My mother was a woman of few words. What few words she spoke by her own choice were typically about her beloved movies and movie theaters. Proof unavailable, but I believe she loved the dark, mandated silence of theaters at least as much as the alternate dimensions on the silver screen. She was the oldest of 14 children and gave birth to 11 children, herself. Silence was more than golden in her life. I was a hyper-active child. Sitting still and silent for the length of a movie was quite beyond me. She liked to catch the previews, newsreels, etc., so the length of a movie was greater than the time listed on my current DVR venue. Even as a senior citizen, it is hard for me to sit still for that long.

She believed movies were "The cure for the common me." She refused to meet any of my classmates, teachers, etc. Instead, she encouraged me to present me as Lauren Bacall or whomever. She even offered me obscure celebrity photos to carry for the family show-and-tell portions of the school social events. Over the decades of listening to this logic, my current philosopy germinated that an ugly truth is easier to work with than a pretty lie.

Dunno what I am reaching for here. . . No advice, please. Thoughts welcome.

I am leaving the mood icon on the rapid cycling median. My emotional reactions are all over the spectrum. Feeling Fragile.