A Fond Farewell to the T.V. Show "Chuck"

For five years now, my husband and I have enjoyed the T.V. show "Chuck," which until this past season aired on NBC on Monday night at 8:00 (this season--it moved to Friday). For four of those years, we had our second and fifth sons living in the house with us, but they never really got into it, preferring to watch "House"--which was on at the same time on another channel-- instead. We always watched "House" with them, because we think watching favorite T.V. shows should be a social event and as much as possible a form of family bonding; but we always DVR'd "Chuck" so that the two of us could watch it later. If my husband was home the following day, we would settle in to watch it while we had our lunch; if he had to work that day, we would have a "'Chuck' lunch date" as soon as we could after he got back from his trip.

But on January 27, our beloved show aired its last episode, a two-hour finale. And it might sound kind of ridiculous, but I'm a bit sad! I can't believe that this funny, extremely entertaining show with its talented ensemble cast of endearing characters is going off the air after only five seasons, when so many shows that are complete garbage stay on for a decade and longer. In this day and age, when half of what's offered on the tube is so-called "reality" television that really could turn your brain to mush, "Chuck" was a sweet, intelligent, family-friendly program (funny, without resorting to the tireless barrage of double entendres and dirty jokes that most modern comedies rely upon to get laughs).

The show stars the eminently likable Zachary Levi as Chuck Bartowski, a mild-mannered, self-proclaimed computer "nerd," who works at Buy More (think Best Buy) and is part of the "Nerd Herd" (think "Geek Squad"). In the series opener, he receives an encrypted e-mail from an old college friend who's now working for the CIA, and the message subliminally embeds something called the "Intersect"--which contains all of our government's greatest spy secrets--into his brain. He has now become an invaluable "asset" to the CIA, because this database in his brain (which is activated by different triggers that cause him to "flash" and receive important information) can be used to thwart international terrorists and assassination attempts, to find and capture bad guys. When they realize Chuck is carrying around the Intersect, the CIA sends two agents, John Casey and Sarah Walker, to watch over him. To keep others from suspecting their true identities, Casey goes undercover by taking a job at the Buy More and Walker poses as Chuck's new girlfriend, and--here's the shocker--Chuck and Sarah eventually fall in love as the show goes on. Some of the comedy comes from watching Chuck try to continue interacting with his family, friends, and co-workers as the lovable computer whiz next door, while living a secret double life and going on dangerous spy missions with Casey and Walker. It might sound like a silly show--and I admit, the premise is kind of goofy--but it's been so much fun to watch.

[Sigh...] My husband and I have so few shows that we really look forward to watching together; now we have one less.

A couple of Christmases ago, one of our sons got us the DVD set of the first season of "Chuck." Now that it's off the air, I think we'll have to break it out and watch the series again from the beginning. I foresee lots of lunch dates watching old "Chuck" episodes. (And hint, hint, guys: seasons two through five would make excellent gifts in the future!)

In the meantime, I'd like to wish a fond farewell to "Chuck," a show that, in my opinion, was axed long before its time.

It's a Great Time to Be a Shutterbug

I've always loved taking pictures, lots of them. Back in the olden days (you know, the 80's and 90's), I used to take my film in to be developed the second I'd finished a roll, ordering double prints (with my fingers crossed that all the pictures had turned out well) so that I could send copies on to grandparents or glue them into baby books. Then I'd lovingly arrange all of my new pictures into neatly organized photo albums. These days, however,--thanks to the miracle of digital photography--I take way more pictures than I used to, and I can delete the duds immediately; but the downside is that I also make way fewer hard copies than I used to. I haven't put photos in an album since Christmas 2008! I have so many shots now to choose from, it's a bit overwhelming to go through and decide which ones should make the cut. So I keep putting it off and putting it off...Although when I became a grandmother in 2011, I did make myself a "Grandma's Brag Book"-- an album small enough to fit in my purse, filled with pictures of my twin granddaughters. But then my hubby got me an iPhone for Christmas, so now I suppose I'm going to just be one of those cool, modern iPeople and carry my photo albums around with me on my iPhone. (But I do miss flipping through real photo albums!)

My cousin, who put the "p" in paparazzi, once told me that she had over 25,000 pictures stored in different media storage devices, but almost no printed pictures. Yikes! I thought I was a shutterbug, but I've got nothing on my cousin. Her two young daughters, who are a couple of truly photogenic little darlings, will know what they looked like, from every angle at every stage of their lives--unlike my boys, whom I was only able to capture in often blurry, grainy, and generally sub par Instamatic and 35 mm snapshots. I'd love to go back in time with my awesome digital camera and take a few high resolution close-ups of their precious little faces...Oh, well--at least these days I can get some great shots of the twins.

Isn't the computer age amazing, though? It wasn't that long ago that the idea of printing out my own pictures, any size I wanted--right in my own house!--sounded about as crazy as living on the moon. When my boys were young and I was making picture collages for them, I used to bring hard copies of my snapshots over to Mail Boxes, Etc. and have the guy there run off color copies of them on his state-of-the-art color printer. (It was either that or dig through shoeboxes filled with strips of negatives, hold each strip up to the light until I found the pictures I was looking for, and have re-prints made--no, thank you!) At the time, the idea of having a color printer in your own home was pretty much unheard of. What a long way we've come! Nowadays, you can not only zoom and crop your pictures and choose the printing size, right on your own computer; you can even play around with the color to achieve different effects, such as an antiqued look. I took the above photo in Amsterdam about a week ago, and I thought it had a real vintage aura about it. It was the only picture I took where there were no cars or other modern-looking vehicles (and no golden arches!) in sight, so I thought it would look perfect if I adjusted the color and brightness to create a faded and aged-looking black-and-white. It looks great hanging in my dining room--it fits right in with my wall of black-and-white and sepia-toned old family photos.

When I think of the hoops I would have had to jump through to end up with this one photo with its special color effect (and the money I would have had to spend on it) back in those pre-PC, pre-digital camera days, I feel fortunate to be living in this day and age. Yep, I'm gradually being dragged, sometimes kicking and screaming, into this marvelous new high-speed, high-tech, WiFi iWorld we live in. It does have its good points, especially if you're a shutterbug.

The Virtue of Hope

In the Rosary books our family uses, the short prayer before the second Glorious Mystery, the Ascension, is this: "I desire the virue of hope. Think of the Ascension of Jesus Christ, forty days after His glorious Resurrection, in the presence of Mary and His disciples."

When we pray that decade of the Glorious Mysteries, we think about how Christ rose from the dead and then forty days later ascended into Heaven. We remember that He died for us, He died on the Cross so that our sins could be forgiven--and because He did so, the gates of Heaven, where He sits now at the right hand of His Father, were opened for us, too. So though we often stumble and fall here while we're struggling to stay on the right path, when we think of the Ascension of Our Lord into Heaven--where He awaits us at the end of our own earthly lives--we can be filled with hope.I've been thinking about the virtue of hope lately, especially after reading The Diary of a Young Girl. I know I've been talking about Anne Frank a lot since my recent trip to Amsterdam, but I can't seem to get her out of my mind. If there was ever a human being who should have been filled with utter despair every minute, it was that poor child. Yet she didn't lose hope. Just listen to what she wrote in her diary on May 4, 1944, when she'd been living in the Secret Annex for just shy of two years: " I've often been down in the dumps, but never desperate. I look upon our life in hiding as an interesting adventure, full of danger and romance, and every privation as an amusing addition to my diary...What I'm experiencing here is a good beginning to an interesting life, and that's the reason--the only reason--why I have to laugh at the humorous side of the most dangerous moments. I'm young and have many hidden qualities; I'm young and strong and living through a big adventure; I'm right in the middle of it and can't spend all day complaining because it's impossible to have any fun! I'm blessed with many things: happiness, a cheeful disposition and strength. Every day I feel myself maturing, I feel liberation drawing near, I feel the beauty of nature and the goodness of the people around me. Every day I think what a fascinating and amusing adventure this is! With all that, why should I despair?"

Wow, huh? It kind of makes me ashamed of the times I've allowed myself to be filled with despair (even briefly) when faced with some hardship or seemingly insurmountable stumbling block. With all the blessings that have been showered upon me and my family, how could I ever waste even one second of my life feeling "down in the dumps"? But there's the human condition for you: we are flawed and weak, and without the grace of God, we'd be lost. But because of Our Lord, and the sacrifice He made for us, we never need to lose hope.

This 'n That

First of all, this post will be very brief today. I kind of got carried away yesterday, and that one ended up being much longer than I'd intended. For me, it just would have been too difficult trying to encapsulate what is contained in Anne Frank's amazing diary using any fewer sentences (most of them Anne's) than I did. But I think Anne, who collected her favorite "beautiful sentences" in a notebook, would understand a writer's need to use as many of them as she thought necessary to do the trick.

(I just called myself a "writer"! As our young, computer-savvy texting generation would say, LOL!)

And speaking of beautiful sentences, I did not find enough of them in the book More Than Words Can Say. I mentioned in my Jan. 17 post ("If Modern Fiction is Making You Blue, I've Got the Book for You") that I was going to read it on my trip to Amsterdam last weekend, and I said I'd let you know if it was any good. No offense to Robert Barclay--who is a published author, whereas the only way I can get my amateur scribblings published is on this free blog!--but I did not enjoy it...more than words can say. It disappointed me...more than words can say. I wish I hadn't spent the money on it...more than words can say. I gave up and never finished it. This is a harsh review, and for that I apologize. I do think Mr. Barclay's story is a good one--it's set during World War II at a camp in the Adirondacks, with a love story at its core--and the book has its good points; but I couldn't get past his writing style, which just didn't work for me. I would recommend Dream When You're Feeling Blue--a lovely book with similar themes, set in the same time period--instead.

Now I feel like Simon Cowell. That was a bit rough.

Okay, what else? Oh, a few days ago I found the neatest thing for displaying the souvenir postcards I brought back from Nice and Monaco at--where else? the greatest store ever--T.J. Maxx. It is actually a small bulletin board inside a pretty, antique-looking frame. What's nice about it is that since the postcards are only pinned in place, I can change the display any time the spirit moves me--with the seasons, perhaps (although I don't think I'll do that, because these postcards are such sweet reminders of an idyllic "second honeymoon" with my husband).

Well, that's it for today's random ramblings. Have a great weekend!

A Moving Memoir

Since our trip to Amsterdam last weekend, I have been a bit obsessed with reading my copy of Anne Frank's moving memoir, The Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition), as well as going on-line to learn more about the life and times of not only Anne, but her family and the people who helped them out while they were in hiding. I cannot tell you how much seeing the actual "Secret Annex" she describes in her diary, walking through its small rooms and trying to imagine eight people living there together (in mortal fear of being discovered) for more than two years, affected me. I have been profoundly moved by the experience and will always be glad that, although we only had one day to do any sightseeing when I accompanied my husband on that trip, we were able to fit in a tour of the Anne Frank House. In my copy of the book, above, the top left-hand picture shows what the building looked like back in the 40's. As you can see from the picture I took from the boat on our canal tour, it has changed very little since then (it's the one with the black doors). In her July 11, 1942 entry, here is how Anne describes the Franks' new hiding place: "I don't think I'll ever feel at home in this house, but that doesn't mean I hate it. It's more like being on vacation in some strange pension. Kind of an odd way to look at life in hiding, but that's how things are. The Annex is an ideal place to hide in. It may be damp and lopsided, but there's probably not a more comfortable hiding place in all of Amsterdam. No, in all of Holland...Up to now our bedroom, with its blank walls, was very bare. Thanks to Father--who brought my entire postcard and movie star collection here beforehand--and to a brush and a pot of glue, I was able to plaster the walls with pictures. It looks much more cheerful."

One of the most moving sights in the Anne Frank House, to me, is seeing all those pictures she pasted up on the walls of her bedroom (which she shared first with her sister Margot and then with a middle-aged dentist she calls "Mr. Dussel," a man who joins the original seven residents of the Annex). Among the many things Anne chose to adorn her room were photos of movie stars cut out of her beloved "Cinema & Theater" magazine (Ray Milland, Ginger Rogers, and Marlena Deitrich, to name a few), a self-portrait sketch by Leonardo da Vinci, advertisement posters from her father's business, and a postcard picture of chimpanzees sitting around a table, with the caption "Chimpanzee Tea Party" printed across the bottom. That last item really got to me, because it was a reminder that, although the circumstances of her short life were tragic, Anne Frank was not only a senstive deep-thinker; she was also a normal, fun young girl with a sense of humor, a young girl who liked to laugh--and one who had dreams and aspirations and lived in hope for the future.

In so many of her diary entries, Anne expressed optimism as well as a keen awareness of the gravity of their situation. On January 13, 1943, she writes, "As for us, we're quite fortunate. Luckier than millions of people. It's quiet and safe here...I could spend hours telling you about the suffering the war has brought, but I'd only make myself more miserable. All we can do is wait, as calmly as possible, for it to end. Jews and Christians alike are waiting, the whole world is waiting, and many are waiting to die."

Anne Frank's diary is heartbreaking when it reveals just how terrible life was for the Jews during that time period. In July of 1943, Anne had become nearsighted and her Mother wanted her to see an ophthalmologist, accompanied by Mrs. Kleiman, the wife of one of their helpers. Anne describes how she feels about leaving the safety of the Annex: "Just hearing that made my knees weak, since it's no small matter. Going outside! Just think of it, walking down the street! I can't imagine it. I was petrified at first..." Imagine being terrified of simply walking down the street!

As time went on, it got harder and harder to be cooped up. On October 29, 1943, Anne writes: "I wander from room to room, climb up and down the stairs and feel like a songbird whose wings have been ripped off and who keeps hurling itself against the bars of its dark cage. 'Let me out, where there's fresh air and laughter!' a voice within me cries."

On November 8, 1943, she gives a vivid description of how it feels to live in constant fear that the Nazis will discover the Annex: "I see the eight of us in the Annex as if we were a patch of blue sky surrounded by menacing black clouds. The perfectly round spot on which we're standing is still safe, but the clouds are moving in on us, and the ring between us and the approaching danger is being pulled tighter and tighter. We're surrounded by darkness and danger, and in our desperate search for a way out we keep bumping into each other. We look at the fighting down below and the peace and beauty above. In the meantime, we've been cut off by the dark mass of clouds, so that we can go neither up nor down. It looms before us like an impenetrable wall, trying to crush us, but not yet able to. I can only cry out and implore, 'Oh ring, ring, open wide and let us out!'"

Anne's emotions were like a roller coaster. On December 24, 1943 she writes: "I'm 'on top of the world' when I think of how fortunate we are and compare myself to other Jewish children, and 'in the depths of despair' when, for example, Mrs. Kleiman comes by and talks about [her daughter's] hockey club, canoe trips, school plays, and afternoon teas with friends." It's heart-rending to realize that because she was a Jew, Anne had to feel fortunate just to be alive; yet all the same, she couldn't help but long for a normal life, for the chance to participate in all the everyday activities enjoyed by young girls her age.

Anne's faith grew in the Annex. On January 30, 1944, she writes: "I stood at the top of the stairs while German planes flew back and forth, and I knew I was on my own, that I couldn't count on others for support. My fear vanished. I looked up at the sky and trusted in God." She tried to stay hopeful, as her February 3, 1944 entry shows: "The world will keep on turning wihout me, and I can't do anything to change events anyway. I'll just let matters take their course and concentrate on studying and hope that everything will be all right in the end." And she tried to stay happy, too. On February 23, 1944 she says: "Riches, prestige, everything can be lost. But the happiness in your own heart can only be dimmed; it will always be there, as long as you live, to make you happy again."

Anne grew up a lot--faster than she should have had to--during the years she spent hiding out in the Annex. On March 7, 1944, she writes: "When I think back to my life in 1942, it all seems so unreal. The Anne Frank who enjoyed that heavenly existence was completely different from the one who has grown wise within these walls. Yes, it was heavenly. Five admirers on every street corner, twenty or so friends, the favorite of most of my teachers, spoiled rotten by Father and Mother, bags full of candy and a big allowance. What more could anyone ask for?...I look back at that Anne Frank as a pleasant, amusing, but superficial girl, who has nothing to do with me...my happy-go-lucky, carefree schooldays are gone forever. I don't even miss them...I lie in bed at night, after ending my prayers with the words, 'Thank you, God, for all that is good and dear and beautiful.'"

One normal teenage rite of passage that Anne got to experience was having a first boyfriend...and a first kiss. She and Peter van Daan (his real name was van Pels)--who was about two-and-a-half years older than she was--became very close. On March 22, 1944, Anne writes: "...things are getting more and more wonderful here. I think...that true love may be developing in the Annex." And later that same month, she writes, "My life here has gotten better, much better. God has not forsaken me, and He never will."

Throughout her diary, Anne talks about her dream of becoming a journalist and a writer one day. On April 4, 1944, she says: "For a long time, I didn't know why I was bothering to do any schoolwork. The end of the war still seemed so far away, so unreal, like a fairy tale...I finally realized that I must do my schoolwork to keep from being ignorant, to get on in life, to become a journalist, because that's what I want! I know I can write. A few of my stories are good, my descriptions of the Secret Annex are humorous, much of my diary is vivid and alive, but...it remains to be seen whether I really have talent...I want to go on living even after my death! And that's why I'm so grateful to God for giving me this gift, which I can use to develop myself and to express all that's inside me!...When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived! But, and that's a big question, will I ever be able to write something great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer?...So onward and upward, with renewed spirits. It'll all work out, because I'm determined to write!"

On April 11, 1944, Anne writes: "If God lets me live...I'll make my voice heard, I'll go out into the world and work for mankind!" Just a few months after Anne wrote these words, on August 4, 1944, the SS (having received a tip from an anonymous informer) arrested the eight people in the Annex. They were all transported to concentration camps.

Anne ended up at Auschwitz and then Bergen-Belsen, where she died of typhus in February or March of 1945, about a month before the camp was liberated by British troops. The only person in Anne's family--in fact, the only person out of the eight who'd hid together in the Annex--to survive the war was Anne's father, Otto Frank. Anne's diary had been saved by Miep Geis, one of the selfless people who'd helped to keep the Franks, the van Daans, and Mr. Dussel alive while they were in hiding; she gave it to Otto when he returned to Amsterdam. Otto had the diary published in 1947, and since then, it has been read by millions of people all over the world.

Of the six million Jews who died in the Holocaust, more than a million of them were children. Although she was just one of many, Anne Frank helps to put a human face on the others who suffered the same fate. As it says on the back cover of the book, Anne's diary "continues to capture the remarkable spirit of Anne Frank, who for a time survived the worst horror the modern world has seen--and who remained triumphantly and heart-breakingly human throughout the ordeal."

If you haven't read this extraordinary book yet, I highly recommend it. I read somewhere that, aside from the Bible, it is the most frequently read non-fiction book of all time. Anne Frank dreamed of becoming a writer, and she also aspired to someday "work for mankind." Through her beautifully written and thought-provoking diary, in my opinion, she achieved both.

A City Filled with Bikes and Boats

Amsterdam is a very interesting city, full of cobblestone streets and lovely old buildings with--what appears to be the norm in Europe, from my limited experience--absolutely stunning architectural details. It was not like anything I'd seen before. The houses along the canals are tall and narrow, attached to one another the way the brownstones are in NYC and Boston. What's unique about them, though, is that their facades actually lean forward a bit, and they have big hooks located at the top near their gabled roofs. These hooks, with the help of ropes and pulleys, are for hoisting furniture and other heavy items into the homes. Because the buildings are so tall and narrow, so are their staircases, and without the hoisting hooks it would be impossible to move things in or out. Bikes are obviously a major mode of transportation in Amsterdam. Everywhere we went, we saw bikes, bikes, and more bikes. At the beginning of the canal tour we took on Saturday, while we were still out in the large harbor, the tour guide pointed out a mulit-level parking gargage near the water's edge. It had space to hold about 2,000 vehicles; but it wasn't for cars--it was for bicycles! And it was pretty full, too.

Not surprisingly, as the city is built on water (its landscape is composed of dams, dikes, bridges, and canals), there are also lots and lots of boats, including houseboats that are moored along the canals like cars parked up to the curb.I never gave much thought to Amsterdam before our recent trip; and although my husband had been there numerous times for work, I never cared one way or the other about seeing it (just like I never cared about seeing Nice, silly me!). Although I would have lived a perfectly full and happy life had I never visited this beautiful and historical Dutch city, I'm so glad that I had the opportunity to do so. I truly did enjoy my short stay in Amsterdam, a city filled with bikes and boats.

Happy Birthday to Son #4

The dapper little three-year-old on the left is my #4 son, who turns 24 today. Although he's changed a bit since this photo was taken--he's 6'2"now, his face is a lot more angular, and he's recently been sporting a moustache and goatee--he's still got a lot of the impish boyish charm that's on display here. And he's still got those dimples!

This son of mine is an extremely intelligent and talented individual. His drawings, which I've posted on this blog several times (most recently in a post from Jan. 14 titled "Lazy Saturday Mornings and Active Imaginations"), are truly amazing. I believe he could have a career at Disney or Pixar, if only he had a way to get his foot in the door. His dream job would be to design creatures and characters for video games (one of his lifelong passions); in the meantime, he's in the Army Reserves and he's putting his military intelligence training to good use working as a civilian contractor.

What makes this boy special, though--even more than his talents and abilities--is his character. He has a strong moral compass, he's kind and compassionate, and he's a very sweet son. I tell you, no mother could ask for a better son! He's very funny, too, with an offbeat, dry way of putting things--and he can mimic foreign accents and do a host of spot-on impersonations. (If you get a chance, make him do Christopher Walken for you. That one's a killer.)

When my fourth son was born (weighing in at 10 lbs. 12 and 1/2 oz.!!!), he came into the world screaming at the top of his lungs, instead of making little kitten noises like the three who'd come along before him. But as soon as the nurse placed him on me and I spoke to him, he got completely still as he listened to the sound of my voice. Then when they lifted him off my chest to take him down to the nursery, he began to scream again and I could hear him all the way down the hallway. "He knows who I am!" I said to my husband with tears in my eyes. That little guy completely melted me from the first moment we met, and he's just continued to do so in the 24 years since.

I love you, sweetie. Happy Birthday!