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 The View From Here
By Katherine Veno
The wonders of a tree house...
Recently, I was watching one of those home and garden shows on television, and they were
interviewing people all around the country who live in treehouses, slept in hammocks on a
warm summer day, and had all the benefits of being a kid again, yet the comforts of real
air conditioning and heat for the climate.
The best one was in Florida near the Keys, and, of course, he did not have air
conditioning. It was a three story tree house, not actually built on a tree, but just
erected among some palm trees on stilts. It was the ultimate beach house, but not on the
water. Secluded and shaded by various climbing, flowering vines, it was not really
noticeable until it came out from the camouflage setting.
It sort of rambled along, and only had the necessities of life like, a real working
shower, and the rest of the bathroom on the second floor. On the first floor was a nice
workable kitchen with a big window looking out into flowers that bloom year round, and a
living room with a cozy sofa by the wall of bleached pine.
The floors were all hardwoods of some type and were laid out in intricate patterns that
caught the eye. There was no clutter. Ample storage and closet space were disguised by old
fronts of cabinets and antique doors, drawers and armoires Some had mirrors still intact,
and behind them hung his clothes.
Dishes and glassware sparkled behind glass-fronted doors above the sink, and surrounding
the refrigerator, which was covered in wood planking so it just blended right into the
walls and floors.
On this level there were no curtains of fabric, but only shades that retracted into
nothingness, but provided privacy if so needed. There was even a half-bath tucked away
beside the living area.
On the second floor was the bedroom, and it it held a full size bed covered in a white
down comforter. The bed itself was iron with black scrollwork at the head. The floors here
flowed in terracotta tiles of various colors leading into the bath. The shower was
angular, but ample, and had a frosted glass door with inlaid pieces of colored glass
catching the light. The faucets were burnished copper and flowed into a free-standing
copper sink. The toilet was behind an antique door with an old window of stained glass.
From floor to ceiling was a narrow window looking out into the treetops and birds.
The third floor was a loft with sparse furnishings, books, a guitar against the wall, and
large pillows. It was the guest room, but since it had no bath, the owner said they did
not stay long. The steps to all were gradual, and I was surprised by how roomy it looked.
I began to imagine living in a treehouse, and designed mine inside my head. It would be
stretched through the huge limbs of an oak surrounded by woods. There would be a clear
running creek nearby that I could hear from the porch where windchimes hung. My house
would only have a porch running all around each side of the house on the first floor, and
then french doors would open into the living room, kitchen and sleeping areas. There would
be a similar shower like the one I described, with stained glass and copper fixtures, tile
floors and sheer films of silk, instead of doors, hiding my clothes in the bedroom.
White antique glass fronted doors would separate the living area from the kitchen, and
sheer white drapes could be pulled back during the day, but let fall in sumptuous folds at
night, shading my eyes from the morning sun if I wanted to sleep in.
There would be a leopard print sofa and a matching chair. An area rug of zebra print would
lie beside my white iron bed. A private door would lead to the porch where I could sit and
look at the stars, or enjoy the sun in complete seclusion.
The kitchen would have a copper sink and fixtures, and the cabinets would have patterns of
colored stained glass. The window over the sink would be large and look out into the arms
of the tree that surrounded me. I would hang bird feeders there to attract songbirds
The floors were be hardwoods in the living area, but glazed slate tiles with lots of color
variations like sand in all the areas of the kitchen and bath. My bedroom would have all
tile flowing into the bathroom. The colors would be like the beach, and run from pale to
veins of lapis and black. All the drama of nature would lie beneath my feet.
My own birds would have a little glass room that protected them at night when the doors
were closed, but would open to the world in the day so they could enjoy their visitors and
the fresh air and sunshine.
There would be a loft upstairs where I basically stored things I could not yet part with,
but a guest could share if needed. French doors would open up to an entire world held in
the arms on an ancient tree, and my cat would sleep at my feet.
In a perfect place.
 Escapades of Emily
By Emily Gail Lundy
Movie review...
How much lower can morality on television viewing and the movie world sink? For TV
solutions, the knob or remote changes programs; better yet, this news machine can be
turned off. With movies we can choose carefully or not go at all. It’s the
grandchildren my concern focuses on most.
Recently, I asked one of the teenagers if the movie he had seen would be one I’d
like. “No, it has some nasty parts in it. But it’s funny, really funny.”
Not that anyone cares that older seniors enjoy movies, but my date and I went to a movie
with that recommendation. I saw the nasty and found nothing funny, just sickening.
One granddaughter called a movie we had seen – and wished we had not– “the
best movie yet.” Nightmare time for the future and will anyone know the difference?
One solution is to return the X rating in a big way. Today’s ratings mean little.
Children are seeing acts, hearing two or three words as though they were already every day
language in our vocabulary, when they once were alley words, and introduced to behavior we
can only pray they won’t do themselves.
In the 60s, “Midnight Cowboy” was made, produced, whatever, and became the
“talk of the town.” Early scenes were filmed in Big Spring, Texas, and
surrounding areas. John Voight, actor, was a dishwasher in one of the town’s cafes,
wishing he could make more money. We lived 10 miles out of that west Texas town. Yes, all
the activities of a movie being made in a place we lived was exciting. Local residents
took many group parts.
Then the company involved in the movie took all action to New York City where Dustin
Hoffman’s character lived. The movie had an X rating. In fact, the movie had a
beautiful moral to it – in a way, giving up one’s life for one’s brother.
But the in between sickened the sweetness.
That summer, we, with another married couple, were in Dallas for a seminar.
“Midnight” was showing, and we were going to see the film made partly on our
Texas turf.
The movie won an Academy Award. But it made us four sick. The other couple wanted to walk
out, but didn’t.
More than 20 years later, in East Texas now, the same movie was to be shown on a
television channel. “Let’s watch it,” said my husband, “and see if it
still shocks us. We may have changed with the years or deshocked.”
We watched 15 minutes, felt uncomfortable, embarrassed, and sickened all over again and
turned the television station for a PG-rated western.
Some westerns are still entertaining in a sane way.
With a slight change in titles, I offer my rating system for current movies. If the
cursing is natural in some people’s speech as it is with some in “public
life,” I rate it differently from movies that see how many “f” words can be
said in every 10 minutes (for whatever effect.)
HANGING OVER – X
GRAND TORINO – R1 (has lesson)
HIGH IN THE SKY – R1 (One naughty scene and adultery prevalent)
HALF BROTHERS – X
RIVER CHOPPY – PG
KNOCKED OVER – X
We’ve walked out of a movie that kills innocents of great numbers in the first 10
minutes. Sick.
Once, our children as teens talked us into seeing a current movie because, “It was
made when you two were teens.” The audience was filled with young people, some we
knew well. That was embarrassing enough; then to see action or hear language we only knew
about was shocking. But it was funny. Language often makes or breaks a movie, dividing it
into acceptable or filthy. I guess actions, either sexual or lethal beyond expectations,
can do the same.
There was a long time when athletic activities ruled our life; then as time passed, we
found the movies again. Definitely, there had been a change. Some changes were wonderful
for those who love a night in the theater, the type we can afford. But some acts should be
private or imagined.
Once I stood by a nice man watching school entertainment. “I think this is too adult
for these teens to be doing,” I said.
The man surprised me when he said, “Now, remember, everyone does not have the same
code of ethics you have.”
That remark has bothered me for 20 years. Surely some things are wrong. Surely, committing
an act because it makes the actor feel good can’t always be good. Most don’t
speak out publicly for fear of ridicule, or the silence of supporters of their way of
thinking. I’m guilty. Where will it all end?
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