|Faye Dunaway in Chinatown|
Three weeks ago I was nipped on the heels by my third cold of the Winter. Working as I have for so many eons around young uns I'm used to having my share of colds and then some. Given that I've been blessed with remarkably good health otherwise I tend not to squawk too much. Because my big brother was going through a serious health crisis that included open heart surgery, I didn't curse the fates over a case of the sniffles.
Indeed five days after it began the cold was good and gone and I was able to devote attention to visiting my lone sibling's bedside as a remarkable recovery continued apace. But what was this? Two days after it had gone my cold returned in double force, a cruel slap in my handsome face (okay, maybe not handsome, but certainly not ugly).
A few times in the days to come I seemed to rally only to then get worse. What sort of horrific cold was this that toyed with me so sadistically? My darling wife (as close to an angel as one will find among the living) kept urging me to see the doctor. A few nights ago when my illness even denied me sleep, I decided to heed her advice.
It was the proverbial middle of the night when I vowed to, at dawn's early light (or 8:30 when the offices opened) call the doc. Meanwhile I was wide awake and hacking as if a one man TB ward. I repaired to the sofa and my bestest friend, Turner Classic Movies. On the screen was some light fare (it damn near floated out of the screen) called Good News (1947). Even in my unhappy state I could tell that this was a musical set on a college campus. The starts were June Allyson and Peter Lawford. The later was the star running back of the school's football team. No, seriously. I love college football and of course love movies. But I love pizza and ice cream and you don't see me mixing the two. Anyway Lawford is better seen vamping with the Rat Pack or the Kennedys. As a football player he's damn silly.
Cometh the dawn and a few hours later I'm at the doctor's office. A quick but thorough examination reveals that I'm suffering from bronchitis (it is, as the say, going around) in my case a particularly virulent strain, and it is soon cured by antibiotics (I'll lend space to the probiotics forces anon). Oh happy day! A name for my malady and better yet a cure.
These past few days I've been gradually getting better and hope to be as fit as a fiddle (really, fiddles maintain excellent health and practice good conditioning habits?) by Sunday which is my birthday. I have been bereft of energy except for short spurts. I am experiencing such a spurt now. Gradually the spurts will lengthen and I'll be catching up on all manner of obligations at which I'm currently in arrears. One of them is of course this blog.
Most importantly I'll be able to visit my recuperating big bro. He faced a risky but altogether necessary surgery and came through better than anyone could have dared dream. Seven years my senior, he's one of the nicest men on the planet and has only recently become a grandpa courtesy of the oldest of the four of his wonderful children.
Peter Lawford notwithstanding I have been sustained through my illness by -- you guessed it -- viewing motion pictures. We suffered the death of one DVD player and acquired a new and better one that plays both region one and two DVDs. It's good for European discs! So between the DVD player and the aforementioned TCM and the ministrations of my better half I had much comfort indeed.
But what movies did I turn to, you ask, and what of them?
In no order whatsoever they included: The Maltese Falcon (1941), Army of Shadows (1969), The Sea Wolf (1941), Smart Money (1931), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), Inglourious Basterds (2009), Manhattan (1979), The Third Man (1949), Foul Play (1978), Chinatown (1974), George Washington Slept Here (1942), as well as parts of many other films too numerous here to mention.
Tomorrow I'll write a paragraph or two or twelve about each of these films as regular blogging resumes at last.