Surrealistic bliss and warmth: An ode to her

‘O SOLE MIO

Che bella cosa na jurnata 'e sole,
n'aria serena doppo na tempesta!
Pe' ll'aria fresca pare gia' na festa...
Che bella cosa na jurnata 'e sole.

Ma n'atu sole
cchiu' bello, oi ne'.
'o sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!
‘o sole, ‘o sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!
sta 'nfronte a te!

Lùcene 'e llastre d'a fenesta toia;
'na lavannara canta e se ne vanta
e pe' tramente torce, spanne e canta
lùcene 'e llastre d'a fenesta toia.

Ma n'atu sole
cchiu' bello, oi ne'.
'o sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!
‘o sole, ‘o sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!
sta 'nfronte a te!

Quanno fa notte e 'o sole
se ne scenne,me vene quase 'na malincunia;
sotto 'a fenesta toia restarria
quanno fa notte e 'o sole
se ne scenne.
Ma n'atu sole
cchiu' bello, oi ne'.
'o sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!
‘o sole, ‘o sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!
sta 'nfronte a te!

Everyone, just... pretend to be normal

It was not just another family road trip. It was a self-discovery journey in a shambling VW bus. Family bonding and kinship ties were tested and strengthened.

It was, for me, an emotional roller-coaster. Happiness and sadness all rolled into one well-directed movie. The passing on of the expletive-spewing grandfather provided pangs of sadness to the audience, while the dance by Olive brought about so much laughter.

The humour was funny but not slapstick and the entire movie was entertaining but not melodramatic. It was a refreshing breath of fresh air, especially after having watched the drab Miami Vice a few days before.

The pursuit of one's passions

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
-- Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.