This is the triple header of Bing Crosby movies. Tomorrow we will switch to my heart throb, Cary Grant. I told you I was born in the wrong decade.
I love this 1945 movie because it portrays a nun with power…something that you didn’t see in the old Catholic church, actually it’s still that way. Sister Benedict played by the charming Ingrid Bergman, goes toe to toe with Father O”Malley in this sequel to “Going My Way”. They disagree, good naturedly, about everything. She wants to save (through prayer) her broken down inner-city school that is about to be condemned. He thinks it should be demolished to make room for modern progress. The scenes of her teaching one of her students to box is classic.
This movie doesn’t have all the sub-plots that were in “Going My Way”. It is more simple and to the point. I was not raised Catholic but a lot of my friends were and none of their stories matched this one. The Catholic Church is not what it once was, which is a good thing. This movie was released in December and was considered a Christmas movie because of the pageant scene. It’s worth watching just for this.
You will recognize Henry Travers as Clarence, the muddled angel from “It’s a Wonderful Life”. He plays the crabby “heavy” in this film. Of course Sister Benedict comes down with tuberculosis near the end but I won’t tell you the twist. This is a sweet, funny movie about faith moving mountains, or mortgages in this case.
My room mate put up her Christmas tree this weekend while I was gone. It smells like pine and all the lights are twinkling. This will be the first holiday I haven’t had my own things. They are in storage a ways away. I am experiencing life through others right now and it’s been ok. I expected to struggle more because I have always been a “nester” and feathering it was one of my joys.
I’ve had other things that have been a priority and realized that “stuff” doesn’t have the same allure it used to. It will make getting my own place again, all the sweeter though. Simplify has become my middle name. Moving seven times in nine years (try explaining that on an application) cured me of getting, or staying too attached to my stuff. All but the most precious survived. It’s the old story of unpacking boxes that had things I hadn’t seen in years, and hadn’t missed. We owned/lived in two homes, 16 years collectively while I was married and I don’t think much of it remains and I’m still breathing. Life goes on, stuff doesn’t. Love remains.