Mimes, Minions and mothers

Another Saturday, another opportunity to either look on the bright side or retreat into my cozy hole of cynicism. Hard to say which one to choose on this rainy February day on the (usually) sunny gulf coast of Florida.

Not that I’m complaining. We are, after all, not in Michigan. “I wish all of this sand was snow,” said nobody, ever.

Anyway, the other night we watched “The Holdovers” movie streaming on Peacock. It stars Paul Giamatti playing a cantankerous instructor at a New England prep school who must remain on campus during Christmas break to babysit a handful of ragtag students with nowhere to go.

He soon forms an unlikely bond with Angus, a troubled student, and with the school’s cafeteria manager, Mary, a strong yet grieving mother who has lost her son in the Vietnam War.

Set in the 1970s, it’s a wonderful movie that is funny, poignant and relatable, exploring the complexities of human relationships. Take Giamatti’s character Mr. Paul Hunham, the unpleasant classics teacher who struggles with a lazy eye and pungent body odor. And drinking too much Jim Beam.

The most disliked teacher at Barton Academy, he has many of the film’s memorable lines. Such as this one: “Life is like a henhouse ladder. Shitty and short.”

Outstanding. Someday I may have that framed to put on a wall in my cozy hole of cynicism.

But today, my friends, I choose to eliminate the negative, accentuate the positive and look on the bright side. Even though the world is a hot mess and Ukraine’s bold president took a swipe at the U.S. Congress for its continued stalemate over foreign assistance.

At the Munich Security Conference in Washington, Volodymyr Zelensky urged the West to swiftly and decisively aid his country as it defends itself against Russia’s invasion.

“First, we all must do not something but everything possible to defeat the aggressor,” he said, adding: “Please, everyone remember that dictators do not go on vacation.”

Touche. Seems our members of the House and Senate have taken another week off during a crisis because Monday is Presidents Day.

President Biden warned far-right Republicans that the failure to support Ukraine at this critical moment will never be forgotten. “History is watching,” he said.

“Life is like a henhouse ladder. Shitty and short.”

~Mr. Paul Hunham in “The Holdovers”

Nothing makes sense to me anymore, particularly when it comes to politics. As Putin’s unprovoked war in Ukraine rages, more soldiers and civilians die, and our legislators go on vacation.

Which brings me to the subject of mimes, Minions and mothers, but not necessarily in that order. Stay with me here. And no, I haven’t had too much sun.

On Saturday morning, we met a young woman who brought us fresh sheets and towels since we’re long-term guests at our Florida condo rental. She was young – maybe 25 – painfully shy and rail thin. Her name was Nadia.

From Ukraine, she spoke little English, so we used the Google Translate app to communicate. It worked surprisingly well, along with Rebecca’s creative hand and body gestures that would have made Marcel Marceau proud.

(Aside: Marceau was a legendary French mime artist. The “master of silence.” Look it up. That’s his photo at the top of this post.)

While Nadia replaced all of our linens, we somehow discovered that her young son was waiting in the car. We told her to have him come in while she finished.

Grateful, she brought him up. “Vlad” was about 5 years old, 6 tops. He wouldn’t say for sure. Blond with big blue eyes, wearing shorts and a white T-shirt with a dinosaur print. Cute as a button.

We asked his mother if he’d like to watch TV. She said yes, thanks.

He smiled and sat on the sofa.

Our Maddie was on the love seat staring at Vlad with her steely black eyes, as if to say, “Who’s this little person on my sofa?” Not the usual tanned over 55s she’s accustomed to sniffing.

Scrolling through cable channels and myriad apps, I chose Netflix and selected the “Kids” category hoping for a family-friendly show. Goodness. So many choices. What to watch?

I had no clue, so I left it up to Vlad.

“Do you like Minions?” No.

“Do you like Scooby-Doo?” No.

“How about Barbie?” No.

Then he got up and went into the other room where his mother was working.

I asked her if he could have some orange juice and a chocolate chip cookie. Yes, thanks, Nadia said.

Curious, I asked her how to say “thanks” in Ukrainian.

“Dyakuyu,” she said.

Seated back on the sofa, Vlad finally chose something. “Minions, please.”

Right. Good thing I didn’t have kids.

For a half hour or so, little Vlad was content and happy. He even giggled once or twice.

So did Rebecca, who absolutely adores Minions. I think she once had a battery-powered Minions toothbrush. Extra soft bristles.

Apparently, Minions speak a fictional language known as “Minionese.” It’s a playful, mostly unintelligible gibberish created for no other reason than to make people laugh.

Maybe Minionese should be the universal language of entertainment. I swear, you could turn off the sound and still understand what these goggle-wearing goofballs are doing. No Google Translate app needed.

Nadia finished, and it was time for her and Vlad to go.

“Nice to meet you, and thank you so much,” I said.

I don’t know their whole story and did not pry. But I had a pretty good idea of what it might be.

From what I’ve read, since Russia’s invasion began two years ago, it is mainly women and children who are emigrating from Ukraine to the United States. Martial law prohibits able-bodied men between the ages of 18 and 60 from leaving the country. Instead, they must stay home and fight.

Imagine that. No cushy retirement condos or vacation holidays for them.

My heart goes out to Nadia’s family. It’s doubtful she brings home much money, but I honestly don’t know that for sure. In any case, we tipped her as a small token of our appreciation.

“Buy something nice for yourself,” I typed into my phone before holding it up to show her what Google Translate said.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile, taking Vlad’s tiny hand as they walked out the door down the stairs to their car.

I pray our members of Congress come to their senses, end this stalemate and find a way to help those fighting for Ukraine on the battlefields and here at home.

When they do, I’ll have only one word for them: Dyakuyu.