It's common knowledge here in our house that cats hate a closed door. They hate being shut out. If you close a door for any reason—maybe you want a little privacy, or some peace and quiet—as soon as you open the door you'll find a little crowd has gathered outside. Sometimes they don't even want to wait:
Of course, being shut out is a minor problem. What they REALLY hate is being shut in:
Now that I think about it, they may just hate any change to the status quo. There is one door inside our house that always remains shut; the basement door is right in the middle of our breakfast nook, and you couldn't walk from the kitchen to the family room if you left it open. On occasions that I travel down to the basement for a couple minutes—to pick out a book or visit the freezer—I will leave the door open. And this is what happens:
(Whoops, that video didn't come out well; you can't hear Calli crying as if she were lost and starving, but that's what she does.) You'd think our feline overlords would realize we could serve them better if their wants were at least consistent. But I suppose we couldn't demonstrate our devotion if they made it any easier for us, could we?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Janespotting: Sense and Sensibility (Austen's original)
I'm giving P&P pastiches a rest for a while and moving on to Sense and Sensibility and the works it has inspired. Perhaps I should say I'm moving back, as S&S was the first novel Austen wrote (as Elinor and Marianne at the age of 19) and also the first novel Austen published, anonymously in 1811 (when she was 35, after a long process). This is one of the novels that I didn't read early on. I first experienced the story via the 1995 film adapted by and starring Emma Thompson, a film I found so delightful that it immediately sent me back to the original text. Having first encountered it in that context, I still find it hard to read and think about Austen's original without having the film in mind ... but I shall try.
A brief summary: The three Dashwood sisters and their recently widowed mother find themselves losing their home, which has been bequeathed to their elder half-brother. (It is the same situation that Mrs. Bennet fears in P&P, making her so obsessed with marrying off her daughters.) With their avaricious sister-in-law Fanny now mistress of the house, the Dashwoods look to find a new living situation, and eventually move to Devonshire—but not before the eldest sister, Elinor, falls in love with Fanny's brother, Edward Ferrars. Edward is heir to a fine estate, but Fanny has made it clear the family expects him to marry highly, so Elinor does not believe an offer of marriage will come her way any time soon. She is the sensible one in the family, often having to encourage her mother to economize, and she will not indulge her feelings when they may come to nothing.
Her younger sister Marianne, however, is an emotional girl full of romantic (small and big R) notions. She pooh-poohs the need to control her feelings, and when she meets the dashing (of course) Mr. Willoughby, she soon falls head over heels and doesn't care who knows it. Obviously she embodies the "sensibility" of the title, while Elinor represents "sense." Both girls find themselves in the same situation: in love with a man who, it turns out, is not free to marry them. Elinor responds by keeping her feelings secret, even when she becomes the unwilling confidente of Edward's scheming fiancée. Marianne, on the other hand, indulges her emotions, refuses to eat, and eventually becomes ill and nearly dies. In the end, both girls find love and marriage: Elinor through her steadfast devotion and convenient plot twists, and Marianne by acquiring sense and learning to appreciate a worthy man who was close by all along.
As I re-read the book, I tried not to envision the film—just focus on the text, I told myself. I found it difficult, and I think it's because of the the conflict inherent in characters Austen chose to represent the contrasting viewpoints of the title. Elinor's viewpoint wins out in the end, but Elinor herself is a restrained character, with little sparkle or wit, always having to be the voice of reason. Marianne, on the other hand, is beautiful, musically talented, passionately articulate, and modern in her outlook. So while Elinor's behavior is more sympathetic, she's not as appealing a character as Marianne. I know some people are unsure about how to feel about the end, when Marianne accepts a man she previously overlooked as too old and boring. Has she been tamed? Is she settling? I don't really think so, because Colonel Brandon's character is shown as sweet, faithful, and intelligent from the beginning of the book. But there still seems to be a little something lacking.
Of course, there is still plenty of wit and amusement in the minor characters. The scene where Fanny Dashwood convinces her husband that his promise to take care of his sisters shouldn't mean more than an occasional basket of fruit or piece of game is priceless. Many minor characters provide tons of fun through their inappropriate behavior (as is typical for Austen). And while I may have mixed feelings about the characters themselves, the journeys they make are interesting and emotionally satisfying. So overall, I consider this mid-range Austen: not my favorite, but not at the bottom of my list. And mid-range Austen is still better than any modern romantic fiction I might encounter.
A last note, about editions. There are tons of versions of each Austen novel out there, some cheaper, some more detailed, some fancier than others. The one I have I picked up at a very small bookstore (the only one within half an hour of where I lived at the time, long defunct) so I could use the cover for work. Now, this edition came out shortly after the 1995 film, from a publisher who normally focuses on genre fiction but had recently decided to branch out into young adult. So, take a classic romance that's public domain (no royalties to pay, yay!), slap a girly cover with frilly dresses and secretive whispers on it, and boom! Extra money! Of course, they would have done better to pay a little more for their foreword. The more expensive editions get literature professors to write their forewords. This one ... I'm not sure who it was, but I don't think they'd read the novel recently. It says, "Elinor, the eldest sister, is engaged to be married to conservative Edward Ferrars...." Well, no, she isn't, that's the whole point of the book! Then it says, "Marianne, the younger sister, is smitten with Holloway, a man of dubious lineage." Well, no, it's Willoughby—I don't think there's any character named Holloway in any Austen novel—and he isn't of dubious lineage, just behavior. I should just tear that page out of my book so the next time I read it I don't start it in a bad mood. Or else spring for a new edition with a real foreword. Because, of course, I will read it again (and again) in the future.
A brief summary: The three Dashwood sisters and their recently widowed mother find themselves losing their home, which has been bequeathed to their elder half-brother. (It is the same situation that Mrs. Bennet fears in P&P, making her so obsessed with marrying off her daughters.) With their avaricious sister-in-law Fanny now mistress of the house, the Dashwoods look to find a new living situation, and eventually move to Devonshire—but not before the eldest sister, Elinor, falls in love with Fanny's brother, Edward Ferrars. Edward is heir to a fine estate, but Fanny has made it clear the family expects him to marry highly, so Elinor does not believe an offer of marriage will come her way any time soon. She is the sensible one in the family, often having to encourage her mother to economize, and she will not indulge her feelings when they may come to nothing.
Her younger sister Marianne, however, is an emotional girl full of romantic (small and big R) notions. She pooh-poohs the need to control her feelings, and when she meets the dashing (of course) Mr. Willoughby, she soon falls head over heels and doesn't care who knows it. Obviously she embodies the "sensibility" of the title, while Elinor represents "sense." Both girls find themselves in the same situation: in love with a man who, it turns out, is not free to marry them. Elinor responds by keeping her feelings secret, even when she becomes the unwilling confidente of Edward's scheming fiancée. Marianne, on the other hand, indulges her emotions, refuses to eat, and eventually becomes ill and nearly dies. In the end, both girls find love and marriage: Elinor through her steadfast devotion and convenient plot twists, and Marianne by acquiring sense and learning to appreciate a worthy man who was close by all along.
As I re-read the book, I tried not to envision the film—just focus on the text, I told myself. I found it difficult, and I think it's because of the the conflict inherent in characters Austen chose to represent the contrasting viewpoints of the title. Elinor's viewpoint wins out in the end, but Elinor herself is a restrained character, with little sparkle or wit, always having to be the voice of reason. Marianne, on the other hand, is beautiful, musically talented, passionately articulate, and modern in her outlook. So while Elinor's behavior is more sympathetic, she's not as appealing a character as Marianne. I know some people are unsure about how to feel about the end, when Marianne accepts a man she previously overlooked as too old and boring. Has she been tamed? Is she settling? I don't really think so, because Colonel Brandon's character is shown as sweet, faithful, and intelligent from the beginning of the book. But there still seems to be a little something lacking.
Of course, there is still plenty of wit and amusement in the minor characters. The scene where Fanny Dashwood convinces her husband that his promise to take care of his sisters shouldn't mean more than an occasional basket of fruit or piece of game is priceless. Many minor characters provide tons of fun through their inappropriate behavior (as is typical for Austen). And while I may have mixed feelings about the characters themselves, the journeys they make are interesting and emotionally satisfying. So overall, I consider this mid-range Austen: not my favorite, but not at the bottom of my list. And mid-range Austen is still better than any modern romantic fiction I might encounter.
A last note, about editions. There are tons of versions of each Austen novel out there, some cheaper, some more detailed, some fancier than others. The one I have I picked up at a very small bookstore (the only one within half an hour of where I lived at the time, long defunct) so I could use the cover for work. Now, this edition came out shortly after the 1995 film, from a publisher who normally focuses on genre fiction but had recently decided to branch out into young adult. So, take a classic romance that's public domain (no royalties to pay, yay!), slap a girly cover with frilly dresses and secretive whispers on it, and boom! Extra money! Of course, they would have done better to pay a little more for their foreword. The more expensive editions get literature professors to write their forewords. This one ... I'm not sure who it was, but I don't think they'd read the novel recently. It says, "Elinor, the eldest sister, is engaged to be married to conservative Edward Ferrars...." Well, no, she isn't, that's the whole point of the book! Then it says, "Marianne, the younger sister, is smitten with Holloway, a man of dubious lineage." Well, no, it's Willoughby—I don't think there's any character named Holloway in any Austen novel—and he isn't of dubious lineage, just behavior. I should just tear that page out of my book so the next time I read it I don't start it in a bad mood. Or else spring for a new edition with a real foreword. Because, of course, I will read it again (and again) in the future.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Photo of the Week--4/20/09
I think I've already established I have a thing for waterfalls. Well, our trip to Iceland 2002 was quite a bonanza in this regard. This one is called Hraunfossar, it's one of the most unusual waterfalls I've ever seen. The water comes from cold springs that seep through the volcanic soil, before emerging midway down the hill. The minerals they pick up in the soil account for the cloudy turquoise quality of the water. It's nowhere near as powerful as some of the other waterfalls we saw, but the startling colors make for an interesting photo.
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Word Nerd Sez: L is for ...
lagniappe
I know, I haven't written a Word Nerd post in a while. "L" just isn't that interesting a letter to me. It doesn't sound very unique—it's more of a default sound: la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. "L" is a very utilitarian letter and I didn't feel like contemplating it, or even browsing through the "L" section in the dictionary. But I was feeling guilty about neglecting the blog, so I tried to think of an interesting "L" word. Then I remembered this one and I felt compelled to write about it.
Compelled, because I have a little confession to make. I can spell lagniappe with ease. I can even pronounce it without looking it up: LAN-yap. But ask me what it means? Um. Well. Is it that word I can never remember that means something about a earning a break from a job, or maybe a reward by chance, and it has a military origin and I read it in a series about a spaceship captain with an intelligent, six-legged telepathic cat?* Or was that a phrase? I can never remember.
So I decided to bring you lagniappe, because maybe this way I'll remember what it means. According to Merriam-Webster: "a small gift given a customer by a merchant at the time of a purchase; or more broadly, something given or obtained gratuitously or by way of good measure." Like an extra donut thrown into your dozen, or the little charm bracelet I got at the jeweler's when I bought TSU cufflinks for Christmas. Okay, I think I can remember that, especially when I consider this cool word origin: American French via American Spanish la ñapa, from the Quechua yapa, "something added." There aren't many English words that derive from Quechua, the language of the ancient Incas (and over 8 million present-day Andeans), only around 20 or so. Now that's memorable.
Great. Now I'll be able to define lagniappe any time I need to. Now if I can just remember that other word....
*David Weber's Honor Harrington series, great fun if you like space opera or strong heroines.
I know, I haven't written a Word Nerd post in a while. "L" just isn't that interesting a letter to me. It doesn't sound very unique—it's more of a default sound: la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. "L" is a very utilitarian letter and I didn't feel like contemplating it, or even browsing through the "L" section in the dictionary. But I was feeling guilty about neglecting the blog, so I tried to think of an interesting "L" word. Then I remembered this one and I felt compelled to write about it.
Compelled, because I have a little confession to make. I can spell lagniappe with ease. I can even pronounce it without looking it up: LAN-yap. But ask me what it means? Um. Well. Is it that word I can never remember that means something about a earning a break from a job, or maybe a reward by chance, and it has a military origin and I read it in a series about a spaceship captain with an intelligent, six-legged telepathic cat?* Or was that a phrase? I can never remember.
So I decided to bring you lagniappe, because maybe this way I'll remember what it means. According to Merriam-Webster: "a small gift given a customer by a merchant at the time of a purchase; or more broadly, something given or obtained gratuitously or by way of good measure." Like an extra donut thrown into your dozen, or the little charm bracelet I got at the jeweler's when I bought TSU cufflinks for Christmas. Okay, I think I can remember that, especially when I consider this cool word origin: American French via American Spanish la ñapa, from the Quechua yapa, "something added." There aren't many English words that derive from Quechua, the language of the ancient Incas (and over 8 million present-day Andeans), only around 20 or so. Now that's memorable.
Great. Now I'll be able to define lagniappe any time I need to. Now if I can just remember that other word....
*David Weber's Honor Harrington series, great fun if you like space opera or strong heroines.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
"I look a lot like Narcissus...."
Two girls and two guitars (or sometimes a mandolin and a banjo): it's a simple recipe, but it makes some awesome music. Last night TSU and I went to see the Indigo Girls in concert; they're one of our favorites, and we've been buying their CDs for the past 20 years. With that kind of experience, you can imagine that they put on a pretty good live show. Their music focuses on acoustic guitar and beautiful harmonies, and with just one additional musician (a keyboard/accordion player) they played some wonderful live versions of many of our favorites.
One thing I enjoy about the Indigo Girls is their very literate lyrics. They tell stories; they use all sorts of interesting imagery; they refer to writers like Virginia Woolf and historical figures like Galileo and the mythical character cited in this entry's title. So, a long-term acoustic duo with artsy lyrics: you might assume that the average age of the crowd skewed older, and you'd be right. You might also assume that the crowd would be well-behaved and polite.
There you'd be wrong.
Lately I've been hearing a lot about how this new millenial generation is self-absorbed and proud of it, raised to believe they are the center of the universe and thus don't need to consider the feelings of others. Well, the people sitting in front of us last night seemed bent on proving that 40 is the new 20, if their behavior were any indication. Let's just take inventory of the ways they demonstrated their rudeness—and note, all these happened during songs, not guitar changes or other breaks:
It got so bad that the woman sitting next to me, who seemed a rather quiet, shy type, finally exploded with a loud "SSHHHHH!" during one bout of chatter. I have to admit she beat me to it because I was still trying to figure out the snappiest way to suggest that some of us paid money to listen to the singing, not chat with our buddies. Though the tickets weren't exorbitant, by the time you add in all the facility fees and service charges it's a hefty chunk of change. Why would you buy a ticket if you're not going to enjoy the show? If you want to chat with your friends, go to a bar, spend the money on several drinks, and then people expect you to behave like morons.
Sigh. Other than that, it was a great concert. And I can take comfort in the fact that if there's a special circle in hell for rude concert/theatergoers, those jerks are all headed straight there.
One thing I enjoy about the Indigo Girls is their very literate lyrics. They tell stories; they use all sorts of interesting imagery; they refer to writers like Virginia Woolf and historical figures like Galileo and the mythical character cited in this entry's title. So, a long-term acoustic duo with artsy lyrics: you might assume that the average age of the crowd skewed older, and you'd be right. You might also assume that the crowd would be well-behaved and polite.
There you'd be wrong.
Lately I've been hearing a lot about how this new millenial generation is self-absorbed and proud of it, raised to believe they are the center of the universe and thus don't need to consider the feelings of others. Well, the people sitting in front of us last night seemed bent on proving that 40 is the new 20, if their behavior were any indication. Let's just take inventory of the ways they demonstrated their rudeness—and note, all these happened during songs, not guitar changes or other breaks:
- talked LOUDLY through a soft song
- texted and surfed using their glowing phones (one time three of them in a row, like tic-tac-toe in front of me)
- passed a phone among six of them, so they could all read and giggle at a text message (twice)
- tried to put lipstick on their neighbor/tried to fight off lipstick from their neighbor (with much pushing and arm waving)/accepted lipstick from their neighbor with a big hug
- tried to give their neighbor a lollipop/tried to fight off lollipop from their neighbor (again with the pushing and arm waving)
- talked even more LOUDLY through not-so-soft songs
It got so bad that the woman sitting next to me, who seemed a rather quiet, shy type, finally exploded with a loud "SSHHHHH!" during one bout of chatter. I have to admit she beat me to it because I was still trying to figure out the snappiest way to suggest that some of us paid money to listen to the singing, not chat with our buddies. Though the tickets weren't exorbitant, by the time you add in all the facility fees and service charges it's a hefty chunk of change. Why would you buy a ticket if you're not going to enjoy the show? If you want to chat with your friends, go to a bar, spend the money on several drinks, and then people expect you to behave like morons.
Sigh. Other than that, it was a great concert. And I can take comfort in the fact that if there's a special circle in hell for rude concert/theatergoers, those jerks are all headed straight there.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Janespotting: Pride and Prejudice (2005 film)
Here, to get you in the mood, play this and listen while you're reading (no need to watch it, just listen):
Before leaving P&P variations behind for a while, I thought I would refresh myself with the most recent film adaptation of Austen's classic. This version came out in 2005 and earned Keira Knightley an Oscar nomination for her portrayal of Elizabeth Bennet. It also has Brenda Blethyn and Donald Sutherland as Elizabeth's parents, and the inestimable Dame Judi Dench as Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It has to condense much of the novel in order to fit into the feature-film length of just over two hours; strangely enough, it is the first feature film to attempt a faithful adaptation of the book. (I can't consider the 1940 version as "faithful," and all the other versions have been television productions.)
I know many purists despise this version of P&P: not only have many characters and scenes been cut out, but director Joe Wright opted to emphasize the "country" part of the Bennets' country home, with livestock wandering through the mud in the yard of this gentleman's estate. I saw this in the theater with a good friend who is also an Austenophile, and she fell asleep halfway through. And of course, many fans add, how could anyone hope to match Colin Firth's definitive portrayal of Mr. Darcy?
Well, I'm not hung up on purity, and Matthew Macfadyen does a creditable job as Mr. Darcy in the two hours given to the story. He's handsome and brooding, of course, and while he doesn't get much time to explore the depths of the character, you can see the pain in his eyes after Elizabeth rejects him. And yes, many of the other characters have been relegated to the background—we don't get to see Mr. Darcy's cutting rejoinders to Caroline Bingley's snarky remarks—but as a result the film is tightly focused on Darcy and especially Elizabeth. It's Keira Knightley's film; this was her first time headlining a movie, although in the two years leading up to P&P she had appeared in films with a total worldwide box office of over $1 billion.
Now, you might think it risky to rest a major motion picture on the shoulders of a 20-year-old actress, but Knightley (good Austenish name!) was actually the first actress to actually be the same age as the character. The star of the 1995 miniseries, Jennifer Ehle, was 26, while the lead of the 1940 film, Greer Garson, was actually 36! Both these actresses make Lizzy a confident, witty, mature woman who is an equal foil to Darcy. While this makes for a very appealing Lizzy, it doesn't cover all aspects of the character. After reading Mr. Darcy's letter and learning the truth of Wickham's past, Elizabeth has this reaction: "She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd"; she then says, "Till this moment I never knew myself" (Vol. II, Chap. 13).
This is what I find fascinating about Knightley's performance in the role: the sense that Elizabeth has just as much of an emotional journey to make as Darcy does. In the book, we see Darcy's change through his behavior, but Elizabeth's changes are more subtle, affecting her sense of self and her attitude toward Darcy. These aren't the easiest things to show on film, but through closeups on Knightley's expressive face, we see this side of Elizabeth: with her wit and self-confidence undermined by the discovery that she has more to learn about the world, she reconsiders what she knows about herself and her feelings about love. It makes for a very big-R Romantic movie.
So I enjoyed this version of Austen's classic; it may not be as complex and detailed as the miniseries, but it has its own unique angle. (I found Blethyn & Sutherland's interpretation of the Bennets' marriage interesting as well, going beyond caricature.) In addition, it has some interesting direction with really wonderful cinematography. (I know, a sunrise proposal isn't proper, but it's so beautiful!) Adding to the atmosphere is the wonderful, Oscar-nominated score by Dario Marianelli (who would win the Oscar for his next film with Knightley and director Joe Wright, 2008's Atonement). If you played the embedded video at the top of this entry, you've heard the recurring theme on piano that is just lovely; in other parts it is rendered by a chamber orchestra, sounding entirely appropriate to the era. All in all, I've enjoyed watching (and rewatching) this version of P&P. But next week (finally!): I move on to Sense and Sensibility.
Before leaving P&P variations behind for a while, I thought I would refresh myself with the most recent film adaptation of Austen's classic. This version came out in 2005 and earned Keira Knightley an Oscar nomination for her portrayal of Elizabeth Bennet. It also has Brenda Blethyn and Donald Sutherland as Elizabeth's parents, and the inestimable Dame Judi Dench as Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It has to condense much of the novel in order to fit into the feature-film length of just over two hours; strangely enough, it is the first feature film to attempt a faithful adaptation of the book. (I can't consider the 1940 version as "faithful," and all the other versions have been television productions.)
I know many purists despise this version of P&P: not only have many characters and scenes been cut out, but director Joe Wright opted to emphasize the "country" part of the Bennets' country home, with livestock wandering through the mud in the yard of this gentleman's estate. I saw this in the theater with a good friend who is also an Austenophile, and she fell asleep halfway through. And of course, many fans add, how could anyone hope to match Colin Firth's definitive portrayal of Mr. Darcy?
Well, I'm not hung up on purity, and Matthew Macfadyen does a creditable job as Mr. Darcy in the two hours given to the story. He's handsome and brooding, of course, and while he doesn't get much time to explore the depths of the character, you can see the pain in his eyes after Elizabeth rejects him. And yes, many of the other characters have been relegated to the background—we don't get to see Mr. Darcy's cutting rejoinders to Caroline Bingley's snarky remarks—but as a result the film is tightly focused on Darcy and especially Elizabeth. It's Keira Knightley's film; this was her first time headlining a movie, although in the two years leading up to P&P she had appeared in films with a total worldwide box office of over $1 billion.
Now, you might think it risky to rest a major motion picture on the shoulders of a 20-year-old actress, but Knightley (good Austenish name!) was actually the first actress to actually be the same age as the character. The star of the 1995 miniseries, Jennifer Ehle, was 26, while the lead of the 1940 film, Greer Garson, was actually 36! Both these actresses make Lizzy a confident, witty, mature woman who is an equal foil to Darcy. While this makes for a very appealing Lizzy, it doesn't cover all aspects of the character. After reading Mr. Darcy's letter and learning the truth of Wickham's past, Elizabeth has this reaction: "She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd"; she then says, "Till this moment I never knew myself" (Vol. II, Chap. 13).
This is what I find fascinating about Knightley's performance in the role: the sense that Elizabeth has just as much of an emotional journey to make as Darcy does. In the book, we see Darcy's change through his behavior, but Elizabeth's changes are more subtle, affecting her sense of self and her attitude toward Darcy. These aren't the easiest things to show on film, but through closeups on Knightley's expressive face, we see this side of Elizabeth: with her wit and self-confidence undermined by the discovery that she has more to learn about the world, she reconsiders what she knows about herself and her feelings about love. It makes for a very big-R Romantic movie.
So I enjoyed this version of Austen's classic; it may not be as complex and detailed as the miniseries, but it has its own unique angle. (I found Blethyn & Sutherland's interpretation of the Bennets' marriage interesting as well, going beyond caricature.) In addition, it has some interesting direction with really wonderful cinematography. (I know, a sunrise proposal isn't proper, but it's so beautiful!) Adding to the atmosphere is the wonderful, Oscar-nominated score by Dario Marianelli (who would win the Oscar for his next film with Knightley and director Joe Wright, 2008's Atonement). If you played the embedded video at the top of this entry, you've heard the recurring theme on piano that is just lovely; in other parts it is rendered by a chamber orchestra, sounding entirely appropriate to the era. All in all, I've enjoyed watching (and rewatching) this version of P&P. But next week (finally!): I move on to Sense and Sensibility.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Photo of the Week--4/13/09
I can't find many details on this photo I took during our cruise of the Norwegian fjords in 2002. I noted that the waterfall was named "Tvinfoss," although nothing comes up when I Google that term, so I could be full of it. It doesn't matter; look at all the pretty water! It was just one of the many spectacular natural beauties we saw during this trip.
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