Rattling Around in My Brain: A Room with A View

I have things to tell you and show you and this and that, but golly, I'm exhausted. Busy weekend, and busy weekends are more difficult with a baby, yes? I was reading your awesome comments on the mean brain post, and thinking about you saying, almost collectively, that when you have a small baby, everything is a victory. Brushing my teeth is a victory! An accomplishment!

In a way, that makes me sort of sigh and feel sad about things. But in another way, if it's true, I may have been a bit overly ambitious last week, and, you know, in general lately. Last week I had been sort of praying, asking God, okay, what should I do next, should I attend this function that's not 100% necessary, and I thought He said sure, but this morning I decided that I was, somehow, praying to my own perfectionism, my own high expectations for myself. Does that make sense? I wasn't asking Him at all, because He is so gentle with me, and I was not exactly gentle with myself. And now I feel rundown and cranky and like everything is a real big bummer, which most assuredly means it's time for bed.

And so, though I have things to show you and say to you and I'm excited to do so, I think I'll begin a new series on the blog, a new feature, if you will, of things (from books, movies, poems, music, and the like) that are rattling around in my brain. Maybe if I tell you what's rattling in mine, you'll tell me what's rattling in yours?

To begin, there is this line from the movie, A Room with a View, which, if you have not seen it, you must. Sam tells me it's on Netflix instant streaming, so go forth and stream, my friends. It's also a lovely book, so there's that, but I can't recall if this line is from the book. Does anyone remember?

Anyway, so what happens is this: Helena Bonham-Carter is Lucy Honeychurch (and she plays her deliciously) and she's playing the piano. I tried to find a YouTube clip of this whole scene, but they cut off before the best line, which is really the best line in the whole movie, so I don't know what they're thinking. (Here's the link to the first bit.) But anyway, so she's playing the piano and she's playing Beethoven, and she's playing passionately, and when she finishes, Mr. Beebe claps, and says, and here's the good part:

Mr: Beebe: "May I say something rather daring?"

Lucy: "Mr. Beebe, you sound like Miss Lavish. [The silly overly-romantic lady novelist.] Are you writing a novel, too?"

Mr. Beebe: "If I were, you would be my heroine. And I should write 'If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays ... it will be very exciting, both for us and for her.'"

So that's what's rattling around in my brain, and I'm wondering how to "live as I play," so to speak. It's terrifying to let oneself do so, is it not? What do you do passionately, more passionately than you allow yourself to live? And, also, what's rattling around in your brain? Do tell.


belann said…
I'm not sure I do much with passion anymore. But, I will revisit Room With a View.
Giuli said…
I realize when I read your post that "I feel rundown and cranky and like everything is a real big bummer" too. Maybe it's time for bed, and chocolate. Reverse that order. Everything always seems worse at night.

Love you Deja.
Amara said…
Watch out for the naked part mom! It is very very naked, although funny. I think in the book it goes a little further let's see if I can find it in my well worn copy...wait. It's the same. he elaborates to Cecil by mistake later: "I'm only thinking of my pet theory about Miss Honeychurch. Does it seem reasonable that she should play so wonderfully and live so quietly? I suspect that one day she will be wonderful in both. The water-tight compartments in her will break down, and music and life will mingle. Then we shall have her heroically good, heroically bad- too heroic, perhaps, to be good or bad" Which is especially ironic in the story because when she does mix her compartments, he doesn't end up approving of her!

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