- 前ページ
- 次ページ
前作までの人間関係やストーリーとの辻褄の合わせかたや
オリジナルCartoon登場キャラクターとの整合性に無理がないところなんかは
きっと台本書きなどのスタッフが 自分なりのストーリー持ち寄って
楽しい議論を繰り返しながら進めたような気がして
羨ましい仕事だな と感じさせられる。
時代は勿論 ドイツとUKの色彩も ほっとする。
アラを探して喜びたい人は 次の授業のベルが鳴るまで どうぞご自由に。
外の日常に入りこむのに
体にまとわりついているものを
洗い場で流し落とす。
外からみれば
惰性の中でじっとりと脂を滲ませて
安易な事をしているのに
気付きもせずにいる自分が
呆れるほど
知恵のない人間に見える。
目を覚まし続けるのは
難しいから
立ち位置を
常に変えるよう
体に覚えさせる。
肥沃な亜熱帯の緑が似合う。
勿論 中国特区の顔は 町中にさらされているが
イスラエル、イタリア、スペイン、ブラジル、アメリカ西海岸、
これら 緑の出迎える広大な田舎や
昔見た日本の景色にも似た 懐かしい自由度に
いつも安堵する。
事務に行き
世間並みには たいした運動量じゃないけれど
自分なりに そこそこの負荷を掛けた後
言うことを聴かなくなりつつある体を
どうにか説き伏せた気持ちの安堵が
車内扉の
姿見のような窓ガラスに映る
無糖の紅茶を
一層旨く感じながら飲む自分の姿を
少しだけ誇らしく
感じさせる。
また 桜は散り
また 新緑が訪れる。
*** 我々に与えられた すべての困難に対して ***
THE BARN was fresh wood, newly built. The garden abundant, composed by an artist's hand. I was on my way through Chocorua, N.H., when it caught my eye, a gem of an out-of-the-way farm. On a trestle table just inside the doors, baskets of zucchinis and summer squash jostled with small bowls of currants and nuts, the season's last raspberries, rhubarb and honey. A tin can invited donations.
Just then, the owner emerged from the house. As I admired his produce, we got to talking. He owns 10 acres, grows corn out back, and leases his maple trees to a young guy who makes the syrup, now that he has converted his sugar house into a cider mill.
At the mention of cider, however, his expression changes.
"No apples this year," he tells me. "The May frost killed everything from here to Portsmouth." He shook his head. "They just dropped to the ground."
You read about crop failures all the time. But this afternoon, on this idyllic knoll in the north country, it was hard to imagine young apples tumbling by the thousands from the sky. Harder still to envision the orchards as tracts of barrenness, where from childhood we've come to assume abundance.
"I'll have to buy apples," he told me. "But it won't be the same."
No, I agreed as I purchased a bunch of rhubarb. No, indeed.
Apple picking was the harvest ritual in my childhood home. It always fell on a Sunday. We'd pile into the family wagon and roll the windows down so that we could smell the hay fields as we approached the orchards, see the pungent turned earth. We'd clamber out noisily, taking long strides through the sloping, apple-covered hills, plucking the fruit as if there was no end to it. While we filled our sacks we ate, apple after apple, tossing away the cores until we sagged against a tree and just stared at the picnics we'd brought, too full to even open them. As the sun coursed west and its warmth faded, we had to be torn away, back to the highway and the school week that waited back in the city.
These days, I keep a picture on my dresser that immortalizes this same rite as it passed to my own family. My son is a toddler, his fists no larger than a Pippin. It is October in Harvard, and he leans over a crate of McIntoshes that the migrants filled the day before, but hadn't yet collected. It is irresistible even on Kodak: the profusion of sweet, tart fruit - honey to the tongue, balls for the tossing, nourishment for senses and soul. My son leans in - it could be any boy, it could be Adam - wanting to gather it all into his arms to take home with him, or stay the night long, watching the stars cast their magic until morning. It is a stance of delight and wonder.
We take for granted the abundance of life that visits its seasons upon us, until it is no longer there. One day we turn around and the child is grown, the hard-tended trees are bare. The spouse is gone, the job terminated, the dream destroyed. We stand face to face with absence. And while life in its new turn may offer different wonders, there is always the moment on a hillside or by the car saying goodbye, when the future is all darkness and hard work, the new fruits obscure.
These days I buy a bag or two of Cortlands, bake an apple crisp, put a quart of applesauce in the freezer for a midwinter's night, as my mother once did for us. What makes this possible is that I know somewhere deep in my bones that the orchards still stand, still toss their autumn rubies to the skies, still release a fragrance unlike any other, caught, if I remember to make it, in a pot full of mulled cider.
It is hard to imagine this beautiful farm with no apples to show for it this season. But as I drive away I am grateful for what it has given me: the reminder that we are fools when we take even the humblest apple for granted. And the wisdom of the farmer, who continues to work his fields, asking little for his labors, in the faith that another season will certainly come, and will bring its own abundance.
by Kathleen Hirsch
The Boston Globe (Boston, MA)
November 16, 2010
したはずが
ぬか喜びに。
ワイルド７実写版 映画制作決定！！！
なのに
それなのに
主人公 飛葉大陸役にキャストされたのは
木村カエラの旦那。
頼むから 制作しないで。
他のメンバーに誰が割り振られるのか 想像もしたくない。
追補)
同じ理由で 実写版あしたのジョーの
香川照之氏と香里奈氏を
私は許せない(特に後者)。。。
http://www.asahi.com/eco/TKY201102090281.html
送り出す悲しみを どう解決しているのだろう
対価を得る 生産者の心境は
複雑なのか 割り切っているのか
わからないけど 心地よい
罪作りな消費者
でも
ほかの生命を犠牲にしなければ
生きていけないのが この世のさだめ
だから ありがとう。
浮かないときに
自分をしっかりさせる手段は
意外に簡単
しっかりと立ち
開いた手を 握る
腹を引いて 握り締めると
ナマコのように麻痺した体の
あちこちから
存在を伝える緊張が走る。
ただそれだけの試みで
居ないと思っていたものが
顔を出す。
日々を生きる実感のなさを嘆くなら
一見 つまらない部分が
全体を目覚めさせる
役目を担う と
騙された気持ちで
何かを試せば
どこかから
まだ居るんだ
という伝令が
聞こえるだろう。
捨ててしまう前に
まずは
何かつまらない事を
試そう。
くたびれて
勝負を投げたくなったら
それすらも自覚できないくらい
眠くなっていたら
拳を握ろう。
つまらない部分が
つまらなくない全体を
意識させてくれる
そう信じてくれなくても いいから。