I just got a channel dug to the storm drain, shoveled a path across the yard (!) so that I could reach the hemlocks in the pleasance (one and all prostrate with their top branch-tips mired in snow), de-iced the porch and sidewalk and knocked down some pigsticker-sized icicles, and the whole thing is supposed to happen over again?
I know I have a warped mind, but it makes me think of one of the best pieces of location shooting that ever took place in Washington — In The Line Of Fire, in which Clint Eastwood plays a Secret Service man who was in the Dallas motorcade behind JFK and is now receiving threatening calls from an aspiring assassin played by John Malkovich.
No, it’s not the threat to repeat a historic event that I think of.
I remember my personal favorite scene from the movie as I look at the boots, gloves, fleece, and snow-sunglasses arrayed along the back of the couch and in front of the heating vents. The scene is the one where Eastwood is about to succumb to a flaring passion for the young agent played by Rene Russo, and just as they are nearly stripped down her walkie-talkie goes off and she has to get to the situation room stat, and Eastwood looks down at the radio and gun and handcuffs and other clanking paraphernalia that he has shed in a metallic crescendo as the two locked lips, and says in a voice of weary resignation:
“Now I have to put all that shit back on.”