Today Leonnie and I went to this movie ( her choice) and I was glad to go with her as the reviews looked interesting and it looked as though it might mke one think. It was based on a short story by F Scott Fitzgerald and I assure you it is worth seeing, BUT take a box of tissues with you. I found my eyes dripping tear after tear surprisingly.
There was a scene where a young red haired girl (around 8 years old) while visiting and sleeping over with her grandma she comes and collects Benjamin in the night and they go downstairs to the parlour where they crouch down and crawl into a cubby house made from draping bedlinen and tableclothes over the table.
I flashed to my nans place when I was a similar wee poppet.
Mum and Dad were working and I was on school holiday and it was always Nana who looked after us. There was nothing I enjoyed more than stretching blankets and sheets tightly between chair tops and backs and across table tops and down the other side, held firmly with piles of books strategically placed. This would leavehuge overhangs.
Inward I would clamber usually with a favourite doll and my current book and always my pencils and sketchpad and notebook to draw pictures and write stories.
Suddenly this scene in this movie took me back and briefly I was that same child dreaming dreams. I could see again the grain on the arms of the heavy lounge furniture and smell the heavy oldness of the cushioning.
That movie brought me more than one gift.