Now You Can See It

It's tough to get a full view--but this is fairly good.

Note--this kitchen is now in use...knives, coffee pot, coffee grinder!

A cabinet over the refrigerator--a new item. And things previously stored on top of the frig are now nicely tucked away.

A fun corner cabinet--perfect for coffee mugs.

This is a kind of "before" photo--all the open counters with nothing on them. That soon changed.

Woo hoo--trash and recycle bins tucked away.

The highly popular storage cabine, just waiting to be filled.

Yes, you are correct--the coffee pot shown here is NOT the same as the one in the top photo--new kitchen, new coffee pot. ;-)

Note the one essential in our house--an electric tea kettle.

OK--enough said (and shown).

The next entry from the kitchen will be the return of Saturday soups. Stay tuned.

How to get a new kitchen...

This post is about a lot of hard work--and I can't really claim to have done to most of it. After living in our house for 30 years, we decided to have our galley style kitchen, pictured below, entirely rebuilt.

First, we contacted a kitchen designer, and then hired a local builder who, along with his brother and step-father, did almost all the work. These men had wonderful work habits--arriving most days at 8, and frequently not leaving until 5. That meant long days for us, mostly trapped on our sun porch with the frantic dog. The dog probably suffered the most as she was terrified by the BANG BANG of the nail gun. She would tremble, drool, and in general be totally miserable.

But this post is not about the dog, but about our emerging kitchen.

The first step was to rip out the old cabinets--just like that! GONE.

Then the appliances went. And, as the pipes were being moved, the workers made gaping holes in the walls to locate the existing pipes.

Never fear--what gets torn out can also be rebuilt. Here the walls are once again sealed up.

Additionally, a partial wall was extended, to make room for a pantry style storage cabinet to be installed next to the existing refrigerator.

The walls are now ready for painting--my husband and I were the painters. That's how we spent last weekend--priming and painting walls.

Meanwhile, all kitchen items had been moved into the garage. I planned to make that a make-shift kitchen for the duration. Well...

I had not counted on the workers using that as a make-shift building location. Saw-dust flying everywhere. At least the toaster worked, and I could get to a few essential items: knives, paper towels and Pam.

Getting there. New cabinets go in; new sink in place.

Now we're really moving along--faucet hooked up.

And finally, the microwave and new range in place.

From start to finish--the work part of the project took two weeks. We had done advance planning, however. Beginning back in August, we got a design. We picked cabinets. We got bids from several potential builders. And I went appliance shopping when sales were on, and had the place hold them until we were ready for delivery.

We only changed one decision once things were underway--we switched to lighter color cabinets, to match the wood in our dining room and living room.

My favorite parts of the new kitchen? I have several--first, a galley kitchen became an L shaped kitchen. Amazingly, in the same amount of floor space, we have a more spacious kitchen. Second, the old cabinets were 30 inches high; the new ones 36. I can't reach the top shelves just standing, but a small stool--and I can get there. So upper cabinets now house rarely used items. Third, the sink is on a diagonal--that's a fun touch. Finally, I even got a storage cabinet with 5 pull-out shelves.

New kitchen--woo hoo!

Next post will just be a photo gallery.

Exhausted...

Of late, I have been somewhat remiss making the rounds of my blog friends. I am sorry. I have been a bit distracted.

There was the wedding--already noted here. And then there is the kitchen redo--currently ongoing.

Now, I admit, I am doing NONE of the work on the redo. We have two brothers who have come in--they are custom builders, meaning simply they do work when contracted to so do; they no longer work on speculation. So, while they still build entire houses, they only do that when someone contracts with them to do that. As you might expect, business has been a bit slow for them.

So when we went looking for a builder to redo the kitchen, we came upon their names, by way of referral. What a great job they are doing. A future post will detail the project a bit more, complete with photos.

Here's why I am exhausted--I have too many balls in the air. This business of being retired is crazy. People have always told me that--and, truth be told, at first it was NOT so. I officially "retired" in 2002. I had not planned to retire exactly when I did, but the company I worked for thought it was a good idea.

So, when I first began time at home--and before I started teaching in my adjunct capacity--I had time on my hands. Days crawled by. I always thank our dog for keeping me on an even keel. She was thrilled to have me home, and thought 4 or 5 walks a day were a grand idea.

Well, those days of little on my hands are gone. I have responded positively to various requests to help out here and there--mostly with the Presbyterians. I am now finding I need to pull back.

OK--where am I going with this post.

These last several days--of watching workers rebuild a kitchen--have got me to thinking about my paternal grandfather. I have written about him several times before here, and here.

As he approached retirement age, he and my grandmother were teaching at a small college in Pennsylvania. With a bit of land on the college campus available, he decided to build the house in which they would live out their final years. Now, when I think of my grandfather, I do NOT think builder. As a young man, he had done many things with his hands--including homesteading in Saskatchewan--but he was much more a thinker than a builder. But he doggedly set about to build a small two story house.

It was during that project that he discovered he was going blind. He went to sight up part of the building to see if it was level, and realized he could not see with enough acuity to level the project. So, my aunt helped him do that.

When the house was finished, it was perfectly adequate--not elegant, but livable. My parents, brother and I even lived in the upstairs, which was made into a small apartment, for a brief time in the mid 1950s.

Now, these days, watching the workmen, I think about my grandfather. How did he do it? He was an old man when he began that project.

And I think I am exhausted?

True Confessions...Again*

All the photos above are ones I took!
---------------------------------------------

OK, so in the last post I announced my dismay at having lost the small camera I carried to the wedding, and reception. For days, it stayed missing.

Things are a little hectic around our house right now...the wedding and attendant festivities on Saturday. A lovely brunch on Sunday hosted by our daughter and son-in-law (yes, I get to write that well and truly for the FIRST time). Then Sunday afternoon, daughter and SIL packed up to depart for the airport, via SIL's home in New Jersey. Also son and DIL packed up to depart.

Monday, my husband and I went into high gear. Bedrooms cleaned up, order restored. And then order promptly undone, as we packed up the kitchen. On Tuesday, workers came to tear out our 30 year old kitchen, and they immediately set about building a new kitchen.

With the week leading up to the wedding, I had mostly concentrated on that happy event. I put aside any class preparation--so in addition to the house clean-up, packing up goings-on, I managed to grade one set of papers to return to the students on Tuesday. I also whipped up a smashing lesson on literary analysis (OK--that was easy, as I love teaching literature).

Meanwhile, poor little camera is still missing. I emailed the church to inquire. I called the hotel where the Sunday brunch had been. I called the caterers who ran the reception. Still no camera. I asked my son--did an errant camera sneak into your luggage? I even sent a message to my honey-mooning daughter. No camera.

On Tuesday afternoon, I went off to class. And, as I set up for class, I opened my purse. What's this? Uh? A camera? Neatly tucked in its little black case? All soundly nestled in the deep reaches of my most commodious purse? Huh!

So, there you have it. Yes, I had looked in my purse--in fact several times. I had opened all four zipped parts of the purse. I had looked in the two snap parts (it's a big purse, OK?). And each time I missed the little black case. When I saw it, I assumed that it was my make-up kit. The one thing I didn't do was turn the purse inside-out. I should have.

When we thought the camera was lost, my husband began a little sequence of missing camera jokes. I think he was up to number 10. When I got home from class, I sheepishly told him I had FOUND the camera.

And that, dear blogging friends, began a whole new round of camera jokes, only this time they are found camera jokes. Sigh!

--------

* I wrote True Confessions...Again as my blog title. I used that title once before, here.

The Bells are Ringing...

Full disclosure: as I began writing this blog the other night, I went looking for the small camera I took along--my husband's camera, actually. GONE. I looked high and low--I cannot find it. Bereft!

But, our son took marvelous photos--all those you see here are from him.

------------------------------

Well, wedding day has come and gone.

Despite all our fervent hopes for good weather, Saturday dawned cloudy and drizzly. All day--off and on rain, gusts of wind, and in general a warm muggy tropical feeling. Most strange for late October in central PA.

Daughter and I began the day somewhat early--off to get hair done, and then make up done. Out of the ordinary special treatment--but for a most special day.

We headed to the church early--not much else to do with the rain. Along with my daughter-in-law, I had the immense pleasure of helping my daughter. Her dress had some 20 or 30 small buttons down the back, with little crochet loops. She patiently stood and waited, while daughter-in-law and I struggled to close them all.

Then, the big moment arrived. Music for the trip down the aisle--The Prince of Denmark March. Father of the bride, and mother of the bride accompanied her.

I have never liked the idea of "giving away" the woman--only the woman. The couple together are giving themselves to each other, and we the family members--both of the bride and the groom--are sharing this time and supporting them. So, that is how our daughter and her partner had structured the service.

The intervening moments between dressing and worship service had been filled with lots of photo taking. LOTS of photos.

After the service, we rode several blocks to the Civic Club--a lovely old building along the Susquehanna River. The father of the bride had, many months ago, arranged for a small bus to transport people from the church to the reception. At the time, it seemed most appropriate for more senior members who might need help traveling. But, with the uncooperative weather, the mini-bus turned out to be just the thing.

We had a grand time at the reception--the wedding couple entered the grand ballroom to Johnny Cash's "I Walk the Line"--such a great choice of a song. Their dance song was Nina Simone's "My Baby Just Cares for Me." For my husband and me, our daughter had picked Paul Simon's "Still Crazy After All These Years."

Ah, music--sometimes it says all that needs to be said.

We had multiple toasts, a scrumptious meal, the traditional cake cutting.

Just before the reception began, the rain stopped--and the low hanging clouds draped a gauzy fog over the river. A breathtaking sight. So, even though a clear fall day would have been gorgeous, a beautiful evening along the river was an acceptable substitute.

So, now they are well and truly married. The wedding couple returned the next day, after a wedding brunch they hosted, to London.

Sigh...

That is a sigh of relief--all the planning worked out. Our daughter looked lovely, the groom was handsome. The music was perfection. The flowers fantastic.

Also a sigh of bittersweet awareness--our daughter is our younger child, no one else at home to make a major life step.

Count Down

Today is our dear daughter's birthday.

Happy birthday, best daughter ever!

And, we are on a countdown. The big day is only 3 days away.

Round 1...

We are now 2 weeks into late fall semester. Things move at a fast pace when the class begins at the end of September, yet ends mid-December, along with all the other classes.

Students turned in their first paper, which I returned to them today, all green pen marked and graded.

I gave them my usual--here's what the various marks mean, and here is where you look in the handbook to fix the types of mistakes commonly being made--speech.

Before, I even got to that review, one student called out--what does WW mean. Continuing with the paper returns, I said--it means wrong word. There are various words in the English language--wonderful rich language that it is--that sound like other words, yet mean something completely different.

I find that using wrong words is one of the most frequent errors students make. And the tendency is catching. I was using a PowerPoint to highlight the important content that I wanted students to get from today's lecture--and there it was up on the screen. A MISTAKE. Glaring. Winking at me. Arrgghhhh! I have been corrupted by my students.

I had written DUEL, when I clearly meant DUAL. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sadly, no student caught it.

Here are three of my favorite wrong word errors from this round of papers.

Fronds. . .meaning friends

Sauna gram. . .meaning sonogram

And spur attic. . .meaning sporadic.

With all the papers returned, I gave students time to review their marks. And, I answered as students said--what is this that you wrote.

All along, I could hear one woman in the front of the class muttering--I am not liking this at all.

I dismissed class a bit early, saying--any of you who have questions, and want to take 5 minutes to go over your paper, I will stay right here.

I expected the muttering student to stay and ask something--but she was out the door in a flash. SIGH. And to think, at the beginning of the semester, she had loudly announced how much she loves to write. What she probably means is that if she gets to write, journal fashion, unedited, unevaluated thoughts, then she loves to write. But let me review her work and offer constructive criticism--well, that she is NOT liking at all.

The List

I am smitten. I have a new favorite singer.

Understand, I am a classical music person, pretty much through and through. And, if I listen to something different from classical, it's likely to be classic rock. I love to play some Queen songs good and loud, as I clean the house. Or the Eagles--I can listen to them for hours. Or Crosby, Stills, Nash--sometimes Young--great songs.

Now, of all the music styles available, the one I have never really gravitated to is country music. I do love folk music, country music's very close cousin, but I just never got into country music. (As a quick aside, I do not consider rap to be music.)

Well, things are about to change.

The other day, I tuned in to Terry Gross's marvelous program Fresh Air. Her guest was Rosanne Cash, daughter of Johnny Cash. I was just getting ready to turn the radio off, when the opening story caught my attention.

As a young enterprising song writer, Rosanne was talking with her father one day as they rode the tour bus. He mentioned a song, and she said she didn't know it. Then he mentioned another--which she also did not know. His response to her was: if you're going to write country songs, there are just some essential songs you HAVE to know. So, his gift to her was the list of 100 essential country songs.

Rosanne has now recorded 13 of those songs on her new album "The List."

Right after listening to the entire show, I went out to I-Tunes, and bought the album. And I am smitten. I have the album playing now, as I write--Rosanne is singing "500 Miles from Home"--which was a staple of many 60s folk singers, including Peter, Paul and Mary.

Most of the songs on the album are familiar to me--for example "Long Black Veil" I first heard sung by Joan Baez.

But the song that is just resonating in my head is "Sea of Heartbreak." Visit the Rosanne Cash website, and you will hear that song playing. This song is nearly perfect. When she wanted someone to sing back-up harmony, she thought--well, what about Bruce Springsteen. So she asked, and he said YES. Bruce Springsteen!

Lest, I gush on too long, I will stop. You can listen to the Fresh Air interview or visit the Rosanne Cash website.

Talk about me doing some against my personal norm.

Creating Community

When I began blogging more than 3 years ago, I was thrilled to find an outlet for my yearning to write. As an English major in college, and now as a teacher of English composition to college freshmen, I am an enthusiastic advocate of writing. It is, after all, one of the principle ways whereby we humans have retained history.

In the space of the last three years, I have probably written a book's worth of thoughts. And I am profoundly grateful for the few readers I have, who stop by here and who occasionally leave a comment.

What I had not expected to find is a community of friends. Now, I am sure somewhere there is a sociologist who is cautioning my presumption that I can find communal solidarity with people whom I have never met. But I do.

Years ago, there was a wonderful sitcom--Barney Miller. Maybe you remember it.

I recall one show where a very distraught woman came into the police station. She proceeded to tell the officers about scenes of domestic violence and mayhem that she had witnessed. They probed, and after a bit it became very clear that what she was watching was not a window, but the television. She had mistaken an earlier version (TV) of cyber reality for ACTUAL reality.

That episode is at the back of my mind as a kind of caution for me not to confuse virtual cyber community with face-to-face community. But, I still care about the people I have met through blogging (and, of late, through Facebook).

Just as with our close-by friends, our cyber friends can be open and sharing. People whose blogs I read, and who read mine, know some of what I am involved with. For example, my blogging friend Philip knows I teach--so he sent me a very interesting article on the dangers of over-using computers in the classroom.

Or, I can share with my blogging friend Christine our mutual love of elephants, and support for the wonderful place The Elephant Sanctuary.


These are just two small examples of how we share communally through cyber-space.

And then, today, I received a comment on a blog that I had written so long ago I had quite forgotten it. Entitled Unauthorized Stories, I had written about telling tales on my children--who then called me on telling the tales. This comment came from a new reader--here, you can read what Curtis said.

I stumbled upon your website through trying to find the words to Crosby, Stills and Nash's song, Teach Your Children Well. How I got here, only the good Lord knows but it has been a delight to me. Reading this story reminded me of being with my son two weeks ago (he is my baby and is 34) and going through a divorce. Telling him of how important my wife, his step-mon, is to me and that she has been really the only mom to him. I played the song of Foster and Allen "After All These Years." After listening politely, he said matter of factly "That's nice."

I realized he is not in the same place I am. When his children were toddlers, he said to me, "Dad, I am glad you have grandchildren because now, in your sermons, you will give me some rest. I assured him that was not the case, I only had more unauthorized stories.

Thank you for your blog, Peace, Curtis

Well, such a thing could only happen in this cyber community. I can't imagine someone I have never met overhearing a conversation I might be having--and then stepping up to say what Curtis said. Face to face, we simply don't do such a thing. But this space--cyber-space--allows us to make connections--to create community--in ways that we cannot or will not do face to face.

A Season of Reunions

October is (almost) here--one of my favorite months of the year. I love the changing seasons, and autumn shows us such a bright and colorful face. Add to the lush color the bite in the air, and a touch of wood smoke, and I am in heaven.

I signed up to teach a late start class this fall--and class started yesterday. We are a month behind all the other classes, but end at the same time. Consequently, course content is greatly compressed. Each class is 2 hours long, and obviously we are moving at a breakneck speed to cover all the material.

I always use a portion of the first class to cover the contents of the syllabus. I point out those things that I think are most critical for students to know about the class. I also confess to being as tough sounding as possible--that way the hangers-on (and there are always some) will shake lose and decide not to return. Partly to engage the students, and partly to keep them attending to the task at hand, I ask them what questions THEY have about the course. After I gather about a half a dozen questions, I then hand out the syllabus and tell them to start looking for answers.

Yesterday, one student asked one of the predictable questions. She asked--will there be a lot of reading. Another confession here--I wait for such questions. So, then I can stop, peer over my glasses and scrunch up my face and say --This is a reading and writing class, what do you think? OF COURSE we will do a lot of reading.

I have actually had students ask--will we have to write a lot in this class. Much hangs on the definition of "a lot." To me, writing four papers, each 4 pages in length, and one research paper of 10 pages is NOT a lot of writing. To students, that is the equivalent of having been sentenced to Siberia to work in the salt mines for the rest of their lives. They invariable groan and squirm.

The other favorite interaction for me is when I ask them to write on the spot an initial essay--that way, I have in hand an example of their writing without any assistance from any outside source. Not always, but frequently, a student will look around and say--does anyone have a pen or a pencil I can borrow. Another pause from me--and then I saw, this is a WRITING class and you came without a pen or a pencil.

I have just too much fun.

Anyway, the start of class reminds me that this is also the time of year that colleges begin to send out notices for homecomings and class reunions. My own alma mater is actually celebrating its 100th year of existence this fall.

Several years ago, I attended my college class 40th reunion. Thinking that 40 plus years has passed since I graduated from college always makes me feel--well, old. After that reunion, I came back home and sat down and penned a poem.

Herewith:


Class Reunion

At the fortieth gathering of the class of ‘66
The talk is less of remembering
Than it is of surviving.
We are done with warmed over reprises
Of night raids,
Of whatever happened to. . .
Our conversation now turns somber
As round we go with a catching up.

—Two years ago I suffered a cerebral
Hemorrhage, bleeding out in my brain
Relieved only by the surgeon’s skill
Drilling to relieve the pressure
I’m OK now but I have returned
To the church and God—

—I found out last summer that
I had colon cancer. I am
Done with chemo now and the doctors
Say I have a good chance of
Living five more years—

We all sit there stunned into
Silence—afraid to speak lest
We too be struck by malady.
We drift away with vague murmurs
To come back in five years.

The next day word comes that the
Class president who walked us
Through our survivor stories
Suffered a coronary and
Required quadruple bypass surgery.

Five years? I’ll be glad to live
Until tomorrow.

By Donna F. W. © 2008

Anyone out there attending a class reunion this fall? 'Tis the season.

God's creature?

...or invasive species? More on this later.

Several days ago, as my husband and I were busily working outside--getting outdoor things ready for winter--we heard a thump, and then watched our dog, who was inside, go ballistic. My husband investigated, and then came to get me.

--There's a bird lying on its back on the patio, apparently having hit the window. And Tipper is going crazy. Can you come help?

So, with my gardening gloves already on, I went to see what had hit the window. Herewith.

A very stunned bird, lying on her back, little feet curled and in the air. She looked for all the world as though she were dead--or should be dead. But she was very much alive, and very stunned.

I picked her up, and held her, first on her back, and then gradually turned my hands so that she was upright. She seemed perfectly content to sit there in the warmth of my gloved hands.

As I held this bird, I kept thinking--this little sparrow is such a common bird. And it's considered to be a nuisance--an invasive species.

Yet I marveled at its unbearable lightness of being. So small, so fragile, so tough--to hit a window and survive. The bird blinked her bright eyes, turned her head this way and that--looking around. But she stayed put in my gloves. And I stayed put, holding her.




What makes something an invasive species? Understandably, it depends why you ask. Here's one definition you will find in the referenced Wikipedia article: "a non-indigenous species (e.g. plants or animals) that adversely affect the habitats they invade economically, environmentally or ecologically."

Well, now.

By that definition, humans are an invasive species. This thought is not original with me. But, we sure do fit the definition. Non-indigenous species--yup. Adversely affect the habitats they invade economically--yup. Environmentally--oh, yup yup. Or ecologically--triple yup.

So, here we sit, judge and jury pronouncing other species as invasive.

We would do well to recall the words of the psalmist--Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts. (Psalm 84:3).



After a few minutes, I walked up into our backyard where the tall evergreen trees are. Perhaps seeing that greenery was inviting enough--suddenly, the little bird was stunned no more. Off she flew. God's creature.

----------------

UPDATE: Julie Zickefoose in her recent blog entitled "We Eliminated Them" demonstrates how humans are the prime invasive species.

She's A Lady

A few brief words to note the passing of a great lady. Mary Travers died yesterday.

She was the M of P, P & M--Peter, Paul and Mary. Striking with her long blond hair that hung like corn silk down her back, Mary had the most wonderful throaty alto voice. I am partial to altos of any kind, since that's my natural voice range-- ;-)

I credit Mary with helping my husband and me fall in love. When we first met, we were counselors together at a church camp. The whole story is here, so I won't repeat it. But it was her song "There is a Ship" that I sang to the young man, who became my husband. Maybe my singing was siren-like (as in Odysseus, not police car...) because he claimed to have thus been ensnared.

Anyway.

Today I received an email from a long-time dear friend. We share many things--politics, an interest in women's issues, and a love of people who have fought to expand human rights.

My friend wrote, in part, that "a huge chunk of my personal heart died last night with the passing of Mary Travers...Their (i.e. Peter, Paul & Mary's) continued commitment to and involvement in issues of social justice all these years, as well as their music, have been such a boon and inspiration during dark times..."

To which I can only add--me, too.

Sweet dreams--Mary. Sleep well.
--------------

Photo from

http://www.wagingpeace.org/menu/about/media-center/2007/08-22_evening_for_peace.htm

The Ghost of John Peter Zenger

I have had this idea kicking around in my head for a couple of days, and just haven't sat down to get it out on paper...make that on screen. Then this evening, my husband remarked that this is the longest I have gone without blogging for a while. True.

The news of yesterday helped encapsulate what I have been thinking. It all began when the Coast Guard held one of its routine training exercises with speed boats on the Potomac. They were practicing how they would conduct high speed chases and interdiction of suspicious watercraft. The exercise was so low key they did not think other agencies--e.g. the FBI--needed to be given advance warning.

For whatever reasons, they were using open channels of communication, and that's how the brouhaha unfolded. Here's the opening of the Washington Post story:

"SUSPICIOUS VESSEL IN DC/Coast Guard fires on boat on Potomac River," said CNN's "breaking news" headline at 10:05 a.m. Friday.

Six minutes later, an "URGENT" bulletin flashed from Reuters, which attributed the information to CNN.

That prompted Fox News to report that shots had been fired, citing Reuters as its source. "Report: Coast Guard Fires on Suspicious Boat in Potomac," Fox News's headline said.

In other words--CNN picked up from a police scanner a report that they then repeated on the air, without any other confirmation, that suspicious boats were spotted on the Potomac (get it...near the Capitol including the White House). Then Fox News picked up CNN's story, and repeated it. And so on...the game was on.

Here's what has been buzzing around in my head. We have gone from having a free and unfettered press reporting on news to having a free and financially fettered press reporting on the STORIES of news that they hear. Less and less ground work is being done, and subsequently fewer facts are being gathered and reported.

Tune in to the 24 hour cable "news" cycle and what you are most likely to get is unbridled opinion being passed off as news. We don't hear what is happening; we hear what people THINK about what they THINK is happening. So if they are wrong, no matter--they still have an opinion.

More than two years ago, I wrote here in praise of John Peter Zenger. He would be appalled. When he was tried back in 1735 for the charge of libel, he is reported to have said "No nation, ancient or modern, ever lost the liberty of speaking freely, writing, or publishing their sentiments, but forthwith lost their liberty in general and became slaves."

To which, I can only add--well said. But the irony is not so much that the freedom to express ourselves is being taken away, as we are giving up on it. Around the country, newspapers are dying, not because of censorship, but because of falling readership, and the inability to make ends meet.

We have more access to news channels via cable and satellite, and less actual information being imparted. Is there anyone out there who really wants to read more about Michael Jackson's strange life and even stranger death? Is there anyone who doesn't know who Jon and Kate are?

But if I were to run down some of the stories covered on BBC news over this week, I would venture that most Americans have no idea about these stories. Yet, they reveal far more human need. Test yourself--here's the cover page for the BBC Africa stories.

Or, if you prefer, here's the cover page for the Asia-Pacific stories.

My point is that what we are fed as news in the U.S. leaves us woefully under-informed. We are hyper-aware of threats to our country--after all, the Coast Guard exercise occurred on September 11, no doubt a factor on CNN's jumping to pick up the story. And we are lulled into paying way too much attention to stories that should NEVER be on the news--e.g. Jon and Kate. We have little if any awareness of the larger world. And we have come to mistake opinion for fact.

The on-going health debate sadly illustrates that. There are no death panels in the proposed bill. But ask the average person on the street and you may get a yes, no or maybe answer. Then your local news will report that people are still confused about this issue. WHAT ISSUE, I feel like screaming.

Thinkers far more capable of addressing this issue than I have written about this phenomena. While I pride myself on being well-informed, I am not sure I have the stomach to read their analyses. I will, however, keep my subscription to the New York Times; I will listen to NPR for decent news coverage; I will read BBC on-line; and I will NEVER EVER watch national "news" coverage on FoxNews.

Cheating...er, make that Reading

I have been known to cheat. In fact, this tendency is somewhat of a joke within my family--because the subject on which I am cheating is reading. Many times, when I first begin a book and have met the characters, I am overwhelmed with a curiosity--will this character still be here at the end of the book?

So, I cheat--I skip to the end and read a page or two. Not a pretty habit, but there you have it--one of my weaknesses. In no way does this habit ruin books for me. I keep reading through to the end to see HOW the ending comes about.

Now, with the Kindle, my habit has been reined in. Tough to skip to the end when you are reading a book on an electronic reader. Add to that the fact that Kindle does NOT use page numbers, and I am really foiled.

No matter--I love reading so much I keep reading whether I know the ending or not.

I have just finished, in relatively short order, three books--all of which I commend to you. I will not award my label of "terrific reads" to all, but maybe to one. Herewith the three.

I first read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. The literary device that tells the story in this book is a series of letters between Juliet Ashton, an author who was writing light literature during World War II, and her publisher and also various friends. The novel is set in London and on Guernsey immediately following World War II. England is emerging from the ravages of war, as are the Channel Islands--English possessions dating back to the time of William the Conqueror. The Channel Islands, of which Guernsey is one, were the only "English soil" occupied by Hitler's troops.

As you read the work, you learn of the great deprivation people on Guernsey suffered. That is what I enjoyed most about the book. I found it a bit difficult to keep track of all the characters--most of them letter writers. I also was not as invested in them as people as I sometimes am. But I loved the historical aspects, and kept running to the Internet to look up this or that item.

The next book I read was one I downloaded on to my Kindle--hence the inability to thumb through to the end to "see how it turns out." Probably a good thing--this books is a definite page turner (er, page clicker). Titled People of the Book, by Geraldine Brooks, this novel creates a fictional back story for a real object--the Sarajevo Haggadah.

A Haggadah is "...a book that Jews read on the first night of Passover - and on the first two nights outside of Israel. It tells about our slavery in Egypt and the miracles God did for us when freeing us. The word haggadah means "telling," which comes from the Biblical command: "And you shall tell your child on that day, saying: 'God did (miracles) for me when I left Egypt so that I would fulfill the Torah's commandment." (Exodus 13:8 and Rashi)" (from Ask the Rabbi).

When the Germans marched into Sarajevo in 1941, German officials visited the museum there and demanded the Sarajevo Haggadah be turned over to them. What makes it so unusual is that it is a 14th century document written in Hebrew and illustrated with marvelous lush jewel-like illustrations. Quick thinking on the part of museum officials saved the document--I will let you read how. One of the wondrous things is that along the way, Muslims and Christians played a part in helping to keep this Jewish book from the flames of the Inquisition and from the covetous hands of the Nazis.

The novel tells the story of Hanna Heath--a rare book expert--who is invited to examine the book in the mid-1990s when it came to light, after having been "missing" for decades following World War II. Rumors were flying that the Nazis had spirited it away, or that it had been destroyed. In her examination, Hanna finds various small items within the book that help to tell its history and its long journey from 14th century Spain to modern Sarajevo.

Geraldine Brooks is a marvelous writer--and I had previously read her books Nine Part of Desire, The Year of Wonder, and March. I loved these three books and entirely expected to love People of the Book. I was not disappointed. An extra plus is that this book has been picked for our church book club, and also for a two county wide event where I live--One Book, Two Counties.
And, I simply can't resist a book that features a map like this on the inside cover--remember, I read the Kindle version. I found the map on the Internet and saved it. I also liked the double play on words in the title--the novel tells about the people of THE book, i.e. the Haggadah, and it interweaves characters from the three religions generally called the people of the book--Jews, Christians, and Muslims.


The final book I read I just finished today. I have picked this book up on a whim from the Costco book table. I didn't know a thing about it, except what the cover announced--that is had been short-listed for the Booker Prize. I have previously mentioned my penchant for seeking out Booker Prize winning books, as a kind of short hand recommendation system.

The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry is told first person by two people--switching back and forth between Roseanne Clear, a 100 year old patient in a mental institution that is slated for destruction, and her doctor, Dr. Grene, whose job it is to assess all the remaining patients to determine their fitness to be set "free." In assessing Rose, he slowly learns her life's story.

The book goes back and forth between the past--Ireland in the years around the world wars--and the present. Roseanne, despite her symbolic last name, is anything but forthcoming in telling her tale. She hides her history, so that the good doctor has to extract it slowly and lovingly. His name--Grene--takes on significance by the time the reader reaches the end of the book. You learn that his greenness--naivete--has kept him from understanding a critical piece of information.

Oh, for the record--I was absolutely good and did not cheat on reading this book. So the ending, when I got there, came as a complete surprise to me.

Would I give any of these book my "terrific read" award. Yes, People of the Book. The Secret Scripture is close, but not quite--rather like the Booker Prize panel which twice has bypassed Sebastian Barry.

I know summer is almost over, but do add any or all of these books to your reading list.