Shopping Spree

For a few weeks, I’ve purchased a handful of films. Most of them have been old films. Hitchcock, especially. There are a few directors that I must own all of their work. Kubrick, Spielberg, Huston to name a few. I’m almost done collecting Spielberg’s films. I think 1941 and Bridge of Spies are the last ones I need. I’m on the fence with 1941 because I didn’t enjoy it when I first saw it. But I must have them all, right?

A few years ago I bought all of the Bond films, including those that I probably will see once in a few years. It’s my thing to own a whole collection if I can afford it. I own the Star Wars prequels and I can’t think of the last time I pulled them out and gave them a look. But Hitchcock and Spielberg? They’re something else.

It dawned on me the other day that Halloween is just around the corner. I have a decent horror film collection but what bugs me is that I only have the first Halloween. It’s my favorite. The others feel disconnected from the first one. Should I buy the rest of them? Ugh. I don’t know. It bugs me to have only one when there are a gazillion of them. I have all the Friday the 13th’s though. Go figure. I think I bought them during a sale.

These films get pulled out every Halloween. Not that I wouldn’t see them during the rest of the year but there’s something about watching horror films during the month of October. Am I right?

Mother’s Day

My mother was an “old lady” by the age of thirty-five. At least in my eyes. I don’t remember her being “as young” as I was when I was thirty-five.

Her job at the local bodega took much of her life. She raised me as a single parent for her entire life. I suppose that took a lot of it too.

When she died at the age of forty-nine, I thought she had lived. At the age of twenty-four anyone over the age of thirty-five had lived and anyone over the age of fifty was simply ancient.

Things have changed. I’m forty-five and I’m much healthier than my mother was at that age. I don’t know how I’ve managed that. I chalk it up to sheer luck versus a conscious effort to live to a ripe old age.

Of course the night is young.