louise on the left (coast)

George Francis Lewis, an English teacher at Brattleboro Union High School for 24 years and well-known figure in local civic, educational, and Episcopal Church circles, died Sunday, Dec. 18 after a period of declining health. He was 90.  In addition to his career at BUHS, Lewis was a resident of Guilford since 1968 when he, his wife Laura and daughter Louise settled there. He was a dedicated member of St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Brattleboro for nearly 50 years, and a lifelong lover of the opera. Many no doubt saw Lewis over the years as he drove around Windham County in one of a series of Volvo sedans he owned, always easy to spot thanks to a unique Vermont license plate that read OPERA. Lewis was born on Nov. 19, 1926 in Richmond, Staten Island in New York, the son of Robert Miller Lewis and Louise Betty Charlotte (Arbogast) Lewis. He graduated from New Dorp High School in 1944 and then joined the Army where he served in the final months of World War II, eventually working as

I was just invited to a very cool master class " Deconstructing The EXORCIST " at the Egyptian Theater in LA  led by the VERY talented  Visual Consultant Thomas Ethan Harris .   Now when I hear about Harris's master class film events, I usually I try to make it up there as they're absolutely wonderful, but this film?  Really?  REALLY?   OMG. This film STILL scares the living shit out of me STILL.   It still scares the living fuck out of me.   Like nothing else. I found out last year my older daughter watched it on YouTube (against my better judgement) and now just laughs at me about this (and everything else) and thinks it's a dopey crap film.  But me?   No way.  Still the scariest thing on film ever made. If I even watch the shortest clip of it I seriously can't function alone at night.  I'm like LIGHTS ON.  DO NOT THINK ABOUT EVEN ONE SCENE FROM THAT THING.  If I'm out walking the dog and I'm like DO NOT EVEN THINK ABO

Brattleboro, Vermont. A town where the word freak no longer exists.  Not much here ever seems odd.  Somehow things seem acceptable here.  No matter what. (Cue music:   Radiohead.  Weird Fishes .) A truly Neptunian depot. There is a central parking lot, named Harmony Lot, where everything, since I first saw it back in 1968, has actually in been in harmony with zen-like acceptance to what chooses to roll through this particular crossroad. I get out of my Boston car rental and hear random notes of music floating around me. I am jet lagged.  As far as I can see from this block-sized parking lot, there are only coffee shops and art galleries. And suggestions of music. And I say to my kid Why do I keep hearing odd music? She says because, there's wind chimes.  Wind chimes in a parking lot? I look up. Indeed, there are wind chimes. Huge ones.  Duct taped way up in a tree in the middle of the parking lot someone has duct-taped a set of enormous low-toned wind chimes. O

Where I first fell in love with movies. The Latchis Movie Theater, on lower Main Street, Brattleboro, Vt.  With it's echoey, magical astrological stars on the rain stained ceiling...and it's roman fantasy side balconies... To the now gone, Paramount Movie Theater, on upper Main Street, Brattleboro, Vt.   Right next to the Woolworths store, which smelled like popcorn and bubble gum and had little green box turtles in the very back.  And it was right across the street from Dunkin' Donuts, on the corner next the the Brooks House, where I got my hair cut on the very tip, top of the building in the gondola room. The Paramount had 75 cent double features on Saturday afternoons.  Two movies and a pop corn for less than a dollar. I remember never being more scared than I was watching The Something of Dracula.  When Dracula drank blood his eyes got bigger and bigger till they exploded.  I was traumatized for life. But, the pop corn...Oh, the pop corn th

Thoseof us living here in Southern California who have also lived in Vermont know what a shock news of Hurricane Irene's floods there was. In a place with as much unspeakable beauty and quiet history as Vermont has, news of this kind of violent destruction there is almost unthinkable. However, the truth is everything changes. Sometimes change is gradual and predicted, sometimes not. Treasure each fleeting moment on this planet. Embrace and release all that which you love, whom you love, and in this particlar case, where you love -- for surely we cannot hold on to everything. We are all in motion. My heart goes out to everyone in Vermont who is now having to pick up the pieces of their homes, towns and roads. May they carry every treasured memory in their hearts with them. And, I might add -- May our political leaders TAKE HEED. Our environment is ALL IMPORTANT. IF ENVIRONMENTAL CONSERVATION MAKES ME CONSERVATIVE: I'M A CONSERVATIVE. STOP GLOBAL WARMING.

This is someone else's photo album of Broad Brook Road in Algiers-Guilfored, Vt. Folder of photos captures some lovely views of a tiny corner of the world where my folks still live. So beautiful there.

This will be the first year in a very long time I won't be back in Vermont to spend the holidays with my parents. No doubt Hollywood rarely gets any more sentimental than it does in this clip, however, I have to say -- it really does speak to what I'm feeling right about now.

...Stay awake after flying into the Manchester, N.H. in after flying the "red eye" from Los Angeles by drinking many cups of ice coffee. ...Set your car radio station WRSI , "The River" found at 93.9 FM or 101.5 FM In fact, anywhere near Southern Vermont or Western Mass. border there is a magic FM station where you can hear precisely what music your subconscious absolute requires hearing at just the right moment. The folks who create these play lists are completely psychic and will read your mind to feed your ears precisely what will become the perfect soundtrack to whatever your personal journey is at that moment. How great is that? I mean, whatever the circumstances. From dropping in unexpectedly for a parent's birthday, to high school reunions to watching cows parade down Main Street. Whatever the reason. It will work. Tune in. Leave it on. Listen. You'll thank me later. When in Brattleboro for 48 hours, you can do any of the following. --

Okay, so I guess I might as well resign myself to the fact that I'm planning to write my own " un -review" for each segment in Season Two of "I Can't Believe I'm Still Single...Portland to Portland." Why? Because nobody else is, and I'm getting hits on this subject, that's why. Question: Why is Season Two still being called "I Can't Believe... Portland to Portland " when I have yet to hear of either city in any segment this season? So, here's my spin on Episode 4, when Eric meets Allison from Vermont . At the opening of the episode, Allison's friend voiced concern that she does not want people to refer to Allison's date as "the big girl date." Point noted. Not a problem. She was full figured, but also totally gorgeous, and cool. But, I'm going to bet that for Mr. Seeking Ms. Perfect, that deep down he may still have an issue with what he may view as non-perfection due to his known food-control issues

Okay, so maybe it's because it's overcast today, or maybe it's because I just can't stand waiting to see Melissa Leo tonight at the Oscars but today just seems like an eternity till those awards start! Anyhow, I had to see what she's been saying in her most recent interviews managed to find some photos of her looking fabulous. (Can't wait to see what she wears tonight!) First of all, can I just say that I had no idea she was "dragged kicking and screaming to Vermont."    Or that her dad lives in Long Island or that she hasn't seen Thelma & Louise. Wow.   And, secondly, I love that she goes on record stating she's a "method" actor, which is kind of bold statement to make given the hype surrounding that term. She's a brave one.  She just has to win! Hell, she'll give the most interesting speech, for God's sake!  Doesn't that count for anything!   For God's sake, just hurry up and pick Melissa!   Here's that

I originally wrote this in the comments section regarding a former post regarding having seen Frozen River . However, I thought this comment was interesting enough, and certainly long enough, to merit it's own post and not just languish, buried in some random comments section somewhere. So, here it is, again with a little re-working in it's own private post. From Me to Prince Gomolvilas re: Melissa Leo in Frozen River: ...Yeah, it's (Frozen River) is a film which I think is incredibly respectful to all the characters in the film. Let's face it, (unfortunately) I think Winslet may win this year, because she's so well known, but I'm obviously loyal to those who've touched my life personally, and this time, I actually think Leo deserves to win. And, yes, I'm a fan of all the women nominated this year. How do you call any one actors work "the best?" You can't. But, you can choose who to honor that year. Leo was as good as any of the others

There is snow. Lots of it. As far as the eye can see and still more landing every second. White snow falling thick and silently on the world from every window. So clean and soft and quiet. It's a few days before Christmas. We don't have a tree up, yet. And Santa has yet to drive into NorthPollaboro to stock up on goodies, yet. My parents who we came out to see barely see us in the moments the weather will allow before pulling shut the curtains on sane travel. We stay in a snug, modern, one bedroom wood cabin which now has heat and water and lots of tall windows which look out over the meadows and trees. It is a very lovely, and remote place to be snowbound in. There's not a working television or a cell phone that has service, but a modem, so this is the way I maintain my technological fix with the universe. The quiet is meditative. I sift through my memories of Christmas past and present to reexamine what lasts and what is inconsequential. Like seashells I hold the re

I realize up till recently I've been recounting a strange tale from La La Land, but I need to interrupt that story to announce that my story has been upstaged by a trip to visit my parents for the holidays. They live in Vermont. Right now we are visiting them for Christmas. My kids and I flew the day of the historic ice storm from Southern CA to the other side of the country. We are in the very cold and snowy wilds of New England in the Brattleboro, Vt. area. Newfane, Vermont, to be exact. My husband joined us 5 days later. It's certainly been an adventure. I put all those seasons of watching Survivor to good use when we tried to stay in a cabin without power one night. My parents have lived in the small, very humble town of Guilford, Vt. since 1968 and once or twice a year we are lucky enough to make a pilgrimage "home" to see them. This year's pilgrimage was in time for the end of "the ice storm of 2008." Which having just been through the

Clearly, this was a show that didn't seem so far fetched to a kid abruptly transplanted from New Orleans, to New England, who now lived in a cluttered little home across the street from a graveyard and abandoned church in Vermont. A place so rural and peculiar that kids skinny dipped at recess, or counted beans for math and some even smoking pot by 4th grade. A place where the Grown Ups lived for The Opera, or attending Bach organ recitals held in derelict barns, and would think nothing of driving hours down to New York City just to see anything starring an Original British Cast . This was a world were there were wild winter storms, and long, summer days where not even a plane over head could disturb the remote cool green of the summers days. A world where grave stones were places to play hide and seek, and no matter what time of day, the Grown Ups never missed even one cocktail party being thrown by Vermont's most glamorous Episcopalians. It was elegant, and eccentri

I'm sorry, but I just have to share this. I am seriously missing Vt. Not just any place in Vermont, but Southern Vermont. Right near the NH/VT/MA border. Dirt roads. Cool Main Street stores. Sparkling brooks. Sound of birds. Green fields. Crickets. Trees and trees and trees. Placid rivers. Rolling mountains. Yes, sweaty hippies and birkenstocks, too, but that's fine. I don't care, it's Vermont. My stomach hurts I miss it so much. Struggle to find my Oprah Gratitude moment about why life here in Southern CA is "a good thing." (Okay, that wasn't Oprah, that was Martha ): Good thing #1.) I get free tickets to great things, sometimes. YEp, Rigt now the only thing getting me through this recent spate of homesickness for NYC & VT is knowing I get to see Ricky Gervais next week. (Husband is reviewing it for The Orange County Register. Since RG is only in LA for 2 shows, I'm betting it could also be quite a fun audience.) Ricky Gervais'