This is a joke told to me in my World Religions class in college by a classmate after we had studied the term "ecumenical." It is admittedly nerdy, but I still get a kick out of it. Ecumenical is generally used to refer to working relationships or unity between churches, especially between denominations, though it can be used in a broader sense, like cooperation between entirely different religions.
The Conference in Florida
There was a conference held in Florida about different denominations working together. Spiritual leaders from all over the country gather in Florida.
A priest, a reverend, and a pastor found they had been assigned seats next to each other. They sat through the morning session together, taking notes, talking back and forth. By the time the conference took a break for lunch, the three leaders had realized that they were starting to enjoy each other's company, so at the priest's suggestion, they shared a taxi ride to a nearby restaurant, and had lunch together.
After lunch, they still had some time before the next conference session began, so they decided to take a walk around the area. As they walked along, much to their misfortune, none of them noticed a huge crocodile setting his sights on them. Without warning, the crocodile charged up on the bank and ate all three of them in one gulp. A day an a half later, the crocodile had an ecumenical movement.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
The bye-bye drug
I have often heard my mom call me her "Bye-bye baby." Apparently, "Bye-bye" was one of my favorite phrases as a toddler.
Over the years, my ability to voice my feelings has grown more sophisticated, however the longing is the same. Bye-bye. I love to travel. Especially, internationally. I want to see the weird and the wonderful, the beautiful and the heartbreaking. I want to hear the foreign tongues, and decipher meanings. I want to feel the different rhythms, and marvel at the different artistic perspectives. I want to witness the challenges, and praise the ingenuity and determination.
This is something that is embedded deep within me, and often shows itself in more than just international travel. Ask my friends. They can tell you that I am both a very good and a very bad shopping buddy. I will happily shop all day, even if it is just for groceries. I love to shop, but I am not very good at standing still in a store. They stop to inspect an item, and when they look up, I have disappeared. This is mainly because a huge joy of shopping for me is the meandering portion. When we are out together, I have a tendency to drag them into the weird looking shops, because I want to see what I haven't yet seen. (My poor friends have been in numerous strange shops, including but not limited to Indian Religious supply shops, and mystic shops majoring in unicorns and incense) I am often trying to talk them into going to dinner at a different ethnic restaurant, and they are good sports, usually.
Where did this come from? I don't know. According to my parents' stories, it was there when I was very young. I personally think it was something that God built into me before birth. However, my parents have definitely been enablers in the flourishing of this desire.
Their first mistake was using the city bus to get around town when I was little. Oh the adventure! They took me to Washington, back in the early 90s, when Washington and California were practically different countries. They sent me to Virginia as a 9 year old, and that was almost like going to outer space, especially because we got there by train and airplane rides (Thanks to the flooding of the Mississippi river). Then there was Mexico. Then there was the Dominican Republic, then the Democratic Republic of Congo. Then college. I am sad to say, that I have been stuck state side since college, and it is slowly going to be the end of my sanity.
The problem is this: if I stay put, the need to travel, to go-anywhere-go-everywhere-go-now, builds, and builds, however, when I do travel, the need does not abate, instead it intensifies. It's like oxygen, or narcotics, the more you use, the more you need. Hi, my name is Caitlin, and I am a travel junkie.
All of this to say, I need a "bye-bye" fix, and I need it bad! I would especially love to go to Haiti, Ghana, or East India, but honestly, if you were to hand me a plane ticket that had "Destination: we'll tell you when you land" written on it, I'd ask, "Do I need to pack for hot or cold, and can we leave right now?"
For now, I dream. I dream of meeting my Compassion kids. I dream of working on mission trips. I dream of foreign markets. I dream of boarding planes. I dream, and then I rummage through piles of books like a cocaine addict collects sugar packets until he can find his next hit.
Can I go somewhere, now, please?
Over the years, my ability to voice my feelings has grown more sophisticated, however the longing is the same. Bye-bye. I love to travel. Especially, internationally. I want to see the weird and the wonderful, the beautiful and the heartbreaking. I want to hear the foreign tongues, and decipher meanings. I want to feel the different rhythms, and marvel at the different artistic perspectives. I want to witness the challenges, and praise the ingenuity and determination.
This is something that is embedded deep within me, and often shows itself in more than just international travel. Ask my friends. They can tell you that I am both a very good and a very bad shopping buddy. I will happily shop all day, even if it is just for groceries. I love to shop, but I am not very good at standing still in a store. They stop to inspect an item, and when they look up, I have disappeared. This is mainly because a huge joy of shopping for me is the meandering portion. When we are out together, I have a tendency to drag them into the weird looking shops, because I want to see what I haven't yet seen. (My poor friends have been in numerous strange shops, including but not limited to Indian Religious supply shops, and mystic shops majoring in unicorns and incense) I am often trying to talk them into going to dinner at a different ethnic restaurant, and they are good sports, usually.
Where did this come from? I don't know. According to my parents' stories, it was there when I was very young. I personally think it was something that God built into me before birth. However, my parents have definitely been enablers in the flourishing of this desire.
Their first mistake was using the city bus to get around town when I was little. Oh the adventure! They took me to Washington, back in the early 90s, when Washington and California were practically different countries. They sent me to Virginia as a 9 year old, and that was almost like going to outer space, especially because we got there by train and airplane rides (Thanks to the flooding of the Mississippi river). Then there was Mexico. Then there was the Dominican Republic, then the Democratic Republic of Congo. Then college. I am sad to say, that I have been stuck state side since college, and it is slowly going to be the end of my sanity.
The problem is this: if I stay put, the need to travel, to go-anywhere-go-everywhere-go-now, builds, and builds, however, when I do travel, the need does not abate, instead it intensifies. It's like oxygen, or narcotics, the more you use, the more you need. Hi, my name is Caitlin, and I am a travel junkie.
All of this to say, I need a "bye-bye" fix, and I need it bad! I would especially love to go to Haiti, Ghana, or East India, but honestly, if you were to hand me a plane ticket that had "Destination: we'll tell you when you land" written on it, I'd ask, "Do I need to pack for hot or cold, and can we leave right now?"
For now, I dream. I dream of meeting my Compassion kids. I dream of working on mission trips. I dream of foreign markets. I dream of boarding planes. I dream, and then I rummage through piles of books like a cocaine addict collects sugar packets until he can find his next hit.
Can I go somewhere, now, please?
Saturday, March 26, 2011
To eulogize a cat...
It seems ridiculous, doesn't it? Unless you have lost a pet, because then it seems almost wrong to let it go by unmentioned. The problem here is what do you say?
My family's cat, Mr. Kitty, died unexpectedly today. He was 2 years old.
So, here's to the only cat to ever be allowed to live in my family's house, so far. To the cat my Dad claimed to "hate." To the cat who taught my Mom's dog how to fight like a man and cry like a girl. Here's to the cat who owned both the top and bottom of the bunk bed, but was gracious enough to share a corner of the bottom one with James. To the cat who would have a battle of wills to the death over who got to sit in a certain chair. Here's to the cat who protected my family's house by glaring menacingly at every car the drove down the street. To the cat whose passion for shoes rivaled my own.
May there be many warm sunspots, work boots, strappy sandals, grasshoppers, lizards, mice, and chihuahuas in your Happy Hunting Grounds, and may you finally catch that blasted laser dot.
We hope you enjoyed your stay, Mr. Kitty. We certainly did.
My family's cat, Mr. Kitty, died unexpectedly today. He was 2 years old.
So, here's to the only cat to ever be allowed to live in my family's house, so far. To the cat my Dad claimed to "hate." To the cat who taught my Mom's dog how to fight like a man and cry like a girl. Here's to the cat who owned both the top and bottom of the bunk bed, but was gracious enough to share a corner of the bottom one with James. To the cat who would have a battle of wills to the death over who got to sit in a certain chair. Here's to the cat who protected my family's house by glaring menacingly at every car the drove down the street. To the cat whose passion for shoes rivaled my own.
May there be many warm sunspots, work boots, strappy sandals, grasshoppers, lizards, mice, and chihuahuas in your Happy Hunting Grounds, and may you finally catch that blasted laser dot.
We hope you enjoyed your stay, Mr. Kitty. We certainly did.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Another Joke Thursday
Hello all. I am quite happy since today is acupuncture day for me, and I figure since you all can't come, you should get a joke... Especially since I forgot last week!
An officer pulls over a car for going 138 miles an hour. The woman rolls down her window and asks, "Is there a problem, Officer?" The officer replies, "Ma'am, you were speeding."
Woman: "Oh, was I?"
Officer: Can I see your license, please?
Woman: I'd give it to you, but I don't have one.
Officer: Don't have one?
Woman: Lost it 4 times for drunk driving.
Officer: I see...Can I see your vehicle registration papers please.
Woman: I can't do that.
Officer: Why not?
Woman: I stole this car.
Officer: Stole it?
Woman: Yes, and I killed and hacked up the owner.
Officer: You what?
Woman: His body parts are in plastic bags in the trunk, if you want
to see.
The Officer looks at the woman, slowly backs away to his car, and
calls for back up. Within minutes 5 police cars circle the car. A senior
officer slowly approaches the car, clasping his half drawn gun. He shouts, "Ma'am, could you step out of your vehicle slowly, please!"
The woman steps out of her vehicle with a very confused expression and asks, "Is there a problem sir?"
"One of my officers told me that you have stolen this
car and murdered the owner."
The woman puts her hands up hesitantly and asks, "Murdered the owner?"
"Yes, could you please open the trunk of your car, please."
The woman opens the trunk, revealing nothing but an empty trunk.
"Is this your car, ma'am?"
She pulls out the papers, "Yes, here are the registration papers."
The first officer is stunned.
The senior officer throws the first officer a raised eyebrow before saying to the woman, "One of my officers claims that you do not have a driving license."
The woman digs into her handbag and pulls out a clutch purse and hands it to the officer. The officer snaps open the clutch purse and examines the license. He looks quite puzzled. "Thank you ma'am, one of my officers told me you didn't have a license, that you stole this car, and that you murdered and hacked up the owner."
The woman rolls her eyes and takes her clutch back, "Betcha that lying jerk told you I was speeding, too!"
An officer pulls over a car for going 138 miles an hour. The woman rolls down her window and asks, "Is there a problem, Officer?" The officer replies, "Ma'am, you were speeding."
Woman: "Oh, was I?"
Officer: Can I see your license, please?
Woman: I'd give it to you, but I don't have one.
Officer: Don't have one?
Woman: Lost it 4 times for drunk driving.
Officer: I see...Can I see your vehicle registration papers please.
Woman: I can't do that.
Officer: Why not?
Woman: I stole this car.
Officer: Stole it?
Woman: Yes, and I killed and hacked up the owner.
Officer: You what?
Woman: His body parts are in plastic bags in the trunk, if you want
to see.
The Officer looks at the woman, slowly backs away to his car, and
calls for back up. Within minutes 5 police cars circle the car. A senior
officer slowly approaches the car, clasping his half drawn gun. He shouts, "Ma'am, could you step out of your vehicle slowly, please!"
The woman steps out of her vehicle with a very confused expression and asks, "Is there a problem sir?"
"One of my officers told me that you have stolen this
car and murdered the owner."
The woman puts her hands up hesitantly and asks, "Murdered the owner?"
"Yes, could you please open the trunk of your car, please."
The woman opens the trunk, revealing nothing but an empty trunk.
"Is this your car, ma'am?"
She pulls out the papers, "Yes, here are the registration papers."
The first officer is stunned.
The senior officer throws the first officer a raised eyebrow before saying to the woman, "One of my officers claims that you do not have a driving license."
The woman digs into her handbag and pulls out a clutch purse and hands it to the officer. The officer snaps open the clutch purse and examines the license. He looks quite puzzled. "Thank you ma'am, one of my officers told me you didn't have a license, that you stole this car, and that you murdered and hacked up the owner."
The woman rolls her eyes and takes her clutch back, "Betcha that lying jerk told you I was speeding, too!"
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Bakersfield never looked so lovely...
After I posted my blog on Friday, I loaded up the car drove up to visit my friend, Rachel. My intent was to play for a weekend and then come back on Monday afternoon. We drove to Fresno on Saturday and visited some of our favorite haunts. In the evening we got to meet up with the third member of our college triad, Merida, and had dinner. If you haven't figured it out yet, I like my old roomies. After this, Rachel and I returned back up the mountain.
The next day it started snowing, low on the mountain. Rachel and I decided to hang out around the house. Halfway through the day, the power went out.
In the evening, the snow turned back to rain, and then the rain stopped. What this little warmth loving girl from the agricultural, water stricken valley did not realize is that when it snows, and then it rains, and then it freezes, the snow in the trees gets heavier, and heavier, and then branches and trees split like they have been unzipped, and it sounds like a civil war reenactment, all night long.
The night was drawn out with crackling, crashing, and thudding of trees becoming firewood, gravity-style. Our minds were filled with layman's calculations of wind resistance, trajectory, leverage, and timber strength in order to answer the ever present question, "Which of these trees will be coming through the window/roof and how much time will I have to duck and roll?" We lucked out. Only one branch hit the roof, and aside from the loud clatter, it bounced off and didn't cause any immediate damage.
Fortunately for me, I did not have to go to work the next morning. Rachel was not so lucky! I took naps and read books in a nice warm house, wrapped up in my sleeping bag, all day. Rachel went to an office with no power and no heat, and one working phone line, and began coordinating around the chaos. She was pretty amazing in action, even if she only got 2 hours sleep the night before.
As it turned out, the storm had not taken out just a few electrical lines, but an entire circuit tower. The cellphones were down, there had been land slides and rock slides on the one road leading in and out of Yosemite, and there was another storm coming. El Portal had been declared to be in a "small state of emergency" as Rachel put it, when she relayed the information to me. For a moment, we thought we were going to be stranded for at least a week, but fortunately, there was a convoy being escorted out on Tuesday! I loaded up my car, and tried to put on my chains, but the lock link wouldn't lock! (I swear they worked when I did a practice run off the mountain!) I only needed the chains to get out of the neighborhood in order to get on the freshly plowed road to freedom, but I was failing. Three of Rachel's friends and coworkers appeared in the nick of time, first trying the chains, then declaring the chains to be ridiculous, and then giving the car just the shove it needed to get my tires onto some traction, and I was off(and, oh so grateful to Rachel's nick-of-time comrades)!
I was impressed with the response of the residents of El Portal. They started the day after the storm by checking their own damages, but after getting those issues in order, they were soon out into the rest of the town, pulling branches and debris out of the road, oh, so carefully raising and tying up fallen power lines so that cars could pass through again, cutting down precarious branches threatening to take a second swipe at homes. The friends that found and assisted me had actually been going from house to house to hand out fliers so that the communication stricken town knew about the town meeting that would explain the risks and precautions of staying, as well as about the two convoys leaving that day. PG&E had trucks and helicopters trudging through just about every area I saw, assessing damages and trying to make repairs, and there was another company attempting to keep the sewer lines functioning properly.
I got to the convoy really early, partially because I didn't want to risk my car getting stuck again before getting to the convoy point, and partially because I didn't want to risk that they were only capable of taking 30 vehicles and have me being number 31, so I was number 3. I snuggled up in my car and waited, because my feet were cold and I had a book to read. I had no desire to be outside.
The convoy drove us right past a lot of the damages, and while the damages in some of the areas were impressive, they seemed rather small in relation to the chaos they had caused. I think I was expecting a mountain to be split in half, or something.
It was quite the adventure, and though for me it was more adventure than stress, I definitely felt the tension that I had been smothering with calm humor melt when we pulled into Mariposa and I heard my cellphone chime in delight of discovering reception there. I was not going to have to survive on canned soup and rice for the next week.
Rachel and I made it to Fresno, and did some much needed debriefing over soup at Panera, and headed our separate ways.
I had fun.
I had an adventure.
It was exciting.
I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with my friends.
While I have a tendency to despise home for boring me, for holding me back from adventure, and for being all around uneventful, it has my mattress, my shower, my cat, and no need for chains.
I am so glad to be home.
The next day it started snowing, low on the mountain. Rachel and I decided to hang out around the house. Halfway through the day, the power went out.
In the evening, the snow turned back to rain, and then the rain stopped. What this little warmth loving girl from the agricultural, water stricken valley did not realize is that when it snows, and then it rains, and then it freezes, the snow in the trees gets heavier, and heavier, and then branches and trees split like they have been unzipped, and it sounds like a civil war reenactment, all night long.
The night was drawn out with crackling, crashing, and thudding of trees becoming firewood, gravity-style. Our minds were filled with layman's calculations of wind resistance, trajectory, leverage, and timber strength in order to answer the ever present question, "Which of these trees will be coming through the window/roof and how much time will I have to duck and roll?" We lucked out. Only one branch hit the roof, and aside from the loud clatter, it bounced off and didn't cause any immediate damage.
Fortunately for me, I did not have to go to work the next morning. Rachel was not so lucky! I took naps and read books in a nice warm house, wrapped up in my sleeping bag, all day. Rachel went to an office with no power and no heat, and one working phone line, and began coordinating around the chaos. She was pretty amazing in action, even if she only got 2 hours sleep the night before.
As it turned out, the storm had not taken out just a few electrical lines, but an entire circuit tower. The cellphones were down, there had been land slides and rock slides on the one road leading in and out of Yosemite, and there was another storm coming. El Portal had been declared to be in a "small state of emergency" as Rachel put it, when she relayed the information to me. For a moment, we thought we were going to be stranded for at least a week, but fortunately, there was a convoy being escorted out on Tuesday! I loaded up my car, and tried to put on my chains, but the lock link wouldn't lock! (I swear they worked when I did a practice run off the mountain!) I only needed the chains to get out of the neighborhood in order to get on the freshly plowed road to freedom, but I was failing. Three of Rachel's friends and coworkers appeared in the nick of time, first trying the chains, then declaring the chains to be ridiculous, and then giving the car just the shove it needed to get my tires onto some traction, and I was off(and, oh so grateful to Rachel's nick-of-time comrades)!
I was impressed with the response of the residents of El Portal. They started the day after the storm by checking their own damages, but after getting those issues in order, they were soon out into the rest of the town, pulling branches and debris out of the road, oh, so carefully raising and tying up fallen power lines so that cars could pass through again, cutting down precarious branches threatening to take a second swipe at homes. The friends that found and assisted me had actually been going from house to house to hand out fliers so that the communication stricken town knew about the town meeting that would explain the risks and precautions of staying, as well as about the two convoys leaving that day. PG&E had trucks and helicopters trudging through just about every area I saw, assessing damages and trying to make repairs, and there was another company attempting to keep the sewer lines functioning properly.
I got to the convoy really early, partially because I didn't want to risk my car getting stuck again before getting to the convoy point, and partially because I didn't want to risk that they were only capable of taking 30 vehicles and have me being number 31, so I was number 3. I snuggled up in my car and waited, because my feet were cold and I had a book to read. I had no desire to be outside.
The convoy drove us right past a lot of the damages, and while the damages in some of the areas were impressive, they seemed rather small in relation to the chaos they had caused. I think I was expecting a mountain to be split in half, or something.
It was quite the adventure, and though for me it was more adventure than stress, I definitely felt the tension that I had been smothering with calm humor melt when we pulled into Mariposa and I heard my cellphone chime in delight of discovering reception there. I was not going to have to survive on canned soup and rice for the next week.
Rachel and I made it to Fresno, and did some much needed debriefing over soup at Panera, and headed our separate ways.
I had fun.
I had an adventure.
It was exciting.
I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with my friends.
While I have a tendency to despise home for boring me, for holding me back from adventure, and for being all around uneventful, it has my mattress, my shower, my cat, and no need for chains.
I am so glad to be home.
Friday, March 18, 2011
When the going gets cold...
This morning, before I crawled out of bed, I noticed that I was quite comfortably curled up under two layers of heavy comforters. That is strange, because usually, when Mrs. Bell gets up, she blasts the heater up to 75, and I wind up kicking my covers off.
Unhappily, I crept out of my warm cocoon to start the day. Stepping into the hallway, I learned: the heater is broken. In response, I layered up and soldiered on. For a while, Thunder curled herself up in my lap while I worked on the last part of my letters for my Compassion kids, but then, as I moved too often she disappeared. A few hours later, I noticed she was still gone. I made a quick glance through her usual haunts, and couldn't find my long, thick, angora haired(even has long fur between her toes...built for snow) cat anywhere. Whenever the nights get slightly less than frigid, she moves away from me, because she gets too warm. So imagine my surprise in finding Thunder in my bed,
swaddled in a cave of both my comforters. She stuck her head out to see what I was doing with my camera, but that facial expression? It says, "Don't even think about messing with my warmth!" Thunder may have the outfit for snow, but like many of us who have grown up in Bakersfield, she has the mindset for desert heat. Hot and dry, please!
When the going gets cold, the cold crawl back into bed, and scowl.
Unhappily, I crept out of my warm cocoon to start the day. Stepping into the hallway, I learned: the heater is broken. In response, I layered up and soldiered on. For a while, Thunder curled herself up in my lap while I worked on the last part of my letters for my Compassion kids, but then, as I moved too often she disappeared. A few hours later, I noticed she was still gone. I made a quick glance through her usual haunts, and couldn't find my long, thick, angora haired(even has long fur between her toes...built for snow) cat anywhere. Whenever the nights get slightly less than frigid, she moves away from me, because she gets too warm. So imagine my surprise in finding Thunder in my bed,
When the going gets cold, the cold crawl back into bed, and scowl.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Books and covers...(Literacy,2.5)
We have all heard the phrase, "Don't judge a book by its cover" and usually we assume it's talking about ugly people. I am here to say, that it also applies to books with covers that look good.
Cane River, by Lalita Tademy, for example, is one of those books. I will admit it: When I saw this cover at the Goodwill Bookstore, it fell into my hand like it was metal and I was Magneto. Look at the cover.
Doesn't that look enticing? It looks like it is going to tell you a rich story, and pull you in and leave you wishing there was a sequel. Not so much. It is very roughly based on a true story...ish? The author based it on her genealogy, after quitting her job to trace it. It started because of her great grandmother, Emily, who being genetically more white than black showed favoritism to her lighter grandchildren. The author felt a need to know what made Emily become Emily, and so she traced the family line back 3 generations. The story starts with Emily's grandmother, Suzette, as a 9 year old, and Suzette's mother, Elizabeth, living and working as slaves. It works forward through the generations until it reaches the author's grandmother.
Prior to this book, the author's career was founded in the corporate world. I am not saying that every author has to live their entire lives being authors. I am just saying that this one, Lalita Tademy, is not a natural author. The words feel very awkward and mechanical in the beginning. They tell a story, yes, but but they are not rhythmic, warming, or inviting words. It reads very much like you were looking at her family tree and reading short paragraph summaries about each person's life: Suzette-house slave, raped by white man, had two babies, sold. In the author's defense, she did write with better flow than that, but it rarely moves the reader to become emotionally involved. Often, Lalita Tademy uses written portions from documents she found in her search, such as letters. It was a good idea, however, it clashes horribly with her writing. For example, she copied a letter written in response to her great-great-great-grandfather's letter, but she did not have the letter that he had written, so she had to make it up. The difference in letter style and eloquence is staggering. She may have tried to mimic the style, but she failed, and the mix of the eloquently written documents, and her mechanical style is quite jarring to the reader.
In Lalita Tademy's defense, the closer the story gets to the present, the better the characters become. Maybe it is because she had half a book to develop her writing style before that, but my theory is that the closer she got to present day, the more elderly people she had in the family to glean memories from. The people she heard about from the elderly people definitely have more character depth than the people she had little more than names and sales registries. Even the characters that started without character gained character the closer they got to her elders' memories.
My favorite character was adult Philomene, the daughter of Suzette. Really, if the book only told about Philomene's story, it would have been a great book. Philomene started as a slave, daughter of a white man, was sold multiple times due to deaths of masters. In reaction to the civil war's ravages on the South, she ended up nearly living as an equal with her mistress in order for the household of 2 women and 7 children to survive.
Philomene made some very calculating decisions that, in the long run, were the redemption of her family after freedom, even though the present sacrifice was such that most women would have forgone the decision. When the war ended, her daughter, Emily, was two, and had no real experience of slavery. This lead to a very interesting observation within the story about the generation gap between ex-slaves and born-free children. A year after being granted freedom, Philomene picked up her children and left to seize it. Because of her earlier and continuing calculating decisions she was able to gain a sharecrop to work until she was able to gain her own property. She united a majority of her family, which and been scattered some ten years before at an auction. Her children were privately tutored and given every training they might need to survive in an upper class world. It really was amazing what this woman accomplished, starting at the age of 17.
Unfortunately, her story is smack dab in the middle of the 416 page book. After her is Emily's story until Emily is 60 years old, and the tying up of lose ends to explain where the grandchildren had scattered.
The book is interesting to an extent, because there are actual photos of many of the people, and also copies of the papers used to learn Lalita Tademy's family history, such as slave auction receipts, news paper articles, hand written (in French) letters and census records.
If I were rating this book on Amazon, it would get 3/5 stars(Well, ideally 2.5/5, but Amazon doesn't allow that option). I would not recommend this book to a friend if they asked me for a good read. It is not the worst book I have ever read. Like I said, it has some interesting moments. I just do not feel the interesting moments redeem the mechanical writing style, the predominance of one dimensional characters, and the sheer drudgery of Cane River.
Cane River, by Lalita Tademy, for example, is one of those books. I will admit it: When I saw this cover at the Goodwill Bookstore, it fell into my hand like it was metal and I was Magneto. Look at the cover.
Doesn't that look enticing? It looks like it is going to tell you a rich story, and pull you in and leave you wishing there was a sequel. Not so much. It is very roughly based on a true story...ish? The author based it on her genealogy, after quitting her job to trace it. It started because of her great grandmother, Emily, who being genetically more white than black showed favoritism to her lighter grandchildren. The author felt a need to know what made Emily become Emily, and so she traced the family line back 3 generations. The story starts with Emily's grandmother, Suzette, as a 9 year old, and Suzette's mother, Elizabeth, living and working as slaves. It works forward through the generations until it reaches the author's grandmother.
Prior to this book, the author's career was founded in the corporate world. I am not saying that every author has to live their entire lives being authors. I am just saying that this one, Lalita Tademy, is not a natural author. The words feel very awkward and mechanical in the beginning. They tell a story, yes, but but they are not rhythmic, warming, or inviting words. It reads very much like you were looking at her family tree and reading short paragraph summaries about each person's life: Suzette-house slave, raped by white man, had two babies, sold. In the author's defense, she did write with better flow than that, but it rarely moves the reader to become emotionally involved. Often, Lalita Tademy uses written portions from documents she found in her search, such as letters. It was a good idea, however, it clashes horribly with her writing. For example, she copied a letter written in response to her great-great-great-grandfather's letter, but she did not have the letter that he had written, so she had to make it up. The difference in letter style and eloquence is staggering. She may have tried to mimic the style, but she failed, and the mix of the eloquently written documents, and her mechanical style is quite jarring to the reader.
In Lalita Tademy's defense, the closer the story gets to the present, the better the characters become. Maybe it is because she had half a book to develop her writing style before that, but my theory is that the closer she got to present day, the more elderly people she had in the family to glean memories from. The people she heard about from the elderly people definitely have more character depth than the people she had little more than names and sales registries. Even the characters that started without character gained character the closer they got to her elders' memories.
My favorite character was adult Philomene, the daughter of Suzette. Really, if the book only told about Philomene's story, it would have been a great book. Philomene started as a slave, daughter of a white man, was sold multiple times due to deaths of masters. In reaction to the civil war's ravages on the South, she ended up nearly living as an equal with her mistress in order for the household of 2 women and 7 children to survive.
Philomene made some very calculating decisions that, in the long run, were the redemption of her family after freedom, even though the present sacrifice was such that most women would have forgone the decision. When the war ended, her daughter, Emily, was two, and had no real experience of slavery. This lead to a very interesting observation within the story about the generation gap between ex-slaves and born-free children. A year after being granted freedom, Philomene picked up her children and left to seize it. Because of her earlier and continuing calculating decisions she was able to gain a sharecrop to work until she was able to gain her own property. She united a majority of her family, which and been scattered some ten years before at an auction. Her children were privately tutored and given every training they might need to survive in an upper class world. It really was amazing what this woman accomplished, starting at the age of 17.
Unfortunately, her story is smack dab in the middle of the 416 page book. After her is Emily's story until Emily is 60 years old, and the tying up of lose ends to explain where the grandchildren had scattered.
The book is interesting to an extent, because there are actual photos of many of the people, and also copies of the papers used to learn Lalita Tademy's family history, such as slave auction receipts, news paper articles, hand written (in French) letters and census records.
If I were rating this book on Amazon, it would get 3/5 stars(Well, ideally 2.5/5, but Amazon doesn't allow that option). I would not recommend this book to a friend if they asked me for a good read. It is not the worst book I have ever read. Like I said, it has some interesting moments. I just do not feel the interesting moments redeem the mechanical writing style, the predominance of one dimensional characters, and the sheer drudgery of Cane River.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
My cat reminds me of God...
And if my cat had anything to do with the editing, this blog would end with the title. Fortunately for my salvation, the title requires explanation. Let me start by explaining about my cat.
I trapped my cat as a 3 week old kitten from a long line of feral cats. She hated me. She hated everyone, but I am particularly good with animals. I have never had an animal hate me before. Fear? Yes, but hate? Never. It took 2 months longer than the other kittens we caught to get her to tolerate my presence. I finally managed this by locking her in the bathroom with me while I read a book for hours, ignoring her. It took weeks of this before she made the decision to approach me. Before that, every time I held her resulted in my bleeding, a lot. It took a year before I could reach out to her without her scampering away, three years before she was willing to cuddle up in my lap. She would not take food or treats that I offered her(not even hot dog bits, or cheese), I had to fill her food dish secretly. As a kitten, she had a bacterial infection, and 3 different kinds of parasites at once, meaning she had to pinned down daily for medications. Later on, she got ringworm, and though she had begun to like me, I still had to wrestle her down to treat her every day. Now, she loves me.
A year ago, I scooped this opinionated fluff ball up and cradled her in my arms to rub her belly. She closed her eyes and purred with satisfaction, and as I watched her tilt her head side to side, I caught sight of the healed over scars on my own arm. They were a few of the many scars this cat had inflicted on me as a scared and angry kitten. I was surprised to see they were still there. I was surprised to see them and then realize that I felt a deep love for the kitten that had put the scars there. As I pondered this, I felt God murmur in my heart, I know the feeling.
You were living in a place of death, but I rescued you
You hated me, but I loved you
You hid from me, but I found you
You ran away, but I pursued you
You lashed out against me, but I forgave you
You were diseased, but I healed you
You were anemic, but I gave you life
I gave you good things, but too often you turned away
You were scared, but I waited for you trust
You wanted the wrong thing desperately, but I protected you
I know what is best for you, even when you don't like it
And when I see the scars I took on your behalf, I do not feel regret. Only love.
And so as I stood there, and rubbed my cat's tummy, I gained a new appreciation for how great my God is. Because of this when I look at my cat, I am reminded of God's great love for me. I am reminded that God went to great efforts to love me, and that I was not incredibly lovable. Even during those times when I vehemently tell him to take his love and shove it, he relentlessly loves me.
Much to my cat's disappointment, I do not consider her a god. She is simply a consistent reminder of God's great patience, mercy and love for me.
There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us.
1 John 4:18-19
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Good Joke Thursday
So, I may have another blog coming shortly, maybe it will come today, or tomorrow, or the next. We'll see. I just don't have time to type it up at the moment, but as I sit here, heading out the door to my favorite appointment(acupuncture, hurrah!), I realized something almost awful: It's Thursday, and I haven't posted a joke yet. I know that's why you all come and read this blog. I probably just lost half my readers just for that mistake. (Which takes us down to.... carry the 3...subtract the 2... find a calculator.... let's see = 1...?) ;-)
So here it is:
The Vietnamese Choreboy
A groups of soldiers in the Vietnam War were always playing jokes on their Vietnamese hired servant. This boy was about 16 years old, and he always took the pranks in stride. The band of soldiers were shocked that a teenager could have such patience, so they decided to see how far they would have to go for him to finally explode. They dumped cold water on him in the middle of the night. They nailed his shoes to the floor. They sewed his pant legs closed. The pranks just kept getting worse, but each time, the boy just let it roll off him, as if he had not even noticed they were doing it. After a while, the soldiers began to feel bad. They felt so guilty that finally the called him to a meeting and apologized. "We were wrong, and you handled our pranks admirably, and we should have been more mature, but somehow you were. So, from now on, no more pranks. We'll treat you with love."
The boy was stunned at first, so they asked him if he understood. He asked, "No more water while sleeping?" And the assured him, no more water while sleeping. So he asked, "No more shoes nailed to the floor?" No more shoes nailed to the floor, "No more sewing pants closed?" No more sewing pants closed. "No more pranks ever?" No more pranks ever. The boy stood, nodded, straightened his hat, "Okay. No more spit in soup."
So here it is:
The Vietnamese Choreboy
A groups of soldiers in the Vietnam War were always playing jokes on their Vietnamese hired servant. This boy was about 16 years old, and he always took the pranks in stride. The band of soldiers were shocked that a teenager could have such patience, so they decided to see how far they would have to go for him to finally explode. They dumped cold water on him in the middle of the night. They nailed his shoes to the floor. They sewed his pant legs closed. The pranks just kept getting worse, but each time, the boy just let it roll off him, as if he had not even noticed they were doing it. After a while, the soldiers began to feel bad. They felt so guilty that finally the called him to a meeting and apologized. "We were wrong, and you handled our pranks admirably, and we should have been more mature, but somehow you were. So, from now on, no more pranks. We'll treat you with love."
The boy was stunned at first, so they asked him if he understood. He asked, "No more water while sleeping?" And the assured him, no more water while sleeping. So he asked, "No more shoes nailed to the floor?" No more shoes nailed to the floor, "No more sewing pants closed?" No more sewing pants closed. "No more pranks ever?" No more pranks ever. The boy stood, nodded, straightened his hat, "Okay. No more spit in soup."
Monday, March 7, 2011
Gluten free 401: Survival-The Elephant Bar
NOTE: As of January 3, 2013, this information is outdated. Here is a link to the blog with more recent information.
I am a social person. I like going out to eat with my family and friends. This means, in my recent eating adjustments, learning how to eat at just about any restaurant. Because of my desire to be there, it doesn't really matter if I think the gluten free options are excellent, so long as there is just one protein, non-fish, gluten free item on the menu for me to order. (You would be amazed at how many restaurants' gluten free menus consist solely of "steamed broccoli and water" and sometimes even the steamed broccoli has been steamed in spaghetti water...)
Yesterday was my brother Derek's birthday, so on Saturday, my parents took the family out to the restaurant of his choice: The Elephant Bar. This choice sent me flying to google, to scour blogs of the more adventurous celiacs. I discovered that the Elephant Bar now has a temporary gluten-free menu available until they develop a more concrete gluten free menu. You have to ask for it at the front desk, and there have been many who have found they had to wait a long time because the staff had to go print it off of the manager's computer. Having read this, I asked for the gluten free menu upon checking in. I was expecting a 3 dish menu, where one of the dishes was "steamed broccoli" so, while the actual GF menu was not extensive, its size surprised me. This blog is about to get long, as I'm going to type up the menu provided to me. Brace yourselves, blogfriends.
Elephant Bar Gluten Free Selections
Appetizers
-Vietnamese Shrimp Rolls, exclude the Oriental Slaw, Tamarind Macadamia Nut Sauce, Thai Peanut Sauce.
-Seared Ahi, exclude the soy sauce ponzu sauce, wasabi.
-Whole Milk Mozzarella with Bruschetta Tomatoes, exclude the pita chips.
Side items
-Steamed vegetables
-Sauteed Spinach
-Sliced tomatoes
-Steamed white or brown rice
Dressing
-Balsamic Mustard Vinaigrette
-Oil and Vinaigrette
-Mojo dressing
-Citrus Dressing
Large Salads
-Cobb Salad, substitute plain grilled chicken for the BBQ chicken, make sure the dressing you choose is gluten free
-Ahi Tuna Salad, exclude the water chestnuts, soy glaze, fried wontons, and substitute the red ginger sesame dressing with balsamic mustard vinaigrette (or GF dressing of choice)
-Oriental Chicken Salad, with plain grilled chicken instead of the teriyaki chicken, exclude the fried won tons and the sesame-teriyaki dressing
Low Cal/Lite 700
-Fire grilled lemon garlic chicken
-Fire grilled rainbow trout
Soup/side salads
-Macua shrimp noodle soup
-Side organic field greens salad
-Side citrus salad
-side garden salad, exclude the croutons
Sandwich(A laughable moment, indeed)
-NY steak sandwich, exclude the fried onion strings and garlic bread(which you can have them substitute for a side salad with gf dressing), also exclude the french fries(pouty face), which you can substitute for any of the gluten free side items listed above.
Global
-Center cut NY steak, exclude the fried onion strings and garlic mashed potatoes(which can be substituted for with a gf side item, they suggest rice)
-NY steak and coconut shrimp, exclude the mashed potatoes(substitute with rice), exclude the coconut shrimp( substitute with plain grilled shrimp or lemon herb shrimp), and exclude the zesty pineapple sauce
Dessert
-Creme Brulee
And that's the entire gluten free menu as provided to me by the Elephant Bar on Stockdale Highway.
If you actually read the menu, it will be clear to you that they are not quite up to actually making gluten free food, but we will have to applaud them for making an effort to let us know which foods are just naturally gluten free. I ordered the cobb salad with plain grilled chicken and the balsamic mustard vinaigrette. They accidentally brought out the cobb salad with the BBQ chicken on it, so I explained that I have an allergy, and I needed a new salad, without the BBQ chicken. The servers, though while very kind, and giving their very best efforts, really had no education in gluten. After mentioning an allergy however, they whisked the wrong dish away, and I was shortly after greeted by someone from the kitchen staff, who did her best to clarify what the allergy was, apologize and took directions as to how the food should come out. I don't think she knew what gluten was either, but was willing to be coached. The correct salad was brought to me. It tasted fine, not spectacular, because the chicken really is plain. I then had the creme brulee, which was delightful.
Conclusion: The Elephant Bar has a long way to go from being one of those "gluten-free havens" like PF Changs is, however, if you find that you're going to the Elephant Bar and you can't eat gluten, you will not be forced to eat granola bars and drink water while the rest of your party eats. I appreciate that. The staff is not thoroughly educated in gluten, so it would be best at this establishment to announce your presence like royalty at the front gate! Tell the waiter when you order that you have an allergy. Be one of those annoying people who won't shut up about their allergies. Explain that you are allergic to gluten, which means you're allergic to wheat, bread, soy sauce, teriyaki and, apparently, BBQ sauce. When they bring you your food, inspect it, because the staff is not likely to notice the error.
I give the wait staff an A for effort, the menu a C, and the staff education of gluten an F. All in all, it's not horrible, if you have to eat there, you'll likely survive, but you probably won't choose to eat there of your own free will very often. (Though, their steak might really be the right way to go)
This blog was posted for those in my life who also cannot eat gluten. So, if this blog bores you, I'm sorry. There will be other blogs that will not be so boring.
NOTE: I am not a medical professional. I am not an official gluten detector, I have no guarantees of the actual gluten freeness of the food. I am only relaying what I have experienced, and I am only relaying the information that has been relayed to me at the time of this post. You need to do your own research on whether the food will be safe for you if you have an allergy. I am not responsible for what you eat, or how that turns out. Also, I have been informed that the Elephant Bar makes frequent changes to their recipes, and some restaurants do things differently depending on where they are. The menu I have provided is merely to give people an idea of what they might find in gluten-free availability. Do not use my list to order your food. Always ask the restaurant for their current gluten-free menu.
I am a social person. I like going out to eat with my family and friends. This means, in my recent eating adjustments, learning how to eat at just about any restaurant. Because of my desire to be there, it doesn't really matter if I think the gluten free options are excellent, so long as there is just one protein, non-fish, gluten free item on the menu for me to order. (You would be amazed at how many restaurants' gluten free menus consist solely of "steamed broccoli and water" and sometimes even the steamed broccoli has been steamed in spaghetti water...)
Yesterday was my brother Derek's birthday, so on Saturday, my parents took the family out to the restaurant of his choice: The Elephant Bar. This choice sent me flying to google, to scour blogs of the more adventurous celiacs. I discovered that the Elephant Bar now has a temporary gluten-free menu available until they develop a more concrete gluten free menu. You have to ask for it at the front desk, and there have been many who have found they had to wait a long time because the staff had to go print it off of the manager's computer. Having read this, I asked for the gluten free menu upon checking in. I was expecting a 3 dish menu, where one of the dishes was "steamed broccoli" so, while the actual GF menu was not extensive, its size surprised me. This blog is about to get long, as I'm going to type up the menu provided to me. Brace yourselves, blogfriends.
Elephant Bar Gluten Free Selections
Appetizers
-Vietnamese Shrimp Rolls, exclude the Oriental Slaw, Tamarind Macadamia Nut Sauce, Thai Peanut Sauce.
-Seared Ahi, exclude the soy sauce ponzu sauce, wasabi.
-Whole Milk Mozzarella with Bruschetta Tomatoes, exclude the pita chips.
Side items
-Steamed vegetables
-Sauteed Spinach
-Sliced tomatoes
-Steamed white or brown rice
Dressing
-Balsamic Mustard Vinaigrette
-Oil and Vinaigrette
-Mojo dressing
-Citrus Dressing
Large Salads
-Cobb Salad, substitute plain grilled chicken for the BBQ chicken, make sure the dressing you choose is gluten free
-Ahi Tuna Salad, exclude the water chestnuts, soy glaze, fried wontons, and substitute the red ginger sesame dressing with balsamic mustard vinaigrette (or GF dressing of choice)
-Oriental Chicken Salad, with plain grilled chicken instead of the teriyaki chicken, exclude the fried won tons and the sesame-teriyaki dressing
Low Cal/Lite 700
-Fire grilled lemon garlic chicken
-Fire grilled rainbow trout
Soup/side salads
-Macua shrimp noodle soup
-Side organic field greens salad
-Side citrus salad
-side garden salad, exclude the croutons
Sandwich(A laughable moment, indeed)
-NY steak sandwich, exclude the fried onion strings and garlic bread(which you can have them substitute for a side salad with gf dressing), also exclude the french fries(pouty face), which you can substitute for any of the gluten free side items listed above.
Global
-Center cut NY steak, exclude the fried onion strings and garlic mashed potatoes(which can be substituted for with a gf side item, they suggest rice)
-NY steak and coconut shrimp, exclude the mashed potatoes(substitute with rice), exclude the coconut shrimp( substitute with plain grilled shrimp or lemon herb shrimp), and exclude the zesty pineapple sauce
Dessert
-Creme Brulee
And that's the entire gluten free menu as provided to me by the Elephant Bar on Stockdale Highway.
If you actually read the menu, it will be clear to you that they are not quite up to actually making gluten free food, but we will have to applaud them for making an effort to let us know which foods are just naturally gluten free. I ordered the cobb salad with plain grilled chicken and the balsamic mustard vinaigrette. They accidentally brought out the cobb salad with the BBQ chicken on it, so I explained that I have an allergy, and I needed a new salad, without the BBQ chicken. The servers, though while very kind, and giving their very best efforts, really had no education in gluten. After mentioning an allergy however, they whisked the wrong dish away, and I was shortly after greeted by someone from the kitchen staff, who did her best to clarify what the allergy was, apologize and took directions as to how the food should come out. I don't think she knew what gluten was either, but was willing to be coached. The correct salad was brought to me. It tasted fine, not spectacular, because the chicken really is plain. I then had the creme brulee, which was delightful.
Conclusion: The Elephant Bar has a long way to go from being one of those "gluten-free havens" like PF Changs is, however, if you find that you're going to the Elephant Bar and you can't eat gluten, you will not be forced to eat granola bars and drink water while the rest of your party eats. I appreciate that. The staff is not thoroughly educated in gluten, so it would be best at this establishment to announce your presence like royalty at the front gate! Tell the waiter when you order that you have an allergy. Be one of those annoying people who won't shut up about their allergies. Explain that you are allergic to gluten, which means you're allergic to wheat, bread, soy sauce, teriyaki and, apparently, BBQ sauce. When they bring you your food, inspect it, because the staff is not likely to notice the error.
I give the wait staff an A for effort, the menu a C, and the staff education of gluten an F. All in all, it's not horrible, if you have to eat there, you'll likely survive, but you probably won't choose to eat there of your own free will very often. (Though, their steak might really be the right way to go)
This blog was posted for those in my life who also cannot eat gluten. So, if this blog bores you, I'm sorry. There will be other blogs that will not be so boring.
NOTE: I am not a medical professional. I am not an official gluten detector, I have no guarantees of the actual gluten freeness of the food. I am only relaying what I have experienced, and I am only relaying the information that has been relayed to me at the time of this post. You need to do your own research on whether the food will be safe for you if you have an allergy. I am not responsible for what you eat, or how that turns out. Also, I have been informed that the Elephant Bar makes frequent changes to their recipes, and some restaurants do things differently depending on where they are. The menu I have provided is merely to give people an idea of what they might find in gluten-free availability. Do not use my list to order your food. Always ask the restaurant for their current gluten-free menu.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
3 things for the 3rd day of the 3rd month
I am having a good week. This makes me have a good mood, too!
First thing: I finished my first book of the month. Usually, I am sweating it for the first half of the month as I work on the first book, the whole while of enjoying the book, there's a background thought of, "I've got to make sure I at least get this one finished to meet my goal!" And then after the first book in the month is finished, all the others are child's play. Usually the first book is finished around the 15th. This month, it's the 3rd. Take that, March! The book is Unshaken: Rising from the ruins of Haiti's Hotel Montana by Dan Woolley (with Jennifer Schuchmann). Dan Woolley had just walked into the lobby of the 5 story hotel when the earthquake hit. It took 3 seconds for the entire hotel to collapse. He made his way to an open elevator, which quickly became his refuge and his prison. He spent 65 hours under the Hotel Montana. The book covers his survival, but it also covers his spiritual battle. It addresses 2 kinds of darknesses: the darkness of being locked under 5 stories of hotel with no promise of rescue, and the darkness of clinical depression... and it is amazing how similar they are. Summing up, this was a great read! It flows well, and it draws you in. There was never any point where I bawled, or had to stop reading because of tears. Few books/movies ever manage to do that to me(cough cough Bridge to Terabithia cough cough), but there were definitely some moments where my eyelashes got wet. Mom has first dibs on reading my copy, but I'll gladly take requests after her...first come first serve!
Second thing: I'm still just so happy about finally getting a letter from Abigail this week! She is my monthly writer, and last month, I didn't get a letter! I was getting a little nervous. In reality, though, the gap in writing probably represents the period of time I got behind in my own writing to her some time in December. I didn't miss a month, but I definitely might have written at the beginning of November, and then again at the end of December. So my anxiety is fair payback for the anxiety I probably caused her. I asked Abigail a while ago how she managed to draw a computer so well. I was hoping to learn they had computer classes already at her project, or maybe at her school. She says there are no computers at school, and the only computer she knows is at the Compassion Office, which she sees occasionally. Apparently, it has her enchanted, because I have seen several drawings of computers show up on her letters to me(There was another one on this letter).
She was very excited to hear about Josh's (then)upcoming wedding, and asked for more information about it. She'll be happy to learn soon that I have already sent her not only information about the day, but photos! Abigail's prayer went out to Joshua this time. "Congratulations to Joshua. She pray that he will have a happy marriage." It is so good to hear from her again. Abigail is such a cheerful, thoughtful little spirit!
Third thing: As many of you know, I am working on the direction in my life. I had grand plans after college, and those plans shattered. The recovery portion that followed afterward has finally come to a point that allows for more than just sweeping up pieces and repairing that which is reparable, it is finally at a point of upward building. My back is finally heading towards working properly again, and all of the legal issues are rapidly dissipating. These are very liberating things! I have been doing a lot of praying lately, trying to determine where to go from here. I do not want to go into too many details, but I am finally starting to get a feeling of a possible forward motion. I went to an informational meeting on some possibilities last night, and it just feels so very right. I am excited at the prospect of not just trudging past failures, but leaping into new possibilities! How's that for being frustratingly vague? The point of the "third thing" being mentioned is that I am really excited just at the possibility, and I would really appreciate your prayers as I make my decisions that I would make my decisions based on wisdom and God's leading, and not succumb to making a decision simply out of eagerness to start a new adventure.
Those are my three things for today. As it is also Thursday, you get a joke or riddle of some sort. This one comes from my Mom. I had forgotten it until she posted it the other day, but I do remember that it was one of my favorites as a teenager!
The 13 year old, the pilot, and the smartest man in the world:
There were three people in an airplane. The pilot, a 13 year old boy, and the smartest man in the world. The smartest man in the world often reminded them of his status throughout the trip.
The plane started having engine problems, and they discovered that there were only two parachutes. They began to discuss who should use the parachutes, when the smartest man in the world grabbed a parachute and jumped.
The pilot, being the better man, then told the boy that he should take the second chute. But the boy was doubled over laughing. The boy responded, "That's okay! We will both take parachutes! The smartest man in the world just took my backpack!"
Have a nice Thursday!
-Caitlin
First thing: I finished my first book of the month. Usually, I am sweating it for the first half of the month as I work on the first book, the whole while of enjoying the book, there's a background thought of, "I've got to make sure I at least get this one finished to meet my goal!" And then after the first book in the month is finished, all the others are child's play. Usually the first book is finished around the 15th. This month, it's the 3rd. Take that, March! The book is Unshaken: Rising from the ruins of Haiti's Hotel Montana by Dan Woolley (with Jennifer Schuchmann). Dan Woolley had just walked into the lobby of the 5 story hotel when the earthquake hit. It took 3 seconds for the entire hotel to collapse. He made his way to an open elevator, which quickly became his refuge and his prison. He spent 65 hours under the Hotel Montana. The book covers his survival, but it also covers his spiritual battle. It addresses 2 kinds of darknesses: the darkness of being locked under 5 stories of hotel with no promise of rescue, and the darkness of clinical depression... and it is amazing how similar they are. Summing up, this was a great read! It flows well, and it draws you in. There was never any point where I bawled, or had to stop reading because of tears. Few books/movies ever manage to do that to me(cough cough Bridge to Terabithia cough cough), but there were definitely some moments where my eyelashes got wet. Mom has first dibs on reading my copy, but I'll gladly take requests after her...first come first serve!
Second thing: I'm still just so happy about finally getting a letter from Abigail this week! She is my monthly writer, and last month, I didn't get a letter! I was getting a little nervous. In reality, though, the gap in writing probably represents the period of time I got behind in my own writing to her some time in December. I didn't miss a month, but I definitely might have written at the beginning of November, and then again at the end of December. So my anxiety is fair payback for the anxiety I probably caused her. I asked Abigail a while ago how she managed to draw a computer so well. I was hoping to learn they had computer classes already at her project, or maybe at her school. She says there are no computers at school, and the only computer she knows is at the Compassion Office, which she sees occasionally. Apparently, it has her enchanted, because I have seen several drawings of computers show up on her letters to me(There was another one on this letter).
She was very excited to hear about Josh's (then)upcoming wedding, and asked for more information about it. She'll be happy to learn soon that I have already sent her not only information about the day, but photos! Abigail's prayer went out to Joshua this time. "Congratulations to Joshua. She pray that he will have a happy marriage." It is so good to hear from her again. Abigail is such a cheerful, thoughtful little spirit!
Third thing: As many of you know, I am working on the direction in my life. I had grand plans after college, and those plans shattered. The recovery portion that followed afterward has finally come to a point that allows for more than just sweeping up pieces and repairing that which is reparable, it is finally at a point of upward building. My back is finally heading towards working properly again, and all of the legal issues are rapidly dissipating. These are very liberating things! I have been doing a lot of praying lately, trying to determine where to go from here. I do not want to go into too many details, but I am finally starting to get a feeling of a possible forward motion. I went to an informational meeting on some possibilities last night, and it just feels so very right. I am excited at the prospect of not just trudging past failures, but leaping into new possibilities! How's that for being frustratingly vague? The point of the "third thing" being mentioned is that I am really excited just at the possibility, and I would really appreciate your prayers as I make my decisions that I would make my decisions based on wisdom and God's leading, and not succumb to making a decision simply out of eagerness to start a new adventure.
Those are my three things for today. As it is also Thursday, you get a joke or riddle of some sort. This one comes from my Mom. I had forgotten it until she posted it the other day, but I do remember that it was one of my favorites as a teenager!
The 13 year old, the pilot, and the smartest man in the world:
There were three people in an airplane. The pilot, a 13 year old boy, and the smartest man in the world. The smartest man in the world often reminded them of his status throughout the trip.
The plane started having engine problems, and they discovered that there were only two parachutes. They began to discuss who should use the parachutes, when the smartest man in the world grabbed a parachute and jumped.
The pilot, being the better man, then told the boy that he should take the second chute. But the boy was doubled over laughing. The boy responded, "That's okay! We will both take parachutes! The smartest man in the world just took my backpack!"
Have a nice Thursday!
-Caitlin
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Keeping up: Literacy, 2
Starting at the beginning of the year, I challenged myself to read more. The details being that I should read one new(to me) book a month, and ideally I would read at least 2 books.
February is over, and I get to count that as the second successful month of the year.
I finished A Tale of Two Cities, which was my hover book for multiple years(At last, I'm free!). It took a lot of will power, so when that was done, I allowed myself a book I've been eying for a while now, Under The Overpass, and an easier book with an interesting cover, Wringer.
The main question I pose to myself when people ask me if I would suggest a book to them is, "Would I be willing to read this book again?" If my answer is no, I am not likely to suggest the book to someone else. Sometimes, a book is excellent, and the amount of effort it required from me was so high that I would likely never read it again, so, I would consider that an exception to my instant "no" clause.
A Tale of Two Cities is one of those exceptions. I might, someday, possibly in 10 years, be willing to read it again, but really, it took sooooo much work out of me to finish it, it will take ten years to work up to that decision, BUT it is an excellent book! It should be read. It has an insane number of details, especially historic political details, that grate on a reader's endurance, but in the end all of those details work together, and make the story excellent. It is dry and boring until 2/3 into the book, and then it is dry and interesting. That big finish? The one that makes you gasp and consider getting misty eyed? Yeah, Mr. Dickens really knows how to cling onto it, because he literally holds on to it until the l...a...s...t stinking page! There is no real warming up to it, and then BLAM! One paragraph, on the last page, and it switches you from calling the blasted book "The nightmarish slavemaster" to "That gorgeous book." In summary, I have told people that I think I am suffering Stockholm's syndrome with this blasted book, but I think I love it. This is the reason why I deserved a treat. Concluding this book, would I suggest this book to you? Yes, but only with the warning that it will be a lot of work.
Under The Overpass (by Mike Yankoski) was my special treat. The first time I laid eyes on the book was at my Granny's church library. I knew that being a guest from out of town, I should probably not snag their last remaining copy. When I came across it while house sitting, I knew that I needed to quickly finish "The nightmarish slave master" so that I could bum this book out of my friends' library. It is about a Christian young man, who attended a Christian college, who needed to know if his faith was genuine or just born of his life of plenty. He found a partner, and lived 5 months as homeless men in 5 of some of the most heavily homeless populated cities in America, and journaled throughout it, and then came back and wrote this book. The purpose? He answers this question on page 19: "1. To better understand the life of the homeless in America, and to see firsthand how the church is responding to their needs. 2.To encourage others to 'live out loud' for Christ in whatever ways God is asking them to. 3. To learn personally what it means to depend on Christ for my daily physical needs, and to experience contentment and confidence in him." The book is raw, honest, and easily devoured. It is somewhat choppy, consisting of short stories that don't often have a conclusion, or a desired conclusion, because the stories are real life, and sometimes we are not told the ends of the stories we encounter in real life. It was good food for thought, while also being an easy read (it's double spaced, you will feel like a real genius flying through chapters at the speed you do). So, would I suggest Under the Overpass to you? Yes. I would even suggest it to non-Christian friends.
And finally, Wringer by Jerry Spinelli. This book slipped in by the skin of its tooth, this month. I finished it yesterday, and had honestly not expected it to be a February book. It is from the Young Readers section of the Goodwill Bookstore. I picked it up because of the creepy cover art and Newberry Medal on it. I realized later that the Newberry Medal had actually been awarded for the author's other book, Maniac Magee. It's good to visit the chapter book section. I am actually a fan of children's chapter books, because they are written so differently. They know that if they do not grab the kid's attention upfront, the kid will not finish. Smart. This one is about a town that annually has a pigeon shooting competition in order to raise money for the maintenance of the park. Boys, 10 and up, are given the job of clearing the field of the dead pigeons, and wringing the necks of the injured pigeons. The pigeons are then used as fertilizer. The main character starts off as a young child not understanding why they need to kill the pigeons, to understanding that soon it will be his job to be a wringer, and dreading his tenth birthday. He lives in a town that "hates pigeons" and he doesn't, but he also knows that if he does not fulfill his job as a wringer, he'll never be able to hold his head up at school again. After this, there are few predictable twists in the story to complicate it. The reason I read this level of books, though, is because usually they are really good at enrapturing the reader. This one wasn't. As a reader, you feel close to feeling with the main character, but he never manages to break through the wall that changes your reason to read from being because "it's interesting" to being because "I feel what he feels and I must know what happens." The author grazes by areas that could have delved deeper, drawn the reader in, but instead he almost deals with them as a nuisance, a distraction from his pigeons. In my opinion, which won't matter much, because you don't know the characters, the main character's best friend is far too nice, far too quick to forgive and forget, which makes her a character that lacks depth. What are we teaching kids? That we can treat our friends in the worst ways we can imagine so long as when we decide we need a friend again we turn around and say, "Sorry, I don't know what came over me." The book ends exactly as the beginning led you to believe it would, without even making you think for a minute that it might not end that way. In the end though, I know I can't judge it too harshly, as this book is written for 4th-6th graders. 25 year olds who read books for 10 year olds aren't allowed to be upset with the books. It was an interesting book, that I finished like I might finish a newspaper article, but had I been 10 and reading this book, I would not have finished it. And so, would I recommend Wringer to anyone? No, however, I would not stop you from reading it, if you decided to do so. It wasn't a complete waste of time.
Welcome to March! Next up?
February is over, and I get to count that as the second successful month of the year.
The main question I pose to myself when people ask me if I would suggest a book to them is, "Would I be willing to read this book again?" If my answer is no, I am not likely to suggest the book to someone else. Sometimes, a book is excellent, and the amount of effort it required from me was so high that I would likely never read it again, so, I would consider that an exception to my instant "no" clause.
A Tale of Two Cities is one of those exceptions. I might, someday, possibly in 10 years, be willing to read it again, but really, it took sooooo much work out of me to finish it, it will take ten years to work up to that decision, BUT it is an excellent book! It should be read. It has an insane number of details, especially historic political details, that grate on a reader's endurance, but in the end all of those details work together, and make the story excellent. It is dry and boring until 2/3 into the book, and then it is dry and interesting. That big finish? The one that makes you gasp and consider getting misty eyed? Yeah, Mr. Dickens really knows how to cling onto it, because he literally holds on to it until the l...a...s...t stinking page! There is no real warming up to it, and then BLAM! One paragraph, on the last page, and it switches you from calling the blasted book "The nightmarish slavemaster" to "That gorgeous book." In summary, I have told people that I think I am suffering Stockholm's syndrome with this blasted book, but I think I love it. This is the reason why I deserved a treat. Concluding this book, would I suggest this book to you? Yes, but only with the warning that it will be a lot of work.
Under The Overpass (by Mike Yankoski) was my special treat. The first time I laid eyes on the book was at my Granny's church library. I knew that being a guest from out of town, I should probably not snag their last remaining copy. When I came across it while house sitting, I knew that I needed to quickly finish "The nightmarish slave master" so that I could bum this book out of my friends' library. It is about a Christian young man, who attended a Christian college, who needed to know if his faith was genuine or just born of his life of plenty. He found a partner, and lived 5 months as homeless men in 5 of some of the most heavily homeless populated cities in America, and journaled throughout it, and then came back and wrote this book. The purpose? He answers this question on page 19: "1. To better understand the life of the homeless in America, and to see firsthand how the church is responding to their needs. 2.To encourage others to 'live out loud' for Christ in whatever ways God is asking them to. 3. To learn personally what it means to depend on Christ for my daily physical needs, and to experience contentment and confidence in him." The book is raw, honest, and easily devoured. It is somewhat choppy, consisting of short stories that don't often have a conclusion, or a desired conclusion, because the stories are real life, and sometimes we are not told the ends of the stories we encounter in real life. It was good food for thought, while also being an easy read (it's double spaced, you will feel like a real genius flying through chapters at the speed you do). So, would I suggest Under the Overpass to you? Yes. I would even suggest it to non-Christian friends.
And finally, Wringer by Jerry Spinelli. This book slipped in by the skin of its tooth, this month. I finished it yesterday, and had honestly not expected it to be a February book. It is from the Young Readers section of the Goodwill Bookstore. I picked it up because of the creepy cover art and Newberry Medal on it. I realized later that the Newberry Medal had actually been awarded for the author's other book, Maniac Magee. It's good to visit the chapter book section. I am actually a fan of children's chapter books, because they are written so differently. They know that if they do not grab the kid's attention upfront, the kid will not finish. Smart. This one is about a town that annually has a pigeon shooting competition in order to raise money for the maintenance of the park. Boys, 10 and up, are given the job of clearing the field of the dead pigeons, and wringing the necks of the injured pigeons. The pigeons are then used as fertilizer. The main character starts off as a young child not understanding why they need to kill the pigeons, to understanding that soon it will be his job to be a wringer, and dreading his tenth birthday. He lives in a town that "hates pigeons" and he doesn't, but he also knows that if he does not fulfill his job as a wringer, he'll never be able to hold his head up at school again. After this, there are few predictable twists in the story to complicate it. The reason I read this level of books, though, is because usually they are really good at enrapturing the reader. This one wasn't. As a reader, you feel close to feeling with the main character, but he never manages to break through the wall that changes your reason to read from being because "it's interesting" to being because "I feel what he feels and I must know what happens." The author grazes by areas that could have delved deeper, drawn the reader in, but instead he almost deals with them as a nuisance, a distraction from his pigeons. In my opinion, which won't matter much, because you don't know the characters, the main character's best friend is far too nice, far too quick to forgive and forget, which makes her a character that lacks depth. What are we teaching kids? That we can treat our friends in the worst ways we can imagine so long as when we decide we need a friend again we turn around and say, "Sorry, I don't know what came over me." The book ends exactly as the beginning led you to believe it would, without even making you think for a minute that it might not end that way. In the end though, I know I can't judge it too harshly, as this book is written for 4th-6th graders. 25 year olds who read books for 10 year olds aren't allowed to be upset with the books. It was an interesting book, that I finished like I might finish a newspaper article, but had I been 10 and reading this book, I would not have finished it. And so, would I recommend Wringer to anyone? No, however, I would not stop you from reading it, if you decided to do so. It wasn't a complete waste of time.
Welcome to March! Next up?
I'm not really sure, as far as the whole month goes, but I am still dabbling in My Friend Flicka and Sherlock Holmes when the moods strike, and I am working quickly through Unshaken which so far is an incredibly good book by Dan Wooley about his experience of being trapped under the earthquake rubble of Haiti a year ago. Ten chapters in, and it has already stolen a few tears, here and there. I am a little concerned about this month's reading, because as you might notice, all of the books I have left in my reserve are hardback, thick books... I knocked off my easy ones last month, after needing a break from "The Nightmarish slave master."
As far as the Literacy Challenge goes, though, I am really enjoying it. I really have missed reading, and getting to experience at least one adventure a month has been quite enjoyable for me! I am sure my family is about to strangle me if they have to hear, "That's interesting, I've been reading a book this week that talks about that subject, and..." one more time, but I guess they'll either have to become more patient, or I'll have to become more durable, because I don't think it's likely to stop any time soon.
If you have made it to the end of this post, congratulations! You can almost count it as one of your monthly books, it was so long!
Thanks for reading,
-Caitlin
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