Varda gleans the extraordinary from out of the ordinary. The gold from out of the stones that make up her cobbled doorstep. It’s enough to make you think there’s a certain magic, a beauty to be seen in all of our lives, no matter how small or seemingly trivial. To watch Varda is to find out more about ourselves by virtue of hearing others spill their stories. To want to live our lives. Not in any way that screams lavish…

Spellbinding. Enchanting. Magical. Travel on a magic carpet ride made of dreams as forged before our very eyes, through some 100 years, the sands of time and millions of petty thieves, cheap swindlers and half-assed scoundrels. Take a bite of the poison apple and taste the seeds of our very imaginations. Gaze into this crystal ball to envision what was still to come.

To remind us of the everlasting sorcery of the silver screen from fully-formed inception, with a trail…

Ouch. This broke me.

I generally try to stay away from being overly personal with my writing on here for fear of oversharing but it feels only appropriate here.

My grandparents on my mothers side are creeping into their nineties. Obviously, this is an achievement in and of itself and we're very fortunate that they've lived such long, fruitful lives, including my formative years.

Naturally, with age they are becoming less and less able. It's painful and uncomfortable to watch…