Yesterday I told you how I made Fry bake for everyone. Well, the next day, as planned and at Calypso's request, I cooked the community meal for all the interns and staff (15 people). The menu request was curried venison stew and roti, with sides of rice and peas & carrots. I could have managed everything myself except the roti. To get that much done requires two people just to keep the rhythm of rolling and frying. My assistant was this fine young man. He joined me early and asked how he could begin helping so as I was forming dough balls for the roti I asked him to cut up the venison. He began immediately.
Shortly thereafter someone came in and expressed shock that he was handling raw meat due to his veganism. I felt kind of bad but he said he really didn't mind at all. I decided I needed to add some sort of vegan dish to the meal so he wasn't eating just rice, roti, and peas & carrots. It wouldn't be right for him to help me all afternoon and then not get a decent meal. I thought I'd make curried potatoes and chickpeas so he went of in search of spuds and beans. No luck on spuds anywhere on camp property and given that they are over 30 miles from a decent store it wasn't going to happen. We scoured cupboards for other ingredients and I wound up improvising a curried bean and tomato dish with what was on hand. It turned out decently.
We had some really excellent conversation as we got the meal together. I found him to be a very humble, intelligent, thinking young man with a great sense of humor and service. All that was a delight but as we talked he shared some of the details of his life as a foster child and how he found family after he had given up at the age of 20 (Out of respect for his privacy it's not my place to share but really, it's a story that would make the hardest heart tear up first in sadness then in happiness at the new beginning. I thanked him for his openness and trust.). He shared about the joys of finally finding the family he never had and the struggles of learning how to be a part of it and his perspectives on his peers who seem in such a hurry to leave the security of family. I was deeply impressed by him.
When it was time to fry up the roti is when he became truly invaluable. I rolled furiously and he fried quickly and happily through so much roti I thought we'd never be done. We talked about the finer points of the various varieties of roti and he asked questions about technique. Seems the kid also loves to cook and wants to be able to make it again himself. We laughed when it was over because I was covered in flour and he said as sous chef he should have wound up dirtier than I did. I've always enjoyed cooking WITH another person who enjoys cooking because it's just such a nice way to get to know each other. It was a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon made all the more so by having such a remarkable helper. I wish him only the best blessings that family has to offer.
Back in November, if you recall, I mentioned Van and Abbe who were running in the Disney Marathon to raise money for research for Leukemia and Lymphoma treatment. They ran last year and Van wrote the name of Abbe's cousin, who had been diagnosed, on his sneakers. When I donated this year I asked if he'd carry Aunt Bee's name since she had been diagnosed about a year ago. He very kindly agreed. A week ago we said goodbye to Aunt Bee. This weekend I found this in my email showing me her name on his shoes for the race he and Abbe ran yesterday.
Although I knew I made the request ad he promised to grant it there was something about seeing it that made a lump form in my throat. Then I remembered one of the poems read at my aunt's funeral was one she had written and I knew she'd be smiling down on Van and Abbe for every step of the marathon.
When my days on earth are done
To Heaven I hope to go.
Hopefully getting a pair of wings
And maybe a halo
Wings-maybe
"Halo," I don't know?
When you are sitting
And looking at the sky,
Look for the clouds
That are rolling by.
Maybe your eye will
Catch a special one.
It will look like a pair of shoes.
That will be me running along.
No halo!
No wings!
But a Good Pair of Shoes
Thanks, Van for giving my aunt that good pair of shoes. I hope they carried you well.
My childhood was not one marked by permanence of relationships. I won't go into the details but there was a lot of fluctuation due to my parents' divorce and the resulting introduction of new people who frequently did not hang around very long. My own childhood friendships were a little tenuous as well. Our family was regarded with a certain degree of suspicion so at times other kids were hesitant to become friends or once relationships were established their parents may have decided to put the brakes on. I learned never to over-estimate my value in someone else's eyes.
My years in college were when I finally found friends who I truly believed might stick around for the long-haul. I'm glad to say I was right since all these years later I am still in contact with a few college pals. My time in Trinidad introduced me to people who felt like kindred spirits in a way no one else ever had. I fell in love...hard.
It was extreme circumstances which necessitated our departure from Trinidad. I couldn't deny the logic in leaving but I still left kicking and screaming. Each visit there afterward resulted in me spending a significant portion of the return trip to the US in tears. My husband never quite understood why my reaction was so strong. When he finally worked up the courage to ask I told him it was because I was terrified that the friendships I had formed there would die due to the physical distance; I did not know how to love people long distance and imagining the loss of such nourishing relationships was exquisitely painful.
In the first few years after our return, there were two friends with whom I regularly exchanged letters. It was reassuring that they'd take the time to write because I knew that was not really the norm for the culture. I feared somewhat with my friends who were not inclined to keep in touch. I was encouraged though when I'd go back to visit and be received with the same affection and warmth that had been shown when I lived there. In fact, a couple friends specifically told me they were sorry they were not good about writing but they hoped I knew I was always in their hearts and there was always a space in their homes when I wanted to visit.
I've been blessed to have a few different Trini friends come visit me in the US. Each time was a complete joy. Being able to lavish back on them some of the love they gave us when we lived there was a delight. There was a bit more confidence given to me that they'd spend the time and the expense to come to my house whether it was only for the day when someone was passing through or if they came for a week or more.
Nineteen years have come and gone since we moved to Trinidad. Our closest friends from there have just spent a week with us over Christmas. The husband was last here 11 years ago and this is the first time his whole family has come with him. There was rejoicing at the reunion, lots of laughter as we reminisced and made new memories, and tears on cheeks other than my own when they left. Though I am not happy about the separation that will now resume I am deeply grateful for the time we had together and for the proof that love and friendship can endure and deepen in spite of time and distance. It is a gift I never dared imagine existing before and one that only time could have revealed.
We gone lime all day wit we friends. Once yuh belly ready to burst yuh could sit back and enjoy a bit of parang and Christmas Calypso wit we.
This is the award winning parang group from the high school where our friends' daughters attend. A traditional parang group goes from house to house like a group of carolers only instead of at night they begin before dawn singing to announce the birth of Christ.
After a parang band has sung its announcement the members hope for certain treats from those they've sung to.
Rum is self-explanatory. Ponche a creme is more or less arum spiked eggnog sort of drink.
We allagree this is our favorite silly Trini Christmas calypso. We will bring out de ham today....along with plenty of traditional American dishes.
Sick of Washington yet? Ok, well, today is the last bit of show and tell for that. Tomorrow onto Canada! That's only one day though so don't worry. Have I mentioned Logo missed her calling as a tour guide? In addition to showing me all around Seattle itself she showed me some lovely areas outside the city. On my last day in Washington we saw Cama Beach, which is an old fishing resort. It was quite charming.
The beach was all pebbly and crushed up clam shells but a very pretty, relaxing looking place.
Care to guess what this is?
It's the inside of one of these, a handmade kayak. We met a fellow there who helps run the place and he gave us quite a nice showing of the various boats and kayaks they have for rent as well as showing us one of the cabins. I have to admit if we'd had the time I would have liked to give that kayak a try to see how it felt compared to the plastic ones I've used in the past. Maybe next time I make it out that way....
Instead of kayaking Logo and I took a ride on her bike Red Molly through the gorgeous Skagit Valley.
Oh yes we did. It was fantastic. I didn't mind missing the kayak at all. I was completely content.
A few years ago I posted about the farmer's market I grew up visiting on a regular basis. I love farmer's markets. They feed my soul as much as they feed my belly. In Trinidad, I had access to a large and wonderful farmer's market too. Since I have been back in the US I have not lived in proximity to a decent one. I miss that access dearly. Then I went to Seattle...and Susie and Logo introduced me to Pike Place Market. Oh did that place sing to my soul!
Susie and I greeted Rachel the pig upon our arrival.
I loved all the strings of peppers hanging around. So colorful!
And berries. Mmmmm....simply succulent!
Strange colors for carrots but so fresh. One of the things I loved was how much of the produce was organic or sustainably farmed and sold at what I'd consider to be reasonable prices.
Huuuuge piles of shrimp...or piles of huge shrimp which is kind of an oxymoron...
Whereas crowds in grocery stores make me crazy, there is something I love about the hustle and bustle of a farmer's market.
Yum, I tried it planked while I was out in Seattle. I quite liked it.
The fish market is just plain fun. These guys tossing the fish back and forth were having a ball. As soon as he caught the fish he came rushing at my camera lens with it. Unfortunately I missed that shot because I was laughing so hard. But this one captures some of the spirit I think.
Fish too smelly for ya? Ok, how about row upon row of bouquets. Big, lush, gorgeous bouquets for unbelievably cheap prices.
Pretty in pink...
...or lavender.
Oooh, looky...stacks of tie dye! Another thing I loved about Seattle and Pike Place Market was that there were a lot of locally produced and wonderfully artistic crafts available. If you truly wanted some cheap plastic made-in-China tourist memento you could find it, but there was such a proliferation of really wonderful local arts and crafts I'd have to ask WHY would you want that other junk?
I said it before, the place sang to my soul. It made me happy....happy enough to wanna ride a pig and whoop in enthusiasm!
They enter slowly as she leans on his arm and her cane. We exchange greetings. He gently helps her remove her coat, sends her along with a "ladies first." Before they leave he smiles up at her as he works the zipper she can't manage. As they depart, I smile at the endurance of tenderness.
DA COUNT
I get to see this scene at work every week and I find it lovely every time. There are a few elderly couples who come in regularly and I'm always struck by the ones who exhibit a real gentleness and fondness for each other. It's a beautiful and hopeful thing.
There is another couple I also enjoy quite a lot. In this case it's the husband who requires the greater assistance and the wife who offers it lovingly. Nonetheless, he is an utterly shameless octogenarian flirt. One day he took my left hand to get my attention so he could tell me a story. As I listened he turned my hand over and patted the back of it. When he finished his tale he looked up mischievously and admitted, "I was looking for a ring, but you don't have one, too pretty not to be spoken for." I laughed and told him I am married but haven't worn my rings or wristwatch since I demolished my hand and arm a few years ago because they bother me and they don't fit my other hand. He feigned being crestfallen and I gave him a mild scolding as I pointed out how pretty and devoted his own wife is. He looked at me like I was nuts when I called her pretty. I said she has a face that only develops after a lifetime of smiling and it gives her the kind of beauty younger women can only aspire to. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her beam her radiant smile.
This week I'm counting the privilege of interacting with people like these on a regular basis. I don't know what their history holds but I'm grateful to be witness to the gentle and enduring love in their present.
Yesterday, as you may recall, I shared the joy that was traveling to and from and attending a chiropractic marketing extravaganza. As bad as it was there was one really great thing about the day that made all that garbage worth it.
This past weekend was Diana's last at home before returning to college yesterday. I try very hard not to complain about work at home because it's not pleasant for anyone to listen to the griping plus I'd rather not carry the work related crap at home. However, my lack of enthusiasm about the all day conference requiring an obscenely early morning (sorry, Saturdays are for sleeping in as far as I see it) did leak out on more than one occasion. It was a well established fact at House of Lime that I had zero interest in the whole prospect partly because it was related to work and partly because it meant missing a big chunk of Diana's last weekend home.
Friday night I trudged off to bed at a respectable hour rather than staying up late to enjoy a movie with Diana as she had originally requested. Oddly, she began trying to hustle me off to bed somewhat earlier at one point. In fact, there was an exchange of text messages from her prompting me to do so because I was hindering her plans by staying awake. I inquired as to her plans and she shot back her intentions to have friends over to do drugs and have an orgy. So cute, that kid. Anyway, I acquiesced.
Morning arrived too quickly and I groaned my way out to bed and through my morning ablutions. After showering and dressing I figured to inhale some breakfast and be on my way in quick order. As I reached for the door knob of my bedroom door I noticed a note saying "Good Morning." I grinned a little.
Outside the door was a chair with another note on it with several small, bright Post-Its with arrows pointing at it. The note writer certainly understands how easy it is for me to miss details early in the morning. This note read, "#1 I know it's early but just go with it... Don't take a step until you at least fake a smile." I didn't need to fake it. I continued to follow the notes as they progressed down the hall.
#2 Keep looking for me --->
#3 I promise when you get home I will be packed up ----> (for several days my living room looked like it had thrown up as she emptied her bedroom contents into the living room for sorting purposes. I had expressed some amount of displeasure at her "organizing" technique.)
#4 Don't worry about dinner, I've got it covered. ---->
#5 Go to the kitchen---->
#6 I know you don't want to walk anymore just keep going. ---->
#7 LOOK! Chocolate for breakfast! YAY!!! :) (this note was on the counter between two loaves of chocolate chip bread and with a baggie of chocolate chips including instructions for melting them and drizzling them over the bread)
#8 EAT! and SMILE!! (I was smiling through tears. I really never expected this!)
#9 When you're done check out the fridge. ---->
#10 (on the door handle) I know, lots of reading really, really early but DEAL with it! :)
#11 (also on the handle) Open Me!
#12 (on my water bottle which was full) Who wants to be bored, tired AND dehydrated?
#13 (on a fully packed lunch bag) To keep your tummy happy on a low budget. (Inside was more chocolate bread, cheese balls, pretzels, ants on logs, carrots and broccoli with dip, 2 little gouda cheese wheels, and a bottle of fruit juice.
#14 (on the front pocket of the lunch bag which was labeled "Open in Case of Emergency") Be careful reading what's in here out loud, don't get in trouble! (The contents were quite amusing with more little notes on them but those items and notes I'll keep to myself since several were inside jokes)
By this time, I could hardly see through the tears. The encouragement meant so much. Even though I didn't really have the time to do so I savored the bread she made and took my time reading the notes because the amount of time, effort, and love she put into giving me that encouragement deserved my attention. By that time she had gotten off the couch to ask if I had gotten everything. I hugged her and thanked her many times over and she groaned through sleepy eyes and said she was going to bed. I smiled and headed out tot he garage where I found 2 more notes.
#15 TA DA!! :) I love you, make the most of the day.
#16 DRIVE SAFELY
After that kind of love and encouragement I knew I'd be able to tolerate whatever crap the day might hold. It was an unexpected gift that meant the world to me.
I started this last week when I listed 7 books which shaped me during my childhood.Today you'll get the rest of the list of influential books from, this time from my adulthood. 8. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. This was the first piece of adult fiction that really grabbed me and made me care deeply. As I said last week, I've always tended toward biographies and memoirs. I had certainly read works of fiction before this that I enjoyed but this one just hit me in a far more powerful way. I was bumping along the road with the Joads. I worried about what would happen to them. I wanted to know they could survive. Of course, not all of them do and they find California is not the promised land they expected, but there is a seed of hope when the formerly self-involved Rose of Sharon, who has just lost her baby, nurses a man dying of starvation. Aside from capturing me all along the journey, it was the book that made me appreciate how honest endings aren't always happy but they may give us just enough hope.
9 & 10. Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom & The Greatest Generation by Tom Brokaw. I am listing these two together because I read one right after the other in the weeks after my Nana died. After back surgery that went horribly wrong and set a cascade of bad things in motion she went from healthy and active to dead in 4 short months. She was my last living grandparent and a member of what Brokaw calls the greatest generation. I was broken hearted and for the first time I had to walk my children through the grieving process as I trudged through it myself. Each one of us grieved in very different ways. I didn't hide every tear from the kids. We cried together plenty of times but I was concerned that if I really fell apart and wailed like I wanted to it would be too upsetting for them. I let them see me grieve, but in private moments when the girls were at school and my son took his nap I'd pull out the book and let the flood of tears start. These books may not be considered great literature but they provided a badly needed catharsis during those days.
11. Travels with Charley: In Search of America by John Steinbeck. Yep another one from Steinbeck. I read this a number of years after Mr. Lime and I did the bicycle trip from Pennsylvania to California. That trip was such an education about human nature and my own country's geography and various subcultures. I was curious to read the observations of one of my favorite authors. Although his trip had taken place decades earlier than mine and was just the author and his dog in a camper, I wondered if I might find any parallels. I was not disappointed. His reflections were thought provoking and tied up a few loose ends for me even as they generated new questions. The difference in time periods between his book and my trip made for some interesting comparisons in my own mind. It's a great book for anyone to read but I am so glad I had my own cross country experience first. It made reading this book like sitting down to have a drink with a fellow traveler and sharing notes.
12. The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder,Insanity, and the Making of the OED by Simon Winchester. This is about the process of publishing the original Oxford English Dictionary and the friendship which developed between the main editor and one of the most prolific contributors of entries. Ok, stop yawning now. I mean it! This is not a boring book. It's fascinating. Winchester did a masterful job of weaving factual tidbits in with the narrative of the two main characters. I came away really amazed by the perseverance, organization, and attention to detail which was maintained over the duration of this herculean effort. There is a mystery about the man who contributes so much. As for the details revealed, truth is indeed stranger than fiction. The subtitle is not mere hype. Laugh if you want, but I gained a whole new appreciation for my dictionary. Ok, so I am a hopeless nerd. The bit about the Funk & Wagnalls last week didn't already convince you of that?
13. Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi. Ms. Nafisi is one of the intellectuals who suffered during the early days of the Islamic revolution in Iran. She had grown up in relative freedom, able to dress in western clothes, to read world literature, and to study and teach among men and women. Suddenly she risks being beaten if she is not veiled. Foreign books are censored. Colleagues are fired and students are expelled. Nafisi begins a secret book club of women who are determined to continue pursuing their love of literature. They have difficulty even obtaining the books they want to read. The authors and works they choose come to represent so much more to them. During their book club meetings they can discard the veils, share their hearts, find strength from the stories and from each other. I have to admit, a lot of the works the author links to are not ones I ever read or may be ones many people have complained about being forced to read in some class. Understanding what they meant to these Iranian women who cherished them enough to take real risks in obtaining them made me examine how much I do or don't value my own intellectual freedom. It made me see how it can all be swept away so quickly. That was a fairly sobering realization.
14. A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein.Ok, so they are technically children's books and I was actually introduced to them when I was 14. Therefore the argument could be made that I should have included them last week. Well, I'm the one doing this book meme and who says I have to follow any meme rules much less the ones I make up myself? And don't even start in on me about listing 2 books under a single number. Uncle Shelby is all about breaking the rules. He'd certainly understand. At 14 we stand on a cusp. I certainly did. Mom was recently engaged and we moved into her fiance's house for the summer as sort of a trial run. My brother would get up early in the morning to walk two miles to sit in our empty house rather than stay at the zoo in the fiance's house. I started working for the first time. One job was not enough to keep me out of the house. I found two. One was helping an older cousin of mine during a day camp program she ran. She brought these two books to share during story hour. After all the kids went home I asked her if I could borrow the books because I enjoyed the parts she shared. I read the rest of the poems and found verse that tickled my funny bone, validated having a slightly skewed perspective on things, and played with words in the most fun way. Other poems were touching in their tenderness. At the age of 14, when you're not quite grown but not a little kid, when you have a home but not really, when maybe you have a new family but you aren't quite sure, when you have all these divergent parts of you that want expression and you can't quite find the way...well, it's very nice to have a somewhat subversive grown up who takes you by the hand and suggests breaking dishes as a way to avoid the chore of washing them. When Uncle Shelby follows that by speaking of a game called Hug-o-War before describing the evils of growing into a sourpuss perfectionist you realize there may just be other people out there who "get" you. I've made sure my kids had lots of access to Shel Silverstein and all the small people in my life get copies of these books as they learn to read. They are simply satisfying selections of silly, sublime, and subversive verses.
15.Traveling Mercies andPlan B by Anne Lamott. I read these books this past year. Again, I'm drawn to memoirs. Lamott shares her journey of faith in a way that it alternately hilarious and thought provoking. The last few years I've become increasingly unsettled in my own faith for a lot of different reasons I don't intend to go into here. I am disquieted and restless and quite honestly, a bit sick of some of what I see around me that strikes me as rather callous and Pharisaical. I do continue to see some fine examples too, for those I am grateful. In Lamott's books I see a real person who is very willing to admit to her own frustrations and failures as she trips and stumbles while learning to walk the walk. I appreciate the honesty and the humor she brings to the telling of her journey.
16.Listening is an Act of Love: A Celebration of American Life from the StoryCorps Project by Dave Isay. This is an outgrowth of the project begun to document and oral history of American life in the voices those who lived the stories. StoryCorps interviews are conducted and recorded under the supervision of facilitators trained to enable regular people to interview their friends, family members, or neighbors. The book is excerpts of the most deeply affecting interviews. As a person who often looks at a stranger and wonders what stories make up that individual's life, I truly enjoyed getting a taste of these personal narratives. They are not always polished story telling but they are authentic and powerful no matter the form. I loved the validation this gave to the stories everyone has.
Yes, you got more than 8 books. I could easily give you more for last week's list or for this week's list but this ought to keep you busy for a little while. If you'd like to share the list of books that had an impact on you, I'd enjoy a peek at what pages spoke to you.
Suldog did this over at his place. His list was so interesting and varied I loved it so, of course, I decided to swipe it. Here are the instructions he posted.
List 15 books that had a dramatic impact on your life, or that make you happy in your pants, or that you took out of the library and never returned, or something like that. Anyway, list 15 books. Folks who are looking for a good read will find some worthy choices, while folks who like lists will be gratified.
I'm not sure any of them made me happy in my pants but maybe as I go along I will find one. If I do, I'll let ya know.
1. Go, Dog, Go! by P. D. Eastman. I learned to read before I ever went to kindergarten. My parents both instilled a love of books when I was very young. My mother taught me to read before I ever entered school. It's probably a very good thing because there were a number of teachers who seemed determined to make me hate reading. My parents' early influence was a good inoculation against school inflicted drudgery. As it happened, they also encouraged me to express my opinion. So when, in the due course of time, I entered kindergarten and found the available reading material less than fascinating I let my teacher know. I requested to bring in my favorite book from home and read it to the class. She insisted I did not know how to read. She thought she could placate me by offering to read what I brought in IF it proved suitable. I insisted on presenting the book myself and assured her I could, in fact, read it myself. She remained unconvinced until she spoke with my mother. Thus I came to read this book to my class during story time. Really, how could anyone not love the way the tension builds between the boy dog and the girl dog trying to impress him with her various hats? Who could resist the exciting tree top dog party at the end? Only those with the dullest imaginations. That's who!
2. The Crane Maiden by Miyoko Matsutani, Ill. by Chihiro Iwasaki. This was a book my mother got as a freebie trying to lure her to subscribe regularly to a children's book club. It's based on a Japanese folktale about an poor, childless, older couple who aid an injured crane. Shortly thereafter a young woman who needing shelter appears on their doorstep and offers to pay for her keep by weaving cloth for them to sell. Her only condition is that no one must watch her while she weaves. The couple agree but eventually give in to curiosity thus discovering the girl turns into a great crane who plucks feathers from her body to weave into the beautiful cloths. The crane maiden must leave once her secret is discovered. Although it has a sad ending I loved the story and I was utterly captivated by the illustrations. Long after I gave up other picture books I'd take this one off the shelf and marvel over the soft watercolors. I still love artfully done picture books and would love to have a collection of all the Caldecott winners.
3. The Favorite Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Dad brought this home for me after returning from a business trip. Mom seemed horrified by it. She hated the poor example of grammar in the dialogue and the somewhat un-PC tone. In retrospect, I think she also hated it because of other things that went on during that business trip. Anyway, after Dad left, Mom told me I wasn't allowed to have the book at our house. I had to keep it at Dad's. PC or not, the stories made me laugh. I liked that the language was "bad." It was strange to realize books could make people angry but I liked sitting on Daddy's lap while he read such subversion to me.
4. Helen Keller biography. I have to admit I am not sure who wrote the version I remember reading as a child. My mother had taken my brother and me to the Jersey Shore for a weekend when I was 7. We were each allowed to pick one souvenir from a shop on the boardwalk. Nothing appealed to me until we found a bookstore. I was in heaven. I'd been to the library bunches of times but this was the first time I remember being set loose in a bookstore and being told I could pick one to take home forever. I took a VERY long time to choose. I found this book and was immediately intrigued by the blurb about how a woman who was blind and deaf could manage to succeed in the world. Life seemed like a tremendous trial at that time since it was only about a year after Dad left. When I read this and saw all that Ms. Keller had overcome I felt a spark of hope. She became one of my heroes and I reread that book so many times it nearly fell apart. I was also proud of the book because it was the first "grown up book" I ever read. By that I mean it had chapters and no pictures. I felt very big being able to manage a book like that. It set me on a path of loving biographies, memoirs, and stories of overcoming adversity that has lasted to this day.
5. The Funk and Wagnalls New Encyclopedia. (no longer published in hard copy) Dad bought this for my brother and me after the divorce. At first I thought it was a very strange thing for him to do, but I was only 8. What did I know? Well, with this set I could eventually answer that with, "Lots!" I spent many a rainy day pulling volumes out so I could follow cross references. Hours would pass and I'd suddenly notice I had more books spread on the floor and flipped open than remained on the shelf. As great as Google is, there is nothing quite like being able to see all the information spread out in sequence on the floor in front of you. It helped me see connections between things. It instilled confident nerdiness. It was fun to know things.
7. The Bible, NIV. As a high school student I received a copy of the New International Version. It was in a form of language I could understand instead of all that flowery, antiquated language. Although I always read ahead of grade level I've also always had a mental block against that style. Even Shakespeare can drive me batty. This was approachable and comprehensible. I was deeply grateful to be able to "get" what it was saying after spending a portion of my teen years terrified of reading this book. After all, it was a heavy, gilt-edged volume that was read in very serious tones on Sunday morning. My fingers or eyeballs might catch fire if someone so unholy as me were to dare touch it or attempt to understand it. Really, I thought that until I laid my hands on a version I could understand. Not bursting into flames was a pretty transformative experience. The added benefit of comprehension proved to be even more so.
These are only the books that had a dramatic impact on me before I ever reached adulthood. Ok, I realize if I give this much of a review on all 15 books I am going to loose everyone long before they get to the end of the post. In the interest of keeping readers interested (and milking an idea for as long as I reasonably can), I'm going to break this into 2 parts. You'll get the books which impacted me as an adult next week.
One of my favorite children's books, which I always enjoyed reading with my kids, was The Big Orange Splot by Daniel Manus Pinkwater. If you are not familiar with it, get thee to a library and check it out. It is wonderful. It;s about Mr. Plumbean, who lives on a neat street where all the houses are the same. One day a seagull flies over his house and spills a can of orange paint on Mr. Plumbean's roof. The neighbors are in an uproar because the neighborhood is no longer neat. they implore Mr. Plumbean to do something about this problem assuming he will conform to the old pattern. Instead he preserves the big orange splot and paints the rest of his house in wild colors and patterns. He also includes elephants, pretty girls, and steam shovels. When the neighbors express their outrage his defense is, "My house is me, and I am it. It looks like all of my dreams." One by one, Plumbean's neighbors begin to convert their houses into their own dreams as respect for creativity and individuality spreads. They discard the notion of a neat street and find community in the idea that, "Our street is us and we are it. It looks like all of our dreams."
Yesterday's craft project was to make a log cabin bank out of a Chinese take out box. One helper covered them all in brown paper for me. Another helper made a sample. We put out the boxes, a bunch of construction paper and markers, and some glue and scissors. I told the kids they could make their bank houses any way they wanted. I absolutely loved watching the different ideas they all had.
One fellow's dreams didn't consist so much of a house as a fortress. (And check out the hairstyle he sported for crazy hair day and mismatch day. Rock on!)
For some people, their dreams included trees, shutters, and pets they could indulge.
For some, the dreams include sliding boards that start at the roof. I hope he invites me to visit someday.
Just being allowed to work on your own dreams is a cause to smile.
And then there are a these girls who have dreams of books so they didn't make houses at all. One made a library, the other made her own Border's Store. They are girls after my own heart. Oh, and the newest Borders franchise owner has much more fun making funny faces when she is asked to smile and show what makes her happy about her house. Rock on, girlfriends! When I planned this craft I have to admit, I only had vague notions of 50 little log cabins. Mind you I never require conformity in my craft projects. I just didn't imagine so many kids would go so far from the cabin idea and add so many other embellishments. When I began to see the fabulous divergence I got as excited as the kids. I just had to fan that flame. It reminded me of Pinkwater's book, which I had not thought of in a long time. It was a very good and timely reminder. So this week I am counting such a sublime chance to peek in the windows of many dream houses.
Now tell me how a house that is you and you are it would look if it looked like all of your dreams.
Yesterday I had another gift from Diana. She was trying to convince me all weekend to let her engage in the second Senior Skip Day of the school year. Mainly the kids are protesting several decisions of the administration by staying home. Diana has had a number of illness related absences this year so I was more than a tad reluctant. Finally, she looked at me and said, "Listen, Mom. I don't want to bag school so I can hang out with my friends. I want to hang out with you and do something together because with me going to college I don't know if I will be around for Mother's Day next year with it being the beginning of Finals week and all." Gulp, ok. How could I possibly say no to that?
When she woke up in the morning she announced she had $30 she intended to blow on the day for us. She asked if I wanted to go bowling, mini golfing, to the movies, out to lunch, or for a hike. We decided to catch the matinee of X-Men Origins because we both have a great fondness for the ever delectable Hugh Jackman. She suggested we stop at the video store and rent a bunch of other Hugh movies but the weather was too nice to spend the entire day inside so I convinced her to go for a walk along the levee by a local park. However, the playground equipment called to us so we had to play on it for a bit before our walk.
Diana has always been an "old soul." She came out of the chute 40 years old. So seeing her play like a little kid is always something that makes me smile. Her mother never quite grew up so it's no surprise when I act like a kid.
When she announced she was going to mount the chipmunk I almost split a gut laughing.
Then it was my turn to ride the duck. Yes, the sign said the playground was designed for children 5-12 years old. The one other family present didn't seem upset that we were interpreting that loosely. I think the duck was less than happy though.
We did discover that being too big for the slide meant a less than thrilling ride. After we finished the safety testing of all playground equipment we crawled up the levee for our walk. It was a grueling expedition. We took our walk during which I was told I do not know how to amble properly. When I heard music coming from a nearby house I stopped to dance to it so Diana could rest after my breakneck speed. Mercifully, there is no video of my dance moves. By then we were hungry so we headed to the food court and the dollar store to load up on lunch and movie snacks. Yep, we stuffed all that into a big bag to sneak it into the theater. We were two wild and crazy girls breaking all the rules...skipping school, ignoring the playground age limits, contraband movie snacks. I'm telling ya, Thelma and Louise had nothing on us. We also wisely chose not to end our lawbreaking spree by plummeting into the Grand Canyon.
We enjoyed drooling in tandem over the ever delectable Hugh Jackman (but I am calling dibs on him since he's my age, though I am glad I have imparted such good taste to her.) It was a good day. I was touched by her desire to spend time and make some special memories with me. Rules are good, but sometimes you just have to know when to break them.
