Just had to share this with anyone who will listen…
Also, Rebecca will be at BISHOP’S LOUNGE in Northampton, MA on June 23rd. The usual “tradition” is yummy pizza before the show (fresh basil, moz & tomato for me!)… I hope to see you there! 😉
Memory Lane
I signed up to come here again and I’m not exactly sure why. If ever there was a mental illness about a place, it’s held here. There are embarrassments hidden behind every porte francaise, athletisch fangen Sie auf regrets. Tweny years is a long time but yet, I still feel this way.
This is the mulligan of my memories; the doozy of all do-overs; the greatest saga of second chances ever told. It’s not that I squandered my time here and need lost youth back. I’m not in search of childhood games. It’s not that I want to present a different face to this lost land. It’s that I came here, to this place, confused and misguided. The blinders of another life were still covering who I was meant to be. I lived by a belief system that was fundamentally flawed. I was a tangle of torment, but it didn’t have to be that way.
So. So, why go back? I don’t know. I haven’t a clue. This is my place of hurt. This is my place of shame. But, it’s also my place of unraveling. I came here in knots. This is where life loosened a little for me. In the end, the threads weren’t so complicated. I made one of the dearest friends I’ll ever have. I learned that snow is sh!t. I followed a pickle jar into peanut butter. I became Sweetpea and learned how to drive.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go alone. I was reliving my trip to West Cornwall with a friend. She asked if I brought anyone with me and her eyes grew wide when I said no, I went alone. She understood that to go back to a time of hurt, by myself, was huge. What would she think of this?
Sounder
Armstrong, William, H. Sounder. New York: Harper & Row, 1969.
Haunting. I find this story haunting on so many different levels. Haunting and tragic. Where do I begin? Where can I begin? The copy of Sounder I picked up had the words “now a motion picture!” emblazoned across the cover with photographs of scenes from the movie inside. Of course, I studied the photos before I read a single word and saw pictures of an obviously poor black family. One picture showed the mother with three kids as a father, handcuffed, is being led away by white, mean looking “authorities.” Another picture depicts the “criminal” as he is about to be struck by a prison guard…
But, the tragic pictures couldn’t prepare me for the quiet yet strong story. The raw undercurrent of something more ominous buzzed constantly. No one in the story has a name except the family hunting dog, Sounder. The father is accused of stealing a ham and is sent to jail, the mother cracks walnuts and sells the meat in town. There are three children and the story is told from the oldest’s perspective.
During the father’s arrest, Sounder is shot. Everyone in the family thinks Sounder is dead. What amazes me is the oldest son is more worried about the dog than his own father. His father’s guilt is plain, simple and true when his mother returns what was stolen, yet because Sounder’s body cannot be found, it’s all the boy can think about. “If the deputy sherrif had turned around on the seat of the wagon and shot his father, the visiting preacher and somebody would bring him back and bury him behind the meetin’ house, the boy thought. And if Sounder dies, I won’t drag him over the hard earth. I’ll carry him. I know I can carry him if I try hard enough, and I will bury him across the field, near the fencerow, under the big jack oak tree.” (p34)
I can’t do the storyline justice, but the writing is beautiful. Here are a few of my favorite lines:
- “And Sounder, too, settin’ on his haunches, would speak to the moon in ghost-stirrin’ tones of lonesome dog-talk” (p 38).
- “Now the cabin was even quieter than it had been before loneliness put its stamp on everything” (p 76).
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter called “Three-Hanky Reads.” Sounder is paired with other dog books for children like Beautiful Joe and Goodbye, My Lady (p 237).
Twenty-One Balloons
Du Bois, William Pene. The Twenty-One Balloons. New York: Viking Press, 1947.
I like coincidences. I was nearly finished with Zelda Fitzgerald’s biography when I picked up Twenty-One Balloons. I’ve gotten into the habit of reading prefaces and author’s notes before diving into a story. In the past I would skip over them but now I like the little tidbits if information before getting to the heart of the plot. It was a huge surprise to read that Du Bois’ publisher noted “a strong resemblance” to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s story called, “The Diamond as Big as the Ritz.” Du Bois states in his note, “The fact that F. Scott Fitzgerald and I apparently would spend our billions in like ways right down to being dumped from bed into a bathtub is altogether, quite frankly, beyond my explanation. William Pene Du Bois January 16th, 1947.” I find this compelling and made it impossible for me to delay reading Twenty-One Balloons!
Twenty-One Balloons is the clever children’s story of Professor William Waterman Sherman. He taught arithmetic for 40 years and decided he was in need of a vacation of solitude. He decided ballooning would be just the thing and masterminded the invention of a balloon that could take him around the world. Except he doesn’t make it and the adventures that follow are more exciting than had he actually made it around the world. This book is delightfully illustrated by William Pene Du Bois as well.
Some of my favorite moments are when first, when Sherman first crashes (on Krakatao) he is told, “you may think that your landing on this island was all by accident…” setting the scene for something little more ominous. It’s followed up by the escape which is equally fun.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter on Krakatau. Pearl says, “Du Bois’s book is a glorious fantasy…” (p 183). Indeed!
Problems with the Equipment
I have become a pedometer snob. It started slowly since I haven’t always worn one. A little over two years ago I joined the walking nation and clipped on a pedometer to count my steps. I dropped the habit when I started running. Lately, I’ve turned back to walking. It’s a little nerdy and a lot productive. On Mother’s Day I signed myself up for another walking challenge – a virtual walk across the country. It was during this time that I decided I needed a new pedometer. I’ve tried many makes and models – some with radios and headphones, others with heart monitors and calorie readouts. I’ve spent anywhere from $5 to $15, testing the step counters. The current one I am joined to the hip to is one of my earlier purchases. The interface is starting to fade, it’s clunky, boxy and awkward. Soon I was on the hunt for something a little more “glamorous.”
I found Gaiam’s sleek model in Barnes and Noble and shelled out the most ever for what turned out to be the cheapest product ever. I was in love with its sophistication (heart rate monitor included), its capabilities (alarm clock and stop watch!), even it’s color (gray-blue and silver). It even came with a cd (as if I didn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other and simulate walking). I loved it until I walked with it. Basically, I sneeze and suddenly I’ve walked seven steps. Sit down, stand up and I could add another sixteen steps. In the instruction manual they warn against this “overcounting.” Their solution is turning & tightening some screw counter clockwise. That screw must tighten the mechanism that measures movement. Well, I tried that and okay, it helped a little. Sneeze and I’ve only walked four steps. Standing up and sitting down only adds ten. But still! There is no other way to regulate the sensitivity of the product and it drives me crazy!
All is not lost. My old GoWalking pedometer works just fine. It’s still clunky and the numbers are fading, but at least it works!
Zelda: A biography
Milford, Nancy Winston. Zelda: A biography. New York: Harper & Row, 1970.
I want to be Zelda. Zelda as a young girl, that is. From the time she was a small child and all through her teens she was a strong-will, independent, defiant, do-as-I-like girl. She was wild and free, not confined to WhatWillTheyThinkOfMe thoughts. We do have something, one thing in common, “Zelda did not have the knack for forming close friendships with girls her own age” (p16). I can relate but unlike Zelda, it’s not to say the similarity didn’t cause me considerable angst.
Zelda, as Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald, seem to have it all. As a couple, they roamed America and Europe carefree and extravagantly. One of their friends made a prediction, “I do not think the marriage can succeed. Both drinking heavily. Think they will be divorced in 3 years” (p67). Even parenting didn’t slow down the partying. Scottie, their daughter was pawned off on nannies most of the time.
In the summer of 1929 Zelda quietly went mad. “…Zelda sank more deeply into her private world, becoming increasingly remote from Scott and Scottie” (p 155). Her turmoil during a stay in a mental institute is well documented through letters to Scott. It was heartbreaking to read and I decided I didn’t like F. Scott and maybe I didn’t want to be Zelda anymore. But, what I am now is fascinated with Zelda’s life. I want to read her book, Save Me the Waltz. I suppose it will have to wait until after the BLC.
Probably the thing that disturbed me the most about this biography is F. Scott. He blatently took Zelda’s life as subject matter for most, if not all, of his novels. When Zelda tried to do the same thing he became jealous and domineering, demanding she edit certain parts (which she does). It’s as if he is unable to accept the possibility that his wife has talent as a writer. The inequality in their relationship speaks volumes.
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter “People You Ought to Meet” (p 183). She called the book “compelling” and I would say she forgot to add “tragic” because by the end of Milford’s biography of Zelda I was heartbroken.
One Morning in Maine
McCloskey, Robert. One Morning in Maine. New York: Puffin Books, 1989.
Who doesn’t love Robert McCloskey’s books? For starters, all the illustrations are great. For another, I always loved One Morning in Maine because I could compare Sal’s life to my own growing up…She lived on an island in Maine, boat trips were something to get excited about and she had a younger sister…the differences were her family lived close enough to row over to the mainland (when their boat engine died) and her family could go digging for clams right outside their house. Our boat rides took over an hour, full steam ahead and I hunted for periwinkles in tide pools.
Even her parents reminded me of my own – always playing the Big Girl Card. Compared to my sister I was supposed to be more mature, more responsible. They used my elder status to get me to behave, “but you’re growing into a big girl and big girls don’t cry about things like that” (p37).
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust. Pearl mentions in the intro (p ix) she started her obsession with reading with books like One Morning in Maine. Me too!
On the Other Side
Prompted by a return to ThatSpace, I have a few things to say about who my friends are…and will be.
I’ve been trying to put myself in your shoes; trying understand where you are coming from. It hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s downright difficult. It’s not that I’m closed-minded or deliberately, absolutely, stubbornly blind. I truly cannot see your side of things and that saddens me. It’s the means to an end. You say things that simply are not true. You assume things to be the way they actually are not.
I’ve shrugged you off like a winter coat in July. Not because I don’t love you, but because I don’t need you. There is a difference. Like that Bodyguard song goes, I will always love you. People grow up, grow out of love (with obsessions) and grow apart. I think they call that natural progessions. I was dedicated for five years and I think that was loyalty enough. The way I see it there are plenty of others (thanks to me) to take my place. There is no need aside from want. Want I do not have (in your new kind).
It doesn’t hurt me to move on. Your shoes don’t fit. Like a bad ex-football player trial I’m free from the obvious verdict. I can see the other side – I look through and see how it is. But, here’s the thing: I’d rather burn that bridge than try to cross it.
International Campaign for Tibet
Over the vacation I received another prayer flag garland from the International Campaign for Tibet with another letter from the Dalai Lama. It reminded me that the Dalai Lama was in my town not that long ago. Someone I know actually bumped into him on the street and, knowing her friends would never believe her, snapped a picture of him with her cell phone (she even stalked the poor man while he was trying to have lunch, but that’s another story entirely). In the Dalai Lama’s letter he mentions coming to the United States and how he enjoys these visits. I’d like to ask him how he liked my friend nearly knocking him over!
Something I just noticed with this fourth letter from ICT is the list of famous people involved. Harrison Ford is on the International Council of Advisors. Richard Gere is on the Board of Directors (okay, he nearly IS the Board of Directors). How did I miss these famous names before? I wonder if their involvement improves ITC’s chances of fund raising?
Planning Your Escape
Sunday we planned our July island trip. Kisa & I met Bri & Stace for coffee, huevos rancheros, coffee, sunflower oatmeal toast, coffee and a little island planning. A leisurely two hour brunch. Not much to plan except what boat to take, what night to order lobsters and who’s in charge of pancakes for breakfast. Talking food was fun. Stace is going to make chicken parm, I mentioned a chili lime corn on the cob cooked on the grill…lobster in rolls or steamed straight up? Make-Your-Own-Tacos with lots and lots of ingredients. We are close enough to town to roll out of bed for chai and scones if no one wants to tackle the griddle, close enough to Sue’s amazing pizza for lunch.
My only other dilemma is what to books to bring…
Women for Women International
Here’s a new one. I’ve never been contacted by the Women for Women International charity before. I think their slogan is “see what you can do” because it was plastered on every piece of paper possible. Here’s what I got from the mailing: the ever-popular “Dear Friend” letter (four pages long), a strip of yellow paper outlining the critical situation of women in Southern Sudan, the ever-present donation card & envelope, and what looks to be a Women for Women International newsletter.
Here’s what I found out from the information sent to me:
- Zainab Salbi is president, CEO and founder of Women for Women International in the hopes of women helping women.
- WFWI has provided more than 93,000 women with tools and resources to get themselves out of poverty in places like Sudan, the DRC, Iraq, Afghanistan, Rwanda, Columbia, Bosnia and Kosovo. I’m thinking they should partner with DWB/MSF because they are in the same places, doing almost the same work.
- WFWI is a 501(c)(3) organization. Weirdly enough, their funding information wasn’t in the letter but rather on the back of the envelope you mail back. You can write to the charity to receive a report of their annual finances. Each state has a different process and they’re all listed on the envelope.
Gifts
So, kisa gave me the puppy dog look this morning as he said, “my tapes aren’t in the pic…” Even though he wasn’t that upset I thought I would post another pic. To tell the truth, it was actually my 2nd choice pic. My first choice just showed the “Fun at Lunch Hour” tape best.
Four out of six “Kisa” tapes are here. So are four from my sister, two from exYouKnowWhos and the rest are friends. I left out the exTapes I can’t stand, the mix my step-grandmother made me (Yanni!) and the lesbian love song mix. I don’t care to revisit those encounters….ever.
So, Kisa – there you go. Provin Mountain, Chill Mix (thankfully you didn’t call it the Calm Down tape), Post Birthday and Extra B-Day are represented.
As I Walked Out
Auden, W. H. “As I Walked Out One Evening.” Collected Shorter Poems 1927-1957. New York: Random House, 1966. p85.
I liked this poem. I saw it as questioning time which is something I do all the time. I often wonder what makes time move the way it does. Perceptions of time can differ between two people having the same experience, just by their emotions.
I also saw this poem as pondering life and all that it has to offer. This is yet another thing I ponder as well. Am I living this life the way I’m supposed to? Is there even a blueprint to follow? I got the feeling the voice in “As I Walked Out…” is watching life pass by and speculating on what life really means.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter on “Poetry Pleasers” (p 188).
Pardon the Interruption
I may have to put the Book Lust project on hold every now and then. Come to think of it, I’ll have to admend my BL “rules” as well. Here’s what happened. A few weeks ago LibraryThing sent me a private comment…they said they were looking for people to be involved in their Early Reviewers Program. 500 out of 215,981 members would be chosen to receive pre-publication copies of Random House titles as long as they post reviews on LibraryThing after reading them. We wouldn’t be paid for our reviews but we would get free books. How cool is that? I don’t get paid for the reviews I already write so what the hey? Sounds like fun only it will cut into my BookLust Challenge.
Today, I found out that I have been chosen to receive a book! Since there are 500 members and only 5 books to chose from, I was convinced I would be in the “sooner or LATER” group – as in “sooner or later you’ll get a book to review…but not right now.”
I’ve been told the RH book should be here within a week. That means As I Lay Dying and Aspects of the Novel will hang in the balance between unfinished and finished until the RH assignment is finished.
Recovered
I lose things. I could misplace you if you weren’t your own person. Keys, wallet and cell phone are my most common victims but every once in awhile it’s a mixed tape. To me, that’s more devastating than keys, wallet and phone combined. CDs be damned, I love my mixed tapes.
SG made tapes that skillfully went from one song to another with meaning and message. They were cryptic, brain teasing and heart breaking. My sister made tapes trying to convince me her music knows best. There was vengeance, too (a lot of death to Billy songs…hmmm). Kisa made tapes full of his personality and humor. My favorite sound bites from movies, Homer Simpson chiming in, a weather update, goofy dj voice…But RT made two tapes that were just plain fun fun fun. Somehow I lost them both. I blamed it on moving eight times in as many years; sharing space with 14 different people in as much time – things are bound to get a little mixed up. A mixed tape (or two) could surely go missing in that mess.
Well, I found one of the tapes…in the oddest place…my mother’s art table on the island. I was never so surprised and overjoyed. It was like finding a long lost friend. Okay, so this friend is a little warped but I can’t stop listening to her! RT introduced me to Tom Waits. “Martha” is one of my all-time favorite songs. RT also introduced me to Billy Bragg and the Proclaimers and “We Could Be Heroes” in German. Thanks to her, some silly song by Ace of Base that I now can’t dislodge from my head….
I’m hoping tape 2 emerges one day. I’m hoping it pops up just as “Fun at Lunch Hour” did. It will be music to my ears.
~*LunaSea*~ 