to come. It wasn't raining, but a gray mist clung to the hills just above the lake, making for a moody day. Despite the chill, I had to get the boys out to the park. I had reneged on my promise to take them to play on Friday because we didn't get out before the rain started, so I knew we'd be facing a mutiny if I didn't get out of the house yesterday.



Our ritual at the park is to feed the ducks first. At the inlet where we usually feed the ducks, we were surprised to see that the water had receded from the shore by about six feet. I suppose that some of the water is still bound up in ice. We walked along the bank until the inlet narrowed and the water was in easier reach. We had just started tossing stale bread to two ducks when a mob of seagulls descended upon us. The boys were not pleased to feed such grabby, greedy birds, so we walked back to the playground.



And this is where our excursion turned sour. My three-year-old was examining a puddle in the middle of the path, and my older son, who is nine, walked up right behind him and with a deliberate shove, pushed the little one down into the puddle. I was tempted to pack them right up, head home, and lock the older boy in a closet for the next century, but I decided that nothing would be gained by that course of action. I figured that the impulsive, aggressive action meant that the older one especially needed the time to work off his extra energy and work through some of his jealousy through play.



And I'm glad that I decided to stay at the park. I'm constantly amazed at how being able to move about freely outside and engage in imaginative play allows children to work out their issues. The boys ended up playing *together*, pretending that one structure was a yellow submarine and playing Open Sesame on it. My older one was the door keeper, allowing him to be dominant, and the younger one was delighted to say the secret password to gain entry. Another child wanted to join the fun, and my younger one, feeling territorial, started spitting at him. (Such primal reactions from these two!!) After some give-and-take with the other child, and a little intervention from me, the three boys ended up happily playing Cruise Ship on a larger structure.

We concluded our time at the park by exploring the paved trails along the lake. My older one rode his bike, and the younger one scootered along and pretended to be a scooter cop. My older one, who has a hard time verbalizing his feelings and experiences, was relaxed enough to open up to me about something special he had made earlier in the week.

When we packed up to go home, the younger one fell asleep in his car seat instantly. As we headed out of the park, the skies finally opened up and the rain started pouring down. I shared a little smile with my older one, and he said, "Great timing!" And I knew at that moment that it was indeed one of those rare afternoons when everything had in fact come together nicely, allowing the fog to lift and the held-back torrent to be released.

A Mini Spring Break

Late February gave me a bad case of the winter blues, along with the flu and bronchitis, but nature gave me a little bit of a remedy for my ills today. Not much sun, but the weather was warm enough for a walk with my son to find some signs of spring life. And we discovered quite a bit!



The first thing we noticed was that the woodpeckers must have been very busy working on this tree all winter long. It had about eight holes pecked all around it.



Doesn't the tree look like one of the Ents from Lord of the Rings?



Here are the first spring flowers that I've noticed, and we saw several clumps of them in all stages of emerging from the ground.



And our first mushroom sightings of the year--these were growing quite happily on a large tree stump.





We also had a close sighting of five of our neighborhood deer. (You may be able to see that one has been tagged.) Our village has formed a committee to determine how the deer population can be controlled in our largely suburban neighborhood. I kind of like them, but I know that the avid gardeners in our neighborhood think that they are a great nuisance.



I noticed a very elegant tree with almond-shaped buds on the tips of its branches. It will be fun to track its progress on my morning walks as spring progresses.

In Memory of My Grandmother

Points of Light

We don’t remember our births--
That instant in time when
Nothingness blooms into a tentative consciousness
Spreading out into all space in every direction,
No trace of separation from the wisps of scents,
The music of many voices,
Or from such minute particles as the dust motes floating in the air
Backlit by the sun streaming through the windowpane,
Like the universe floating in that shaft of light.
That instantaneous creation of a being (all being?)
Is a tenuous thing, yes.
But quickly accreting particles of
Sight, sound, taste, touch
Soon assemble a solid body.

We don’t remember our births.
Likewise, we won’t remember our deaths,
When those particles of our solid being disaggregate,
escaping and spinning crazily out into the void.

But, ah, the in-between,
When billions of suns blaze across the heavens
And dance in intricate rhythm with each other.
That, we remember.

UPDATE: I just came across a quote from poet/writer/naturalist Diane Ackerman that gets at exactly what I was trying to express here: "It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between." (!!)