A warped society believes Woody's selfishness is OK

/

So now all of a sudden it's Mia who's the bad guy, Mia who has all the problems, Mia who's to blame for the Woody/Mia/Soon-Yi triangle.

This seems to be the latest theory. Why would anynormal woman adopt so many children? Why would any normal woman adopt children with handicaps? Mia Farrow cannot possibly be drawn to these chilren. She cannot possibly enjoy her huge brood. It has to be an act.

Therefore she cannot be what she appears to be.

Read More

Denial only makes it worse

/

They don't want to believe it. Or if they believe it, they want to forget.

"Why do you have to keep bringing this up? Why do you continually talk about it? It does no good. It's over. It's in the past. Why can't you just get on with your life?"

They don't understand why at birthdays and holidays and christenings and baptisms, she continues to arrive late - after he's gone. They don't understand why she refuses his gifts, why she's still in therapy, why she has night sweats. They don't understand why sometimes in the middle of the day, when it all comes back to her, she sits and sobs.

Read More

Values: Why think about 'em

/

There's a story my husband likes to tell every now and then when I'm doing something the wrong way, which means I'm doing it my way, and not his.

The story's about a young couple, newly married, who are having their families - parents and grandparents - over for Easter dinner. The bride wants the meal to be perfect so she goes out and buys the best ham and fresh vegetables and makes an elaborate dessert. Before she puts the ham in the oven, she gets a knife and cuts a slice off each end. Her husband looks at the pieces lying on the counter and says, "Why'd you do that?" And she says, "I don't know. Because my mother always does."

Read More

Looks can deceive when you search for family values

/

He is wise, respected, serious and well-known. People around the world depend upon him to tell them what they think. Few would dispute his intelligence.

I see him when he is on vacation. He is on a cruise ship for seven days with two children. They are his children, I learn. Perhaps he has shared custody. Perhaps he has them every other weekend and for vacations each year. I don't know.

Read More

Fathers and daughters: Woody Allen's abuse

/

There is no room for sarcasm or double entendres or psychoanalytical babble with this one. Woody Allen is slime. End of story.

If Allen, who is proof positive that long-term analysis is lethal to mental health, had fallen in love with some youngster he met on a playground, it would be one thing. An aberration, perhaps. Distasteful. Definitely irresponsible. But young girls are exploited by old men every day. The world would have yawned at the news.

Read More

A familiar place, unfamiliarly

/

In the winter I can see the field clearly. The old stone wall which separates the football-size rectangle from the narrow road is only knee-high and the bushes and trees and grasses, thick and lush in summer, are scraggy and thin in the cold.

Nothing blocks the view then. The world is barren. The field is barren. A fret of black branches against a gray sky, or the sun rouging the horizon, or a flurry of snow are the only things that catch the eye.

Read More

Media `pigs' wallow in mud, meanness

/

The reason that pigs wallow in mud is because their skin is fair and thin and the hair covering their bodies is sparse and offers little protection from the sun. During the day, pigs burrow in the ground to keep cool. At night they find a stream or a puddle and clean themselves. There is a purpose for what they do.

What, I wonder, is our purpose?

Read More

Vacation memories become real again

/

I thought I remembered it exactly: my father taking the ceramic dog-bank down from the chest where it sat every day of the year; my mother shaking quarters and dimes and nickels onto the chenille bedspread in their room; the three of us dividing and piling and counting.

Get a knife, they would tell me when the dog had expelled its final coin. I would run into the kitchen and return with a dull blade and poke it through the slit on the top of the dog's head and dig out dollars that were stuck inside, that could be felt more than heard. When the bank was empty, we held our breath and let our eyes savor the piles that stood like silver volcanos on the spread.

Read More