During my youth (Nick dislikes when I say, "When I was little..."), we saw one, two at most, shows at the theatre a year. It was during the holiday season when we'd take the more illogical, back ways into Madison, and an even more nonsensical weaving path home—just to sing Christmas carols all the way and gaze at the light strewn homes and the warm glowing of lights pouring from the windows.

The year that Little Women came to the theatre, I didn't have to ask if we could see it, my mother being a fan herself. I have the book, her book from childhood, well read and frayed at the binding. I cherish the wear. Mom loved this story so much that she gave me the name of her most favorite character (and, coincidentally, mine as well), Beth. My middle name. My first name was donned in honor of her MOST favorite piece of literature, Little House on the Prairie.



I apologize, I've gotten off track. You must understand that I'm rather fond and not a little grateful of my borrowed names...for I am a devotee of the written word (and can easily blame my ardor for the eye-rolling my vocabulary tends to summon), but also because Mom saved me from Dad's naming abilities: he wanted to name me Kitty. Kitty Kittleson. You'd sing the praises of your name to be so saved, too.

There's nothing outwardly special about Beth. Meg is the propriety, Amy is the animation, and Jo...ah, Jo. Jo is the imagination...or, perhaps, the indignation. Beth was happy to simply exist. She didn't feel the need to make waves or to call attention to herself—in fact, she desired just the opposite...she wanted only to love her family and be loved in return. To me, her character speaks loudest of all. There is something to be said for the shy, for they won't say it for themselves.

My father and brother were less than enthused to see Little Women that year, so we each made a concession. They "suffered" through one of the most beautiful films of all time to make it to the next day, when Mom and I were tortured at the hands of Dumb and Dumber. I am watching the movie this morning, a film that I only watch at Christmas. It isn't a Christmas movie per se, but the tugging of my heartstrings sings ever so sweetly of the season.

The story of family—both the family we're born to and the family we make—of finding the vibrant beauty in the midst of a haze, of always knowing your lofty place in the hearts of your loved ones. The coloring is lovely, shot in the ambient glow of candlelight and the tree-filtered rays of sunlight and the soundtrack peaceful, transitioning easily between crackling fireplaces and chirping birds. The movie is about life, the best parts of life, the parts that are always there if you're looking for them. As Tolkien so wisely concluded, "It is not a bad thing to celebrate a simple life."

I listened to a good friend's podcast this morning, and she spoke briefly about the beginning of her blogging career. It caused me to think of mine, how it has evolved. I was inspired to blog by Anna, actually, as her site has long amused me...and I think our blogs have succeeded in keeping us close over the years, even though I haven't seen her or spoken to her since 2002. I started blogging to keep my family involved in my life 1,200 miles away. I wrote of only silly things, things I found funny, because I wanted to give a smile.

It quickly became difficult to be "always on". Not that I'm not amused daily, and not that I don't find occasion to laugh just as often, but there's more to life than gaiety...so much more. And it is the collection of emotions as a whole that make life so vibrant and cause such smiles. There is a breadth to life, and humor just barely tickles the edge.

It was quite droll to see the March sisters in their young lives, their imaginative escape from the reality of war...but how dull to not see their travails, their strengths tested, or the way it all works out in the end...it will always work out in the end. We're way too small in this world to see the bigger picture, so stop making yourself crazy trying to do so! This has been quite a year. I was surprised the other day to see my inner Mary Sunshine taking hold, and my recollections from 2006 being mainly good. My personal growth has been just outstanding, and maybe it took losing my crutches to find my balance.

Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne Shirley (are you sick of me quoting lit yet?) said in response to a question about what she will do after she completes her four years at school, "'Oh, there's another bend in the road at the end,' answered Anne lightly. 'I've no idea what may be around it -- I don't want to have. It's nicer not to know.'"

Isn't that the truth! You cherish the good surprises so much more that way...