Little Women

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Before she left us after her Christmas visit, the youngest and I went to the cinema to see " Little Women." It was quite beautiful, both cinematographically and emotionally with plenty of  pathos, passion and reflections on empowerment. It is a tale of a time when women clearly sought recognition as an intelligent species in their own right whilst living nonetheless in a world run by men for men.

Plus ça change.. you might even be tempted to say.

I have always been renowned for my ability to cry at films. It started in my early years with Bambi, reaching a climax at a special screening of Gone with the Wind that I attended in my 20's. It was a mistake, of course, to have gone to see it in quite so large a group because I struggled for several years afterwards to find anyone willing to accompany me to watch a film. Presumably none of my friends were forward enough thinking to consider taking out shares in Kleenex.

As you can imagine and leaving nothing to chance, we went to see Little Women well-stocked with handkerchiefs, fully aware of the impact that the book had had on us both.

I am proud to say, moved as I was  by the whole experience, I was only actually aware of tears dripping down my face in the final 10 minutes. The youngest, however, was in convulsions for the best part of the last 40. 

Which leads me to ask: has retirement made me hard or are we at our weepiest in our 20's?

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