May 5th, 2011


Okay, now I'm officially hooked again (no spoilers)

Staying away from details, but -- yeah, that's Doctor Who at its absolute best. I'm still not 100% sold on 11, but the writing absolutely sings in the conclusion of the season opener. It manages to get as creepy as Blink in places; it squeezed exhiliration and terror and heartbreak all tightly packed inside an hour; and as always happens, the more you scratch the surface of the story, the more hooks you realize they've left for the rest of the season.

There are two delicious gotcha moments, and both worked exactly as I prefer it: I figured out what was going to happen just about five seconds before it actually did. (If I figure it out sooner than that, it's *too* obvious, but there's an odd thrill to being just a hair's-breadth ahead of the story.)

Rory is growing some real depth; I'm gradually falling for Amy as badly as I did for Rose; and River is turning into an increasingly appealing mystery. After a Season Five that I found a bit flabby, Six is showing a lot of promise. Any TV episode that actually manages to leave me jittering is a fine story...

Bearing Witness

One of this evening's projects was digging through the upper shelves of the closets, full of mysterious boxes that I've never even known the provenance of. Some of the findings were as expected, items for the giveaway: random costume jewelry, some cheap furs, a rather too frilly bathrobe, and a variety of purses. (Including the spare Coach bag that she bought and never opened, just in case Coach stopped making tasteful purses.)

And then the more personal items began to appear:
  • A box of more personal jewelry from Jane, only a few items of which I can guess the significance of.

  • Her grandmother's Eastern Star effects: bible, jewelry, ritual book and gavel.

  • Jane's baby albums, and various other boxes of items from her childhood.

  • Her parents' marriage ceremony and certificate.

  • Her grandfather's personal diary, started in 1913.

  • A box of her mother's correspondence during WWII, clearly to The Other Man -- and one of her father's early photos, presumably from his first marriage.
And I find myself strangely split, between feeling like a peeping tom into these people who I barely know -- and feeling like I've been handed a sacred duty to bear witness to their lives. Jane was an only child, and her parents were never that close to their families, at least in Jane's lifetime. In many of these cases, I *am* the remaining family.

The griefquake is mild, but the sense of responsibility is strange and a bit daunting. Jane and I knew each other so well, and yet I only really know our lives together. There is so much history, so many people standing behind her who I never knew. At some point, these boxes must be properly and respectfully pulled out, and those lives explored...