Christmas Night

The malls were dark and empty, as they should be on Christmas Night, but the theatre had a healthy queue.  Mia and I had a lovely veggie meal in Mitsuba, the little sushi place next to the Marquee Cinema in New Hartford.  Sure, I would have loved playing games and continuing the Christmas cheer at home, surrounded by friends and family, but I haven't had that option in many years.   I only had the most precious little girl in the whole-wide-world to keep me company, so what to do with ourselves after chores?  We both wanted to see War Horse, the new Steven Spielberg movie, which was, as the NY Times Theater Review confirmed, a very visually beautiful representation of bucolic English countryside.  When the heroic horse, Joey, is sold to the Army to save the farm it kind of went down hill for me.  What else did I expect?  The same thing happened to me years ago when I took my young twins, AJ and Mia to see Empire of the Sun.    After Spielberg's ET I thought surely this next movie of his would be suitable for kids.  After all, Empire was about a kid surviving the war.  It was definitely NOT a movie for kids and War Horse is certainly not.  I bailed when Joey, who the viewers were thoroughly attached to by now, was about to charge the German Gatling guns.  I whispered to poor little Mia that I would meet her in another theater when WH was over.  She later said I did the right thing, as the WWI segments did not get any cheerier.  How could they?  There was a scene with an Army chaplain administering to the soldiers in the trenches that was particularly upsetting for Mia, as her soul-mate and placenta-mate, Father Aaron, would be doing the same thing.  The Army shooting young deserters who escaped on Joey and his friend, the black horse, didn't help.  Anyway, Mia was just as sweet as she could be, even when she couldn't find me since Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was playing in TWO theaters and I didn't see her looking for me at first.  When we did hook up we motored home to the safety and security of my little farm in the valley, where we did more chores until midnight, and where no animals would be shredded by guns and politics.  I fight my own wars here in terms of foot rot and hay bills, but, thank you Lord, no guns.  No Steven Spielberg for me next Christmas.   We drank too much egg nog loaded with Jack Daniels, thank you Mia, chatted about everything under the sun, and played with the puppies until we couldn't stay awake any longer.