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Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Why We Fight - 08/29/2007

Ever feel rut-like, In a rut, rut-a-licious? (I was going to say rutted, but that's really not polite in some circles).

Monday through Friday, work work work. It's all so exhausting. Then to have to come home and start dinner, pick up after the kids (and sometimes the husband) gets to be a monotony I don't enjoy. It's a fight with monotony every day.

Last night, sitting on the overstuffed arm chair with the ottoman, reading a book, Isabel sits in my lap and leans back on my chest to watch tv. With my right hand holding my book, I place my left arm loosely around her front. She grabs my arm with both of hers and hugs it tightly against her body, leaning her head on my arm. Holding on to it for dear life, she then plants two perfect kisses on my arm. I am mush. This is why we fight.

Monday, August 27, 2007

To Kill a Mockingbird - 08/27/2007

Another book to cross off my classics list: "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee. Set in the mid-1930's, this book is the story of a sleepy town in the deep south told through the eyes of a 9 year old girl named Scout. Scout lives with her brother "Jem," their black housekeeper Calpurnia and their father Atticus. Atticus is a southern gentleman. He's an extremely civilized, intelligent lawyer and I loved him the minute I started the book. This man, who had his children in his late 30's (rather late for his time) is now in his 50's, is raising his children on his own, as his wife died when Scout was 2. He is very educated, sensible and learned. His character reads ahead of his time. He is above prejudice, above the male-dominated thinking of his time. He is given a case to defend; a case he could have easily turned down. Defend a black man accused of rape by a white woman and her trashy family. A daunting task. Atticus takes it on with class, much to the chagrin of his sister and most of the town.

The story, told through Scout's eyes, shows a lot of the danger Atticus was in defending this man, only Scout is never really aware of it. But most of the story is not even centered on this case. It is centered on Scout, Jem, their pal Dill and all the wonderfully eccentric people of this town, including the elusive "Boo" Radley, a man who has not left his home since the age of 19 (and is probably in his 30's by the time the story is told.) The children imagine stories about "Boo" as they walk by his house each day twice a day, to & from school for 3 years. Sometimes they sneak in his yard to peek in. As the 3 years of the story go by, we see "Boo" leaving them little gifts every so often in the hole of a tree.

Atticus loses the trial, but everyone knows that the black man is innocent. Everyone knows the young woman and her father who brought the charges against the black man are white trash. But in the 30's, you don't acquit a black man against a white woman....ever. But the town knew. And the white trash father, Mr. Ewell knows that the town knows, and is bitter. In a late night drunken binge, Mr. Ewell plans the murder of those two young children; he's too much of a coward to face Atticus. In the dark melee, Jem's arm is broken and he is knocked unconscious....and Mr Ewell is dead. Scout, wearing a pageant costume and her vision impaired by it, is not sure what happened. All she knows is, Mr. Ewell was crushing her in a bear hug and the next second, he's torn away from her. A stranger helps carry Jem to their home. As she sits in Jem's room, talking to the police and her father, it suddenly dawns on her who the stranger that helped them is; the pale man hiding in the shadows of the room, afraid of the light. My throat closed up as she looked at him, teared up and whispered "Hi Boo."

At first, Atticus thinks it was Jem that has stabbed Mr. Ewell. The police officer does not accept this and states that Mr. Ewell fell on his knife and stabbed himself. We all know what really happened. We know that Boo protected "his children," and Scout finally understands what is happening; what they are doing by covering this fact up. It's a sin to kill a mockingbird; they don't harm your crops, they don't destroy your gardens. "They don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us." They don't involve Boo, because to do so would be to kill a mockingbird.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Live Bait - 08/22/2007

I just finished book two of 'The Monkeewrench' series by PJ Tracy. I loved the first book, Monkeewrench. The characters were quirky, well-written and made me want to be their friend and bake the cookies or a cake or something.


Book two deals less with the characters that made up Monkeewrench and more with the police officers that worked with Monkeewrench in the first book. I was ok with that. This book was almost a set-up to explain how it is that the Monkeewrench crew is going to continue to be involved with crime-fighting. I'm glad that they used it as a set up. I would have felt a little skeptical had they had these people be involved in crime-solving for no apparent reason.
I love the banter between Leo Magozzi and Gino Roseleth. The "whodunnit" this time was a doozie. Whodathunk it? I won't give it away, but it was left-of-center and was fun. There were some sad parts too; I teared up big-time towards the end. I hate not to say anything other than to say I betcha Gloria, the police HQ's big, bad black & beautiful receptionist ends up with skinny, red-headed Irish McLaren. :)

Monday, August 13, 2007

Catch-22

I finished another book form my "Classics" list: "Catch-22" by Joseph Heller. First published in 1961, this book is an odd duck. A total satire that had me vacillating between outright guffaws (yes, I guffaw and I have a hearty guffaw at that) to rolls of the eyes and despair at wanting to finish this book already.

To say that this book mocks American Military is to say that you think Starbucks might be a coffee company. It is set in Italy in WWII and follows an American bomber squadron. The characters are down-right ridiculous. I mean, RIDICULOUS. I get trying to be funny. I don't get trying SO hard that it is beyond funny and downright dumb.

I will say that Heller is very good at bringing things around. Things that made NO sense at the beginning....well, made no sense at the end really, but you got to see one instance, from several people's perspectives. The story is told from several character's pov. Heller's very good at showing you a peek of something that you will have no idea what it means, until chapters later, when he pops it back it unexpectedly. The dead guy in Yossarian's tent. Milo buying Egyptian cotton and not being able to dump it......only to have Milo try and feed a naked-in-a-tree Yossarian a chocolate-covered cotton ball chapters later had me in tears laughing. Heller's clever, but I could not get past the utter stupidity of everyone in charge of the military. It was beyond ridiculous.

There were some very poignant scenes; Kid Sampson at the beach and McWatt's despair at what happened saddened me. Nately's death, jotted down in 3 words, showed the futility of war.

Yossarian. Critics love Yossarian. I am ok with him. I don't love him. He is trying desperately to get out of an Army where the Colonel in charge keeps raising the missions to impress a General who could care less. All the other squadrons go home at 25 missions. Yossarian's squadron is at 80 and counting, all because an idiotic Colonel is hoping for a "feather in his cap" from the General. Yossarian was probably the only one who saw how insane everyone was. He's forever trying to find a way to get sent home and gets foiled at every turn. Sadly, I don't feel the need to read the sequel to this book to see how Yossarian fared. Did Nately's whore finally kill him? I don't care that much to find out.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Intervention - 08/09/2007

My daughter Isabel......has a Gummy Bear Vitamin Addiction.

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She loves Gummy Bears, so we bought her vitamins in Gummy Bear shapes. She can get 2-4 a day. She usually plays us; she'll ask David for some, and then later she'll ask me for some. We have to coordinate our Gummy Bear dole-age.

Today David calls me at work laughing. This morning he let Isabel pick the gummy bears herself from the jar. She reached in and grabbed about 5-6 of them. David tells her "No, no, baby, you only get two." In that moment, her little bear-addicted brain made a split-second decision....

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She shoved her entire fist with all 5-6 gummys in her mouth and ran.

Objects in Space - 08/09/2007

I have a MySpace page; yes I do. It started as a means to look at 3 of my sister's pages. They'd say "look at the blady-blah I posted," and when I would go look, it would tell me I needed to be my sister's "friend" to see their page. But...I am their sister!!! I signed up. My page is completely Buffied, as I am a geek.

Jake also has a page, mainly full of anime stuff. I monitor his page all the time. He won't post anything I would find objectionable, because he knows me.

I am his parent. I am not here to be his best friend. I am a parent. My job is to love him, nurture him, feed his body, mind & soul, house him, lead him by example and hope he takes to my instruction and grows to be a good man who will be honest, a hard worker and will treat his future girlfriends and wife with dignity & respect. I am not here to be his best friend. I won't be like a male parent I know, who told me that he would rather his teen boys drink alcohol in his home where he can monitor them. What? Uh, NO! I am a PARENT. I am not Lindsey Lohan's mom. He respects me, he loves me, he thinks I am old and a dork. He's not wrong.

I was reading and looking at his friends' pages. He leaves his page logged on and up on the screen on our computer. He has nothing to hide and I am proud of him. Some of the things I see, though, lead me to believe that some parents have no idea what is going with their kids' MySpace pages. Junior High girls posting pictures of themselves in their underwear? I doubt their mom knows about that. 13 & 14 year old girls who set their smiley icon mood to "Horny." Bet mom doesn't know about that one either.

I spoke frankly to Jake about all of it. (He rolled his eyes.) "It's just MySpace, it doesn't mean anything." I told him I hoped he made choices that would not make him be a follower or a victim of peer pressure. Am I old fashioned? In this day & age, maybe so. Do I care that I am old-fashioned? Not one iota. As a parent, do you?

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Cell-Schmell 07/15/2007

I have a Love-Hate relationship with cell phones. I enjoy their portability. I like that we really don't need a home phone any longer. I like that you can "take" your number with you if you switch carriers. I especially like cell phone carriers vying for my business by giving me great offers.

My dislikes are as follows:


  • People who drive 40 in a 55 zone because they are not paying attention. They have their arm up to their ear and are jabbering at 55 mph. Too bad their foot can't keep up with their mouth. And why don't they have a Blue Tooth or even a cord from their phone to their ear? Why are they doing the one-handed drive?



  • Being called while I am driving is also another dislike, especially when the caller knows I am driving. Don't call to say "Whatcha doing?" I'm baking a cake. I'M DRIVING!! At least I have an ear piece in use and both hands on the wheel.



  • People who leave them on in movie theaters, libraries, restaurants, etc.



  • Getting calls for "Gilberto Gonzalez" for two and a half years. The fact that two and a half years have gone by and I am still getting his calls is upsetting. Even worse, half of Gilberto's calls are from Sprint, his "wireless service provider." (Automated Machine Mangling His Name:) "Gelburto GONzalez, please hold for an important announcement from your cell phone carrier, Sprint". Dear Sprint: You are stupid. How do you not even know that this cell phone number is no longer Gilberto's? How do you not know that you don't even own this number, as I use T-Mobile? I have told them at least 4 times to stop calling. It has not worked.


Yea, so. Love them and hate them.

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Memoirs of a Geisha - 07/08/2007

I never had any intention of reading Arthur Golden's book, "Memoirs of a Geisha." The idea of it in my mind was dullness, ritual, ancient yada yada, and it did not strike me as anything I would want to read. Yes, color me ethnocentric.
David rented the movie, or was it me? I can't remember. I just remember thinking the movie was a beautiful piece of work. I was moved by Chiyo's story and Sayuri's final conquest of her dream. A few days later, unbeknown to me, my best friend mailed me her copy of the book.


Normally, I will read the book before I watch the movie. I don't want the director/producer's views to cloud up the images in my mind for me, but in this case, I had no choice.

I find it incredible that this work came not from a Japanese woman, but from an American man. And let me tell you, I am glad he did. It was a terrific read. The movie really did do a good job. Some scenes were cut, for time, some characters changed around (again for time) but all in all, the movie stuck closely to the book. The book gave you more back story and end story, which I was grateful for. I cringed every time Hatsumomo was around. I could barely read the part with Sayuri and the Baron, as I had seen the movie and knew what was coming. I hesitated, aren't I silly? I plowed through that part like someone desperate to save a friend, but I made it. I was saddened by the devastation Pumpkin's betrayal caused Sayuri, but really, it was Pumpkin's betrayal that brought about Sayuri's happy ending. I was seeing the life of a Geisha in a new light; not a prostitute as many Westerner's think, but as an artist. They are like slave's to their art, but once they know this life, it is what they want for themselves. A beautiful, harsh existence of fine detail. Arthur Golden's prose is...soothing to the mind; does that make sense? I felt lulled by the beauty (not in a"boring" way, either). I enjoyed the ritual, the ancient, the yada yada and my mind is still entranced by it.

Thursday, July 5, 2007

Soul Purpose - 07/05/2007

Reading "The Color of Water" really got me thinking about my own life and where I came from. A few weeks ago, I took a box of paperwork to work to shred. Papers from at least 12 years ago or more. Receipts, accounts, my past life. As I am shredding these papers, I feel myself tensing & I could understand why. No disrespect to my ex and especially my ex's family; I am not here to ex-bash. This is about me (isn't is always?) :) I was shredding bad debts, bankruptcy, my old life that I cannot even recognize, and was remembering. It was such a weird feeling.

I wish I could impart my knowledge to some younger people I know. Don't marry young. (They do). Don't have kids until you get your degree (they do anyway and drop school). Don't charge things and live beyond your means (they do). And they're drowning. I wish I could help...but we all have to make our own mistakes and grow from them. I married young, at 21, thinking someone would take care of me, and years later, I realized I was doing all the taking care of. I had nothing financially other than the hand-to-mouth paychecks I was getting. I left. I got a small apartment for my son & I. We lived on mac and cheese and sandwiches for a while (I never learned to cook and never had to during my marriage; he's still a superb cook). Poor Jacob and the tasteless meals he endured. We lived without cable for 2 years. We had no cell phone. I made my rent, my car and always made the payments for Jacob's prepaid college plan. Who needs cable anyway?

I had a good job, though, and a boss who believed in my talents. He promoted me and gave me excellent raises. Then in 2000, I bought my first home, by myself. I was 29, a single mom and a homeowner. I was ecstatic. I was SO proud of me. Some time last year, when looking at the new home we purchased, David's mom and grandma asked me if my new larger home was like a dream come true. I honestly replied "No. Buying my little blue house was my dream come true. This is on a whole different level."

I spent 6 happy years in the "blue house." My car was paid for, my son's college was paid for, I had investments. What? True. Me. Investments. I learned to cook just a little, met David, we married, had Isabel, and little blue house got very crowded.

Here I am now in my "beyond-dream" home. I remember being told by my ex "One day we'll have a house," and I waited and waited for it to happen. It never did; it wasn't given to me. I had to work my butt off to get it for myself. Now, I've owned two, sharing this one with my goofy husband.

As I shred those papers, my chest constricted, remembering the past. But this past and God made me stronger than I could ever imagine.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

The Color of Water - 07/03/2007

"The Color of Water: A Black Man's Tribute to His White Mother," by James McBride.

This was one of the nine books given to me by Aunt Joan. I was actually in the middle of reading "Memoirs of a Geisha," but left it at work one day and was wanting to read something in the evening. As you know, I tend to read two or three books at a time, so picking up another book is not a big deal to me.

What a great life story; both his and his mother's. This is the true story of a black man, one of 12 children born to Ruth. As a child, James struggles to understand his mother. Why is she so different from the other mothers in his neighborhood, in looks and demeanor? Why is she so strict, so reserved and guarded? Why must the family be its own microcosm? Why does she not answer questions on who she is and where she came from? When he asked her if he was white or black, she'd answer that he was a human being. When he asked her what color God was, her reply was "God is the color of water."

She was tough. She was proud. She was totally contradictory - making fun of those "crazy white people" as she read the newspaper and then admonishing her children to not get involved in the rights movement. This woman put 12 children through college; all 12. Education and knowledge were the number one priority in her life and she made that a priority in her kids' lives. It wasn't all peachy and roses. Imagine being a white woman with 12 black kids in the late 50's through the early 70's? Not accepted by either race; not "fitting" anywhere. This is why she was so protective.

When James stated that he wanted to write a book about her life, it took James 14 years to wheedle out the information from his mother. A white woman. A Polish woman. A Jewish woman. A woman who grew up with a sexually abusive Rabbi father, a lovely but crippled mother, an older brother and a younger sister, all terrified of their father. They bought a store in a black neighborhood and becamse wealthy fleecing the blacks in town. They were shunned by the other Jews for selling to blacks and gentiles. Day and night was work work work for Ruth, born Raichel Shilsky. The story of her escape from this life to New York, her meeting her first black husband with whom she founded a Christian church and raised 8 children before his death, marrying another black man who took on those 8 kids and gave her 4 more, always treating her with respect before his death, and her struggle as a single-mother is an inspiring one. I could never even begin to imagine what she went through. Never. I'm Puerto Rican, married to a white American man and living in the year 2007. Not even a blip on the radar to the world. But back in the 50's when she married? Could you imagine the fear? The doubts? and the love she and Andrew McBride shared to be that strong?

James McBride does a terrific job of expressing his feelings of being lost; adrift. Not knowing who he was. Yes, it sounds cliche' to want to "find oneself," but in McBride's case, it was true. The research and the writing of this story must have been such a cathartic one for him. To understand that he is so many things- he's black, he's white, he's Jewish, and yet never fully any of those. Ruth could never understand his need for all this information, but went along with is finally, because everyone in her former life was either dead or in Florida. :) We're just human beings, right? What a woman.