". . . But the past does not exist independently from the present. Indeed, the past is only past because there is a present, just as I can point to something over there only because I am here. But nothing is inherently over there or here. In that sense, the past has no content. The past -- or more accurately, pastness -- is a position. Thus, in no way can we identify the past as past." p. 15

". . . But we may want to keep in mind that deeds and words are not as distinguishable as often we presume. History does not belong only to its narrators, professional or amateur. While some of us debate what history is or was, others take it into their own hands." p. 153

Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (1995) by Michel-Rolph Trouillot

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Colder Than a *Winter's Bone*!

There is a 'Ladies Club' here. It meets monthly, eats, watches a film and discusses.
I am attending my first meeting of the Club next week. Via e-mail I got into a movie discussion with my sponsor-amiga over the superior virtues as I see them of Winter's Bone and the many failures as I see them of the Dude Bros' True Grit. She repeats the universal praise that the Dude Bros' True Grit may be the greatest movie ever made, at least since The Great StumbleMumbleBum of Seattle; she has not seen Winter's Bone. Next thing I know she's sent all I'd written about Winter's Bone* to the club president, who then arbitrarily changed this meeting's screening to Winter's Bone. She also sends what I wrote to the journal to have it published there. I am so excited about getting watch and talk about this woman-centered and woman-made film with other women!

Gadessaries! it's cold.

*  Thoughts on Winter's Bone here, and True Grit here.


Foxessa said...

It was the ACME supermarket's 140 anniversary today; with tidbit to eat as well as cake. They encouraged us to fill out forms to win a free gift card.

We were in the drawing and have a free gift card to spend at the ACME supermarket.

This does not happen in NYC.

Love, C.

Foxessa said...

Today, sitting in the car waiting while it warmed enough to drive to get groceries, I saw something that put all of this region into historical persepctive, from then until this very moment.

This was an older woman. She was dressed for winter in a pale lime green swing coat that reached her knees. She had on black tights and very expensive black pumps – not stilettos, but the most up-to-the-moment heeled shoes of a successful professional woman. Her hair was short, almost a pixie cut. She was slender, and clearly in good condition judging from how she danced over and around the ice patches. She would have been perfectly in place on Madison Ave. in NYC today. THIS IS THE CHESAPEAKE. It has always looked out, while holding on to its locality. Philadelphia, NY, New Orleans, Havana, Kingston, London, Rio de Janeiro, Africa, Europe – this is from where and to where everything came from and to where it went, whether grain, tobacco, slaves, or brains, not to mention the ships. This is a cosmopolitan world, no matter how small it seems. You see all this history in the woman leaping ice patches in today’s below freezing temperature in her green coat and high heeled pumps. There is no other word that can rightfully describe this woman than ‘chic.’

I didn't know her, but I love her. What a brilliant snapshot she was, still in my mind's lens -- silhouetted against the blue sky, yet colored by the pale lemon sunshine, with a background of a red Georgian 18th century house as she crossed in my High Street corner.

T. said...

Thanks for reminding me of Winter's came and went so quickly at the theaters, I'm going to Netflix it. (When did Netflix become a verb, anyway? Doesn't a word have to be in the lexicon for more than five years before it's allowed to be elevated to verb status? Just wondering.)

Love love love your description of the woman -- a glimpse into a particular regional history all "pumped" up in green-coated chic!

Foxessa said...

She's going into The American Slave Coast!

A friend here is now crazy to discover who she is. "I bet she's not a Democrat," my friend frets.

Love, C.