A postscript to report on New Years’ Eve.
We were concerned that our plans would collapse when our friend called to report that he had a cough. My husband, at first sympathetic, eventually tersely instructed JH to stop at a drug store on his journey to our house and pick up some cough medicine.
We held our breath, and JH did arrive in time to consume (with our enthusiastic assistance) much Chinese food, and to introduce his palate to a delightful tropical drink called a Caribbean Cruise (many fruit juices and two different types of rum).
We took our chances with Blonde Savage. It was well worth the watching as it satisfied all the requirements of a cheesy movie:
It was exceptionally sexist
The costumes were crafted much, much better than the actors’ performances
The goofy sidekick had all the good lines (there were perhaps 2)
The special effects were transparent
The orphan American chick raised by an isolated African tribe had pretty makeup and a lovely hairdo, and her ratty costume tighly covered a bullet-bra enhanced bosom
No surprises disrupted the formula
However, I now understand why the film received over 5 stars. It was amusing, it held the interest, one could gain a bit of sympathy for the hero and heroine, and the script was not entirely horrid.
The evening continued with homemade brownies, chips, cafe macchiatos, then beers consumed by the gents and herbal tea by yours truly. Somehow – possibly due to the coffee – we managed to remain awake for the ball drop at midnight, after which the dog and I turned in.
I awoke later than anticipated, but true to my intention the pup and I headed out over the hilly trail to greet the new year properly. One of these mornings I shall take photographs of the trail, as in the early winter morning it is misty and green, and the silence is positively meditative. Others on the trail at early hours are respectful of this beauty and silence; our greetings are hushed, but frequently suffused with a conspiratorial smile – as if making too much of this love for the day’s slow awakening might rush it, and ruin its charms.