On Friday, Rick took me out to dinner at Red Rose, our favourite Indian restaurant, and then to the Carlton Cinemas for The Pianist. I'd been told to bring tissues, but I hardly needed them. It wasn't a sob film like Schindler's List is, though I did cry. The latter was a life-changing film for me, but this work was something very different. Roman Polanski has given us a film not about the Holocaust per se, nor of heroism in the face of adversity. This is a story of personal survival, and Szpilman is a hero simply for surviving. I grew up surrounded by the stories of my mother's family during the Second World War, their participation in the Resistance movement, and the many moments of sheer 'dumb' luck that saved them from capture and execution. Szpilman, too, survives, in part through this same luck, of near capture, so much so it would seem to be impossible. Yet, I know from the stories my mother told me, that this is exactly what made the survival possible in so many cases.

This film blurs the lines of good and evil, throwing the audience off balance with its sympathetic Nazi officer, the cruelty of the Jewish ghetto police, the desperation that makes people behave the way they do. It feels distant at many moments, especially through the first half, but it becomes clear that it is Szpilman that is distant, putting space between us and his story. The audience are allowed to view his existence, but at the arm's length that he forces. The film does not demand that we love it, nor does it preach to us as so many Holocaust and Second World War films do, but it causes us to think, to investigate our own emotional responses. Polanski, love him or hate him, has created a masterpiece of a film. If he never makes another movie, his reputation can stand by The Pianist and he will be remembered for its power and beauty and honesty.

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The battle between Willi and Tobe continues, domination shifting as often as I go to the washroom in a day (a few times). Currently, it's a draw, but around six-thirty in the morning, a viscious fight occurred. I don't know the details, but it was loud and angry enough to wake me out of a sound sleep. On a positive note, both cats are peeing in the litterboxes, rather than my bedroom vent. I've started giving Willi her food in the kitchen again, as well, so that she doesn't view my room as a security blanket. This decision was brought about partially because I've noticed her licking out Tobe's plate, which is at the kitchen door, and Stew actually saw her steal food. Brave little Stinky Bee.

It's a muggy day today. It also happens to be Mothers' Day: Happy Mothers' Day, Mom !!! I'm not in Peterborough as I have had to work this weekend, but the majority of this day is going to be spent working on Booboo's stuff. Rick's out in Hamilton helping his father and brother build a deck for Darlene, his mother. I had aspirations of going to the gym today, but I'm a little too sore from my work-out yesterday. I'm making a concerted effort to go as often as time allows, no excuses. Also, I finally did my pathetic verigated, leafy something-or-other a favour. This plant used to have a name, but I have forgotten it, and perhaps that why it hasn't recovered from the two times it nearly died. Anyway, I gave it a soil change, pruned it in the hope that it will regain its will to live, and we'll see how it goes.