Reading recipes online these days takes effort.  I don’t know how or when it started, but somewhere along the line the recipe itself lost its spotlight to whatever backstory the author felt the need to include.  No longer can you simple search for ‘tandoori chicken recipe’, click the top result and get straight into the ingredients list; instead you need to first get a history lesson from whoever penned the recipe on the origins of the dish.  You’ll learn how they drew the inspiration from a trip through a street market, where the sights, sounds and aromas of fresh spice blends intoxicated their desire for something better than what you could buy in a grocery store.  You’ll then get a lesson in the 5,000 year history of the tandoor and that, should you not own one, an air fryer is a perfectly acceptable substitute. Roughly fifteen minutes into reading about the author’s family history, you’ll finally get to the ingredients list, accompanied by some highly detailed step-by-step instructions (with descriptive visuals), followed by special notes, additional comments, and an intrusive advertisement for an air fryer.  Lastly, you’ll read one final list of ingredients and a summary of the preparation instructions.  That’s a lot to digest…and it’s precisely what I’m about to do.

I watch a lot of movies with my kids, that is no secret to anyone.  Almost every Thursday for the past, I don’t even know how many years, we have carved out the tradition of enjoying some form of cinematic experience.  Each week we rotate who gets to choose the movie, and we respect whatever that person has selected.  Our choices over the years have stuck pretty tried and true to the roster you might expect from two 6-8 year old girls and one 40-43 year old kid – all of the Disney classic cartoons, the full Pixar catalogue, the Descendants and Zombies collections, things generally in the worlds of animation, musical numbers, and easy to digest concepts and language.  I love all of it.  Over these past couple of months, however, I’ve noticed a trend in our choices that’s veering away from the animation and musicals, and leaning more towards pictures involving complex themes and live-action dramatics, and I am thrilled at what this means for opening up our roster of options.

Over the past several weeks we have enjoyed classics such as The NeverEnding Story, Honey I Shrunk The Kids, and Labyrinth; movies that bring pure joy to my heart to revisit, as they bring back so much from my own childhood.  Observing my kids eyes grow wide as they watch ‘real’ figures, opposed to CGI interpretations, move through a fantasy landscape, facing fear as menacing creatures take over the screen, or working through the complex emotions at the loss of Artax in The Swamp of Sadness, are all emotions and experiences that I feel important to understand as opposed to avoid.  All of these cinematic experiences have been great, but this weekend, upon revising what is undoubtedly in my top 3 movies of all time, I realized that I’m not just revisiting my childhood memories, I’m creating entirely new ones.

The Princess Bride is one of those movies that has worked its way in to deepest recesses of my brain – be it through the set pieces, the music or the never-ending string of quotable lines, the movie has had its grips on me since I was probably around 7 or 8 years old.  It seemed appropriate, then, that my kids be presented the opportunity to watch it given their respective ages.  Because of how the cards fell, Nora and I had an evening to ourselves this weekend, and watching The Princess Bride was her choice in how to spend our time, together on the couch with a bowl of chips and some candy.  I’ll admit that I wasn’t sure she would actually enjoy it, but by the time it wrapped up all she could talk about was watching it again with her sister and Mom.  And so, after a full day of Audrey and Alison listening to us quote Inigo Montoya over and over again, the four of us sat on the couch, cuddled under blankets, a giant bowl of popcorn between us, and watched once again as the Dread Pirate Roberts climbed the cliffs of insanity, bested the swordsman, the giant and the battle of wits, escape the R.O.U.S.’s and kissed his one true love; and that’s when the memory formed.

Watching a movie might not seem like much of an event, but sitting on that couch for an hour and half, watching Nora’s face in anticipation to see Audrey’s reaction to what she knows was coming next, and to then hear both of them yell out in unison “Aaaaas….Youuu…Wiiiish!”  allowed for time to stop briefly so that I could hold on to whatever was floating in the air.  They were enthralled by the adventure, laughing at the absurdity, and drawn in to the love story.  The words Drop. Your. Sword, have repeated themselves in the days since, and I’ve been informed that our Halloween costumes for next year are now settled.

Memories and moments obviously don’t need to be tied to watching a screen, or eating popcorn, they occur anywhere and everywhere, and this weekend has provided no shortage of opportunity.  Be it telling stories around a fire, skiing through the fresh powder, or playing board games in the living room, a moment becomes a memory when the time is taken to appreciate it.  Our original long weekend plans fell apart in disappointment moments before we were set to depart on an adventure, but we managed to embrace the opportunity to be home and to take advantage of 5 full days that were suddenly without plans.  We bowled, we climbed, we ate breakfast in bed, we tackled an escape room, adventured through the snow and I won’t soon forget the fact that we did all of those things as as family.

Of course, on the movie front in particular, the bar is now set for Dad to pick the next great classic, and there’s quite a pool to choose from, and I’ve no doubt The Goonies will entertain. Though I will admit that while I had hoped more than anything that they would like it,  had you asked me if I honestly thought they would genuinely enjoy The Princes Bride, I would have responded with simply one word: inconceivable.

Ingredients:

• 1 moment of observation
• 3 deep breaths
• 5 seconds of purposeful silence
• a dash of anticipation (be sure to remove all expectation first)
• 10 cups of gratitude

Directions:

1. If you happen to be carrying one, drop your sword
2. Refocus attention to who and what is transpiring around you, rather than what you’re doing
3. Take a breath, then take two more
4. Sit quietly and enjoy
5. Just say thanks