At the last minute Sebastian decided to go ahead and play a violin piece for his chorister audition. Nothing like sending mummy right over the edge.
The evenings last week were consumed with practise. He played Boating Lake on the piano until I just simply couldn't listen to it anymore. It is a beautiful tune but I'm not sure I ever want to hear it again. He sang his 2 songs until he had all the words memorised and could find his tune and key all on his own. I do love I Vow to Thee, My Country but I really hope I don't have to listen to Onward Christian Soldiers again for a very long time. And then just to torture me (although he said it was to give him an edge) he decided to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on his violin.
He's only just started playing the violin in September. And he couldn't really make a recognisable tune with it until the last few months. For a substantial period of time we had lots of painful screeching.
As Seb practised his violin piece before the audition, Marc and I stood in the kitchen holding our breath and wincing each time it didn't quite go as he planned. But he was determined. And like his mummy, you don't get in his way once he's made up his mind.
He looked so smart as we walked out the door. His hair was even combed. He carried his music, hymn books, and violin. We sat on a bench outside the room they were auditioning. Seb read a Beast Quest book and I knitted fast and furiously. They called him name and came for him. He jumped up and started to walk in completely forgetting his stuff.
The door closed behind him. My knitting pace increased but my hands were shaking. He played his violin first. It wasn't perfect but he didn't embarrass himself and I breathed a very small sigh of relief. I could hear him doing some aural tests and I was pleased with his confidence. He sang his two hymns but the piano was so loud I could barely hear him through the doors. At least he assures me he didn't forget any of his words and he sounded like he was in tune.
I clutched my knitting to my chest and didn't breath until I had to. There was chuckling laughter from the room. "That's my boy", I thought; cut the tension with a bit of humour. At last Boating Lake echoed down the hall and the last note brought tears to my eyes.
He had done it. It was done. He had done everything he could. He had practised. He was confident. He had tried his very best.
He left the room with a great big smile and wrapped his arms around me. I was so glad that it was over and I was so proud that he had tried.
I'm not entirely sure when we find out if he has been chosen but am hoping it will be early next week. Nothing to worry about now though. It is in the hands of God.
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Saturday, 7 March 2009
Rugby vs Bishopsgate
Year 3 played a rugby match on Friday afternoon. Each school put on 4 teams and all teams put on a superb show. I was particularly proud of my son. He ran in the correct direction every time. He kept his head in the game and he very nearly scored a try! I have adjusted my expectaitons and I mut say it was quite an improvement from his football (soccer outing) last fall. Long may it last.
PS He's quite easy to pick out of the photos. He has light coloured ginger hair and he's the shortest, smallest, etc. (Dynamite comes in small packages and don't you forget it!)
PS He's quite easy to pick out of the photos. He has light coloured ginger hair and he's the shortest, smallest, etc. (Dynamite comes in small packages and don't you forget it!)
Soup Kitchen
Michelle Obama was volunteering at a soup kitchen a few blocks from the White House last week. An article in the newspaper featured a photo of a soup kitchen patron taking a photo of Mrs Obama. He was taking the photo with his mobile phone.
That's right...how does someone getting their food from a soup kitchen afford a mobile phone? With a camera in it?
Am I the only person in the world who thinks there is something wrong with this picture?
That's right...how does someone getting their food from a soup kitchen afford a mobile phone? With a camera in it?
Am I the only person in the world who thinks there is something wrong with this picture?
Friday, 6 March 2009
Abigail's 5th Birthday
I know my daughter turned 5 on December 24 2008. I know I haven't managed to put the photos up until now. Give me a break. I am not in the running for mother of the year. At least they are here now!
Thursday, 5 March 2009
My Little Stars
December was a crazy month and whilst my blog posts were few and far between it wasn't because nothing was going on and I had writer's block. It was only because I was on the go here, there and everywhere every waking moment of every single day and night. Do not mistake that as a complaint. Simply put it was one of the best holiday seasons I can remember!
So, please, do excuse the lateness of this post. I want to catch you up on all those happy memories.
We were honoured to have so many friends and corresponding invites to festive parties. Rest assured the diet went out of window just through the copious quantities of champagne we consumed. And that is definitely not a complaint. January has plenty of time for dieting!
The first treat of the season was Sebastian's Music Recital. The Middle School, Years 3-5 (ages 7-11), performed instrumental and vocal pieces. I have never seen such dedication, raw talent and composure from children so very young. Some of the performances were nearing professional level and I ain't kidding. I have little doubt that there are some future stars in this bunch. Sebastian performed a solo of I Saw Three Ships, which he has been practicising nonstop of several weeks for hours and hours. It was flawless. I was so proud as he took his bow.
Next
we were blessed with Abigail's Nativity Story. She was a star, literally and figuratively. Au
ntie Mary saved the day (one again) with a white tunic (made from a pillowcase) and Marc hand painted silver stars on it. The silver tinsel was courtesy of the class teachers. She sang confidently and loudly in front of 80 (or so) parents. Her line- "But she was still unhappy!" - was delivered with thespian expertise and adequate character pizzazz! At the end of the performance, there was not a dry eye in the house (including her mummy's). She is so adorable I could eat her alive!
So, please, do excuse the lateness of this post. I want to catch you up on all those happy memories.
We were honoured to have so many friends and corresponding invites to festive parties. Rest assured the diet went out of window just through the copious quantities of champagne we consumed. And that is definitely not a complaint. January has plenty of time for dieting!
The first treat of the season was Sebastian's Music Recital. The Middle School, Years 3-5 (ages 7-11), performed instrumental and vocal pieces. I have never seen such dedication, raw talent and composure from children so very young. Some of the performances were nearing professional level and I ain't kidding. I have little doubt that there are some future stars in this bunch. Sebastian performed a solo of I Saw Three Ships, which he has been practicising nonstop of several weeks for hours and hours. It was flawless. I was so proud as he took his bow.Next
we were blessed with Abigail's Nativity Story. She was a star, literally and figuratively. Au
ntie Mary saved the day (one again) with a white tunic (made from a pillowcase) and Marc hand painted silver stars on it. The silver tinsel was courtesy of the class teachers. She sang confidently and loudly in front of 80 (or so) parents. Her line- "But she was still unhappy!" - was delivered with thespian expertise and adequate character pizzazz! At the end of the performance, there was not a dry eye in the house (including her mummy's). She is so adorable I could eat her alive!We
made boxes of home made treats for the children's teachers and Wicked Uncle Scottish Mike came round to help with the decorating of sugar cookies. I do believe that the men did more
decorating than the children and they certainly ate more than they decorated. As well as the cookies, the bo
xes included almond roca, Christmas tree bark, divinty, and apricot/ginger bread. The almond roca was everyone's favourite and I do believe the weight I gained during the holidays was down solely to too much almond roca....although I suspect the cheese also made a significant contribution!
made boxes of home made treats for the children's teachers and Wicked Uncle Scottish Mike came round to help with the decorating of sugar cookies. I do believe that the men did more
decorating than the children and they certainly ate more than they decorated. As well as the cookies, the bo
xes included almond roca, Christmas tree bark, divinty, and apricot/ginger bread. The almond roca was everyone's favourite and I do believe the weight I gained during the holidays was down solely to too much almond roca....although I suspect the cheese also made a significant contribution!
The final school performance was the middle school's spectacular cantata of Scrooge. That's right! Years 3, 4, and 5 sang the enitre story of The Christmas Carol. The parents looked on in awe as these children mastered not only the tune but all those words. Such concentration!
We shared breakfa
st with Santa which was an incredible privledge on the 20 December. We know how busy he is at that time of year and I'm not entirely sure how he managed to make time for us in his diary but we didn't really care as the children were able to make it very clear to
him exactly what their expectations would be for the morning of 25 December.
st with Santa which was an incredible privledge on the 20 December. We know how busy he is at that time of year and I'm not entirely sure how he managed to make time for us in his diary but we didn't really care as the children were able to make it very clear to
him exactly what their expectations would be for the morning of 25 December.Wednesday, 4 March 2009
Fun in the Snow
Back in February we had the biggest snowfall in these here parts in over 18 years. We loved every minute of it!
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Who Moved My Blackberry by Martin Lukes
My most recent troll through the library found me going home with this satirical novel. The British do satire better than just about anyone and this book had me laughing at the absurdity of corporate life. And crying at how relevant I found bits of it.
Martin is a self absorbed high level manager working at a generic company in London who can't understand why his family and career are falling apart but is quite certain none of it is his own fault. Everyone else is to blame. He plays the game telling each player in his life exactly what he wants them to hear and manipulating his version of the truth to shed a beneficial light on himself.
This is all good fun and I found myself laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. It took me less than a day to power through it since it is a series of emails and blackberry messages. Highly recommended for those of you who find yourself getting withdrawal symptoms in the form of physical shaking when your blackberry is turned off during a flight or you've left your mobile at home.
WARNING: Lots of British inside jokes may leave readers of other nationalities wondering what in the world he is talking about unless, like me, you've spent a lot of time here and sort of get the inside jokes.
Martin is a self absorbed high level manager working at a generic company in London who can't understand why his family and career are falling apart but is quite certain none of it is his own fault. Everyone else is to blame. He plays the game telling each player in his life exactly what he wants them to hear and manipulating his version of the truth to shed a beneficial light on himself.
This is all good fun and I found myself laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. It took me less than a day to power through it since it is a series of emails and blackberry messages. Highly recommended for those of you who find yourself getting withdrawal symptoms in the form of physical shaking when your blackberry is turned off during a flight or you've left your mobile at home.
WARNING: Lots of British inside jokes may leave readers of other nationalities wondering what in the world he is talking about unless, like me, you've spent a lot of time here and sort of get the inside jokes.
PS I finished this book so quickly that I loaned it to my boss who I thought would find it amusing.....ok, I also have a death wish. The ironic bit is he lost it on an airplane and I've had to pay the library for it. Poetic Justice.
Monday, 2 March 2009
Trophy for Last Place
My son had a judo match on Saturday. Some of you may recall the hilarity of watching on YouTube his last efforts. I'd like to say that he has improved.
Actually, he has improved. The trouble is so has every one else. And they have grown. They have grown much more than Sebastian has grown. Does everyone have their children on steroids or what?
Actually, he has improved. The trouble is so has every one else. And they have grown. They have grown much more than Sebastian has grown. Does everyone have their children on steroids or what?
Sebastian has more confidence than skill, luck or bulk.
He got a trophy for coming in last place. He was happy. That's all that matters.Sunday, 1 March 2009
Scalectrix
Sebastian has slowly been acquiring a substantial collection of Scalectric which is no small financial investment. Most of it has been from generous friends and family as birthday and Christmas gifts. And it just broke my heart when he couldn't play with it. Not because he couldn't but because his mummy is a big mean control freak who hates mess.
Now before you yell and scream at me for being so mean, just imagine the gigantic health and safety risk of tripping over the track in the middle of the night and destroying the child's favourite toy.
So we weighed up the benefit of not destroying it by keeping it put away or driving me insane by having it out all over the place. And we came up with an altogether absolutely brilliant solution. actually, it wasn't my idea at all. It was my husband's idea but don't tell him I told you he had a brilliant idea. It will just go to his head and I'll never hear the end of it. And I really couldn't bear that.
The solution was to clear out the loft of our garage, lay down some carpet off cuts and lay out a huge track which would be guaranteed to provide hours of uninterrupted amusement. This led to the inevitable problem of realising that clearly we didn't have enough track to build the dream track and we set off in search of building what appeared to me adequate set into a more extensive and seriously over the top set.
All that matters though is the children quite happily set off with Marc several hours ago for the garage loft and I haven't heard hide nor hair of them since. And my house is neat and tidy.
Scalectric, in case you live in a cave (or outside the UK) and haven't had the opportunity to appreciate the finer points of cruising round the track at full speed and sending your cars careening off the edge, is an electronic race track which can entertain children (and men - same thing) for hours and hours and hours allowing mummy to enjoy her bath and several good books with a large glass (or perhaps the whole bottle) of a glorious white burgundy wine. Cheers!
Now before you yell and scream at me for being so mean, just imagine the gigantic health and safety risk of tripping over the track in the middle of the night and destroying the child's favourite toy.
So we weighed up the benefit of not destroying it by keeping it put away or driving me insane by having it out all over the place. And we came up with an altogether absolutely brilliant solution. actually, it wasn't my idea at all. It was my husband's idea but don't tell him I told you he had a brilliant idea. It will just go to his head and I'll never hear the end of it. And I really couldn't bear that.
The solution was to clear out the loft of our garage, lay down some carpet off cuts and lay out a huge track which would be guaranteed to provide hours of uninterrupted amusement. This led to the inevitable problem of realising that clearly we didn't have enough track to build the dream track and we set off in search of building what appeared to me adequate set into a more extensive and seriously over the top set.
All that matters though is the children quite happily set off with Marc several hours ago for the garage loft and I haven't heard hide nor hair of them since. And my house is neat and tidy.
Scalectric, in case you live in a cave (or outside the UK) and haven't had the opportunity to appreciate the finer points of cruising round the track at full speed and sending your cars careening off the edge, is an electronic race track which can entertain children (and men - same thing) for hours and hours and hours allowing mummy to enjoy her bath and several good books with a large glass (or perhaps the whole bottle) of a glorious white burgundy wine. Cheers!
Saturday, 28 February 2009
Red Ropers
About 20 years ago, my father bought me a pair of red ropers. For you city folks, ropers are sensible cowboy boots: low heels worn to ride horses when roping steers. Not that I've ever roped steers but they are great for country & western dancing.
I loved those boots but after 2 pregnancies, my feet spread and I gained weight and, let's just say I couldn't get my dang feet into those boots.
I couldn't bear to part with them so I handed them down to my daughter who has worn them for the last couple of years to dress up.
Well, I've lost the pregnancy weight and every couple months I tried and tried to squeeze my feet into those boots. The just wouldn't go. It was like my heels had spread permanently and I would have to undergo plastic surgery on my feet (do they do that?).
Today I have a Western themed party to go to complete with dancing. Not sure what to expect but I wasn't going to go without my boots.
So I pushed and pulled and tugged and got my feet into those boots! they are tight. So tight they might be cutting off my circulation. But I don't care.
I got my feet into those boots and these boots are going dancing!
I loved those boots but after 2 pregnancies, my feet spread and I gained weight and, let's just say I couldn't get my dang feet into those boots.
I couldn't bear to part with them so I handed them down to my daughter who has worn them for the last couple of years to dress up.
Well, I've lost the pregnancy weight and every couple months I tried and tried to squeeze my feet into those boots. The just wouldn't go. It was like my heels had spread permanently and I would have to undergo plastic surgery on my feet (do they do that?).
Today I have a Western themed party to go to complete with dancing. Not sure what to expect but I wasn't going to go without my boots.
So I pushed and pulled and tugged and got my feet into those boots! they are tight. So tight they might be cutting off my circulation. But I don't care.
I got my feet into those boots and these boots are going dancing!
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Energy Crisis is Over
An EXCELLENT program. Don't delay watching this because the BBC doesn't leave their programs on iPlayer for very long. It is 59 minutes long but worth every second.
Thursday, 12 February 2009
Subscribe
If you go to YouTube and subscribe to BarackObamadotcom you will get updates from President Obama about his policies, programs, etc. this will keep you informed which can only be a good thing.
Here's the latest:
Make sure you check out the Recovery site to watch where the money is going (that's assuming the package gets approved)!
Here's the latest:
Make sure you check out the Recovery site to watch where the money is going (that's assuming the package gets approved)!
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Yes We Can
I'm normally pretty much up on these things. but I have to confess, this just blew right over my radar. Just in case it blew past yours, I thought I would give you an opportunity to catch it. Yes We Can. Even though we already did inspires me to do it again.
And then for the funny factor......
And for the sheer music of it......
And then for the funny factor......
And for the sheer music of it......
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Famous Friends
OK, so she's more infamous than famous but I think she will be famous one day.
This is a great article by a mummy friend of mine writing about part of her trip across America last summer.
What she did leave out was the rather panicked plea I got from her when she had made it to Detroit and been fleeced by her rental car company. Since we were on that side of the Atlantic, I had offered to help and dispensed some suitably useful advise about insurance and hire cars.
Mel is now writing a book about the experience of taking her boys on a trip of a lifetime. Give her your support!
PS In case you missed it, Mel is the author of Toasters Don't Roast Chickens, the amazing and inspiring story of how she dealt with her son's chronic health problems. It will make you think twice about the advise and prescriptions your medical professionals are dispensing. It will also force you to look at what you feed your children.
This is a great article by a mummy friend of mine writing about part of her trip across America last summer.
What she did leave out was the rather panicked plea I got from her when she had made it to Detroit and been fleeced by her rental car company. Since we were on that side of the Atlantic, I had offered to help and dispensed some suitably useful advise about insurance and hire cars.
Mel is now writing a book about the experience of taking her boys on a trip of a lifetime. Give her your support!
PS In case you missed it, Mel is the author of Toasters Don't Roast Chickens, the amazing and inspiring story of how she dealt with her son's chronic health problems. It will make you think twice about the advise and prescriptions your medical professionals are dispensing. It will also force you to look at what you feed your children.
Monday, 9 February 2009
On the Brink
Sebastian has lost his games kit. That's all the clothes he wears to play rugby, football (aka soccer), etc It appears that last week with the blizzard they didn't play any games. We thought the kit came home but it isn't in my car, daddy's car or anywhere in the house or garage. So unless it is in the school (which he assures me it is not and yes, I know that has its own fallibility issues) or in someone else's car it is gone. And I will not be spending a small fortune to replace it. My son will just have to sit on the sidelines and learn the consequences of not taking care of his kit. The school called at 5 pm and Sebastian has finished his homework early (since he couldn't play games without his games kit) and they need me to pick him up early. Nope, he will sit and read a book until his father comes to get him.
The tenants of our rental moved out in late January and we had made arrangements to get the place repainted and the carpets replaced. But the letting agency had found some people who were willing (for a small reduction in rent) to take it as it was. Now 3 weeks later and 2 weeks before they are due to move in, they have decided they want the carpet replaced and it painted. OMG, are you kidding me? Do they not understand As Is?
My daughter worked very hard over the weekend on her homework. She has learned a whole bunch of new words and drew a lovely picture to go with her new phonic sound. but in the chaos that must have been my husband trying to get the children off to school without a games bag, her poor little book bag got left behind and her teacher didn't get to see the fruits of her labour. she is still pouting.
It is pouring rain. It is cold. There is a prediction for more snow. Our pipes to the toilet upstairs cracked in the freezeout of last week. The plumber was due to be here on Friday of last week. He was due here tonight. He hasn't shown up and hasn't rang. We have been without a toilet on the first floor for 6 days. The children are having to come up or down to use a toilet. this is not good in the middle of the night!
Our piano tuner cancelled the appointment. Twice. and now I need to call and reschedule. Yeah, like I've got all the time in the world to be rescheduling because they don't know how a calendar operates.
The school diary says there is an informal concert tonight but I know nothing about this.
We have no more fire wood. It was meant to last the whole winter but because it has been so blooming cold we have used it all up.
I have no idea what I am going to make for dinner. Pay Day is still 4 days away so we will probably be having Cheerios for dinner.
Don't even get me started on work.
I am on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
The tenants of our rental moved out in late January and we had made arrangements to get the place repainted and the carpets replaced. But the letting agency had found some people who were willing (for a small reduction in rent) to take it as it was. Now 3 weeks later and 2 weeks before they are due to move in, they have decided they want the carpet replaced and it painted. OMG, are you kidding me? Do they not understand As Is?
My daughter worked very hard over the weekend on her homework. She has learned a whole bunch of new words and drew a lovely picture to go with her new phonic sound. but in the chaos that must have been my husband trying to get the children off to school without a games bag, her poor little book bag got left behind and her teacher didn't get to see the fruits of her labour. she is still pouting.
It is pouring rain. It is cold. There is a prediction for more snow. Our pipes to the toilet upstairs cracked in the freezeout of last week. The plumber was due to be here on Friday of last week. He was due here tonight. He hasn't shown up and hasn't rang. We have been without a toilet on the first floor for 6 days. The children are having to come up or down to use a toilet. this is not good in the middle of the night!
Our piano tuner cancelled the appointment. Twice. and now I need to call and reschedule. Yeah, like I've got all the time in the world to be rescheduling because they don't know how a calendar operates.
The school diary says there is an informal concert tonight but I know nothing about this.
We have no more fire wood. It was meant to last the whole winter but because it has been so blooming cold we have used it all up.
I have no idea what I am going to make for dinner. Pay Day is still 4 days away so we will probably be having Cheerios for dinner.
Don't even get me started on work.
I am on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
The Camel Club by David Baldacci
A swift trip to the library found me heading home with another Baldacci page turner. And this one was not nearly as good as the previous.
A group of fringe characters living around Washington DC witness a murder. A Secret Service agent is just trying to make it to retirement without his president getting shot. Paths cross in the middle of the most convoluted conspiracy theory I've ever heard.
The plot twists and turns so much that at some point I lost track of it all. By the end of the novel I wasn't entirely sure who exactly the bad guys were and who the good guys were.
My favourite character was the off the grid former US government sponsored assassin, Oliver Stone (not his real name, duh!). His conspiracy theory mates are equally likable. Reading about their highly unlikely adventures is a bit like watching the 3 stooges try to bake a cake.
Less enjoyable were the Secret Service agents, Alex and Jackie, and Kate, the love interest is a completely undeveloped character.
The novel takes the moral high ground with a strong recommendation for the path the US should take towards the Middle East foreign policy which is just a step too far.
The plot was clever and had quite a bit of potential which could have been done a bit cleaner. All in all an enjoyable, quick page turner but I might need a Baldacci break.
A group of fringe characters living around Washington DC witness a murder. A Secret Service agent is just trying to make it to retirement without his president getting shot. Paths cross in the middle of the most convoluted conspiracy theory I've ever heard.
The plot twists and turns so much that at some point I lost track of it all. By the end of the novel I wasn't entirely sure who exactly the bad guys were and who the good guys were.
My favourite character was the off the grid former US government sponsored assassin, Oliver Stone (not his real name, duh!). His conspiracy theory mates are equally likable. Reading about their highly unlikely adventures is a bit like watching the 3 stooges try to bake a cake.
Less enjoyable were the Secret Service agents, Alex and Jackie, and Kate, the love interest is a completely undeveloped character.
The novel takes the moral high ground with a strong recommendation for the path the US should take towards the Middle East foreign policy which is just a step too far.
The plot was clever and had quite a bit of potential which could have been done a bit cleaner. All in all an enjoyable, quick page turner but I might need a Baldacci break.
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Friday, 6 February 2009
Best Byline Ever
I know I am an Obama fan. And I was half hoping that my infatuation with the man and his enormous intellect would start to wane. Every star must dim and the shelf life of a typical politician's star tends to be shorter then mayonnaise sitting outside in August.
But, oh, this star just keeps getting brighter and brighter.
First, he admits to being human and commits the one mortal sin that all politicians avoid. He made a mistake. And he took responsibility for the mistake. And he is correcting it. Oh glory be!! Is the world still turning? Has this ever happened in the modern era of politics? Is Bill Clinton listening? Is Gordon Brown?
Secondly, he has moved and moved fast to reverse some of the most shameful legislation ever implemented by his predecessor. In fact, Obama and his team must have been making a l ist and checking it twice during the last 8 years because they are ripping those Bush sponsored but unconstitutional and inhumane activities right out with the tattered and torn White House drapes.
Finally (but certainly not last) the man writes this. He writes. He thinks. He speaks. The byline is the best. Ever.
But, oh, this star just keeps getting brighter and brighter.
First, he admits to being human and commits the one mortal sin that all politicians avoid. He made a mistake. And he took responsibility for the mistake. And he is correcting it. Oh glory be!! Is the world still turning? Has this ever happened in the modern era of politics? Is Bill Clinton listening? Is Gordon Brown?
Secondly, he has moved and moved fast to reverse some of the most shameful legislation ever implemented by his predecessor. In fact, Obama and his team must have been making a l ist and checking it twice during the last 8 years because they are ripping those Bush sponsored but unconstitutional and inhumane activities right out with the tattered and torn White House drapes.
Finally (but certainly not last) the man writes this. He writes. He thinks. He speaks. The byline is the best. Ever.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
These Foolish Things by Deborah Moggach
I've been invited to join a new book group and this is the first selection.
The book is a delicious collision of cultures: British & Indian. We start out with snippets of stories of the retired population struggling to fit in. Their families have no time for them. Their retirement homes are falling apart. Their friends are dying. Their lives are shriveling.
In walk 2 cousins: One distinctly English doctor whose skin colour tells the story of his family's immigration to Great Britain; the other a man struggling to carve out his fortune in the teeming metropolis of Mumbai. Neither really fond of the other.
Over a rushed coffee in an anonymous hotel in Bayswater the 2 decide to go into business milking the British colonial history of India and open up a care home in Mumbai for the older generation of Great Britain. They figure the weather is nicer and the staff cheaper. The British have failed to take care of their senior citizens and India can do a much better job of it. What they fail to take into account is the emotional baggage these older people will carry with them when they move in.
If you're not British you might find this completely implausible. Who in their golden generation is going to up sticks and move to a third world country? Well, the British would. Undoubtedly! After just a few well placed advertisements and the gentle persuasion of the doctor, a small gaggle of older folks begin the adventure of their lives. And yet regardless of location, death is inevitable and life is inescapable.
I loved this book. It is funny without being obvious. The elderly characters are painted with care and empathy, never once descending into mockery or cheap laughter.
Shortly after reading this book, Marc & I went and saw the film, Slumdog Millionaire, about a young man, Jamal, who grew up orphaned in the slums of Mumbai and goes on to win the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Jamal is arrested and charged with cheating. The movie maps his extraordinary life which gave him all the answers he needed to win.
I couldn't help but feel that after reading this book and seeing this film, that I am witnessing the birth of a new empire. This is more than the slick consumerism witnessed in Japan in the 1980s. India is a vast country with vast resources and is on the brink of greatness.
Book Group Verdict: If you can believe this, I forgot to go. It completely slipped my mind and after a wicked week at work I fell asleep on the sofa without even giving the book group a second thought. I've never ever done that before. I've apologised profusely and am hoping they will forgive my dodgy memory and let me come next time!
The book is a delicious collision of cultures: British & Indian. We start out with snippets of stories of the retired population struggling to fit in. Their families have no time for them. Their retirement homes are falling apart. Their friends are dying. Their lives are shriveling.
In walk 2 cousins: One distinctly English doctor whose skin colour tells the story of his family's immigration to Great Britain; the other a man struggling to carve out his fortune in the teeming metropolis of Mumbai. Neither really fond of the other.
Over a rushed coffee in an anonymous hotel in Bayswater the 2 decide to go into business milking the British colonial history of India and open up a care home in Mumbai for the older generation of Great Britain. They figure the weather is nicer and the staff cheaper. The British have failed to take care of their senior citizens and India can do a much better job of it. What they fail to take into account is the emotional baggage these older people will carry with them when they move in.
If you're not British you might find this completely implausible. Who in their golden generation is going to up sticks and move to a third world country? Well, the British would. Undoubtedly! After just a few well placed advertisements and the gentle persuasion of the doctor, a small gaggle of older folks begin the adventure of their lives. And yet regardless of location, death is inevitable and life is inescapable.
I loved this book. It is funny without being obvious. The elderly characters are painted with care and empathy, never once descending into mockery or cheap laughter.
Shortly after reading this book, Marc & I went and saw the film, Slumdog Millionaire, about a young man, Jamal, who grew up orphaned in the slums of Mumbai and goes on to win the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Jamal is arrested and charged with cheating. The movie maps his extraordinary life which gave him all the answers he needed to win.
I couldn't help but feel that after reading this book and seeing this film, that I am witnessing the birth of a new empire. This is more than the slick consumerism witnessed in Japan in the 1980s. India is a vast country with vast resources and is on the brink of greatness.
Book Group Verdict: If you can believe this, I forgot to go. It completely slipped my mind and after a wicked week at work I fell asleep on the sofa without even giving the book group a second thought. I've never ever done that before. I've apologised profusely and am hoping they will forgive my dodgy memory and let me come next time!
Monday, 2 February 2009
Indian Summer
In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.
But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.
But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!
- Dorothy Parker
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Healthcare
I sometimes forget how lucky I am to live in a country that has health care for all.
OK, it might not be free. I pay incredibly high taxes and no doubt it subsides those who otherwise couldn't afford it. But I'm happy to do my bit for the greater good.
And it might not be state of the art. And there might be some waiting times which can be insufferable if you or someone you love and care for is on it. I can only afford so much greater good.
But health care is available for every man, woman and child.
And hurrah to the Senate for doing their bit for the greater good for the children of the USA. Finally!
OK, it might not be free. I pay incredibly high taxes and no doubt it subsides those who otherwise couldn't afford it. But I'm happy to do my bit for the greater good.
And it might not be state of the art. And there might be some waiting times which can be insufferable if you or someone you love and care for is on it. I can only afford so much greater good.
But health care is available for every man, woman and child.
And hurrah to the Senate for doing their bit for the greater good for the children of the USA. Finally!
Friday, 30 January 2009
Evensong
The happiest and saddest day is when your son arrives home from school and announces he would like to be a chorister. We knew this was a possibility from the very first day we enrolled Sebastian in St George's School but honestly we were hoping he would inherit his singing ability (or lack thereof) from his father and it would not be a topic we would have to navigate.
Sebastian attends St George's School which is the choir school for St George's Chapel which is part of Windsor Castle. St George's School was founded in order to provide an education for the choristers. It is their raison d'etre. The choir is an institution and being a member is an honour indeed and, of course, we are thrilled to have such an opportunity knocking on our door.
The first step towards him becoming a chorister is to give it a go. Last term he spent an afternoon with the choir and attended practice and participated in the Evensong service. Honestly, I had hoped he would be disappointed. No such luck. He was more excited than ever. and, apparently, he demonstrated the right demeanor for a chorister.
Next was to attend an actual service as a family and this weekend we decided to catch the surplicing Evensong service on Sunday evening. Surplicing is when a probationary chorister becomes a full fledged chorister. It was one of the most beautiful events I have ever seen or heard. I felt like I was listening to the voices of angels. Despite there being only 12 boys and 12 men I have never heard such a robust sound. It was the sound of worship and grace and glory.
We sat in the Quire where the choir sits and this 360 degree tour gives a magnificent view of it. Make sure you go up and look towards the ceiling. It will literally take your breath away. It was the first part of the chapel to be built in 1348 and Henry VIII is buried there along with one of his wives Jane Seymour (amongst other members of the Royal Family long since departed). I had to keep pinching myself to believe that I was sitting in such a grand historical place.
Sebastian attempted to follow along with the music and I could tell that he wanted to be singing.
On this coming Saturday Marc, Sebastian and I will attend an open day where we will get a feel for a whole day of choristing and what it means. To me, it means beginning next year he should board 1-2 days/week. I still can't quite get my head around him not coming home but I am trying to think of it as a standing sleep over date. By Year6, he will need to board full time Sunday-Friday.
The reason for the boarding is the level of commitment required for a chorister. They sing at least 3 hours/day for 6 days/ week. That's a lot of singing. They sing for a professional choir. For the men of the choir this is their full time job. They are at the command of the Queen. They are her choir. It it a job. Who puts an 8 year old to work?
But then again very few boys have an opportunity to gain this type of training. And it's not just about the singing. You can see from the website that they record and travel and meet lots of people and gain loads of life skills. And that's what education is all about. Not just the reading and the writing.
I used to perform with two choirs when I was in high school, A Capella ( a mixed choir of 50 or so 15-18 year olds) and Grace Notes (an all girl group of about 12 16-18 year olds). I still have a copy of the album we made my junior year (copied on to CD - Thanks, Suze!) and I listen to it in my car. It is one of my accomplishments of which I am most proud. We rocked. Our performance at the Easter Sun Rise service at Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado is a high light of my life. Very few people can say they've performed on that lofty stage. I will never forget that Hallelujah Chorus (neither will Suze!)
Not sure if I'm trying to convince you or me that this is a good idea. Ultimately, only one person gets to make this decision and it is Sebastian.
Sebastian attends St George's School which is the choir school for St George's Chapel which is part of Windsor Castle. St George's School was founded in order to provide an education for the choristers. It is their raison d'etre. The choir is an institution and being a member is an honour indeed and, of course, we are thrilled to have such an opportunity knocking on our door.
The first step towards him becoming a chorister is to give it a go. Last term he spent an afternoon with the choir and attended practice and participated in the Evensong service. Honestly, I had hoped he would be disappointed. No such luck. He was more excited than ever. and, apparently, he demonstrated the right demeanor for a chorister.
Next was to attend an actual service as a family and this weekend we decided to catch the surplicing Evensong service on Sunday evening. Surplicing is when a probationary chorister becomes a full fledged chorister. It was one of the most beautiful events I have ever seen or heard. I felt like I was listening to the voices of angels. Despite there being only 12 boys and 12 men I have never heard such a robust sound. It was the sound of worship and grace and glory.
We sat in the Quire where the choir sits and this 360 degree tour gives a magnificent view of it. Make sure you go up and look towards the ceiling. It will literally take your breath away. It was the first part of the chapel to be built in 1348 and Henry VIII is buried there along with one of his wives Jane Seymour (amongst other members of the Royal Family long since departed). I had to keep pinching myself to believe that I was sitting in such a grand historical place.
Sebastian attempted to follow along with the music and I could tell that he wanted to be singing.
On this coming Saturday Marc, Sebastian and I will attend an open day where we will get a feel for a whole day of choristing and what it means. To me, it means beginning next year he should board 1-2 days/week. I still can't quite get my head around him not coming home but I am trying to think of it as a standing sleep over date. By Year6, he will need to board full time Sunday-Friday.
The reason for the boarding is the level of commitment required for a chorister. They sing at least 3 hours/day for 6 days/ week. That's a lot of singing. They sing for a professional choir. For the men of the choir this is their full time job. They are at the command of the Queen. They are her choir. It it a job. Who puts an 8 year old to work?
But then again very few boys have an opportunity to gain this type of training. And it's not just about the singing. You can see from the website that they record and travel and meet lots of people and gain loads of life skills. And that's what education is all about. Not just the reading and the writing.
I used to perform with two choirs when I was in high school, A Capella ( a mixed choir of 50 or so 15-18 year olds) and Grace Notes (an all girl group of about 12 16-18 year olds). I still have a copy of the album we made my junior year (copied on to CD - Thanks, Suze!) and I listen to it in my car. It is one of my accomplishments of which I am most proud. We rocked. Our performance at the Easter Sun Rise service at Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado is a high light of my life. Very few people can say they've performed on that lofty stage. I will never forget that Hallelujah Chorus (neither will Suze!)
Not sure if I'm trying to convince you or me that this is a good idea. Ultimately, only one person gets to make this decision and it is Sebastian.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Split Second by David Baldacci
Another foray into the library to entertain a few spare moments with Abigail as she begins her journey into reading, meant that I walked out with this quick read. I'd never heard of the author (despite claims that he is a NY Times bestselling author) but I quite fancied a mysterious trashy novel.
I was not disappointed. I remember back in the early days of Grisham and how I would devour his books until they all started to sound the same. I fear that after I've read a couple of Baldacci's novels I will be similarly disappointed. But if you've never read any of his novels before and you are dying for some suspenseful page turning you need look no further.
Split Second follows 2 Secret Service agents who have both lost the presidential nominee assigned to them. That is a serious career limiting move for a Secret Service agent. Only 8 years separate the seemingly unrelated events. That is when the various dead bodies start turning up and soon a connection begins to emerge.
Baldacci does a superb job of maintaining the suspense without giving away too many details or making the reader feel he knows more than they do (which of course he does but you shouldn't really feel that way). The Secret Service agents, Sean King and Michelle Maxwell, are likable characters with just the right amount of sexual tension without any of the diabolic sex. I love the strength of Michelle and the vulnerability of Sean, even though I was annoyed when of course it was the "superior" man who solved the crime. I put this down to aged wisdom rather than elevated cleverness.
I will say that at one point the novel went a few too many twists too far. I lost track of who was who and why anyone was there at all. But I decided to roll with it and don't think it really mattered.
A perfect book for a rainy afternoon!
I was not disappointed. I remember back in the early days of Grisham and how I would devour his books until they all started to sound the same. I fear that after I've read a couple of Baldacci's novels I will be similarly disappointed. But if you've never read any of his novels before and you are dying for some suspenseful page turning you need look no further.
Split Second follows 2 Secret Service agents who have both lost the presidential nominee assigned to them. That is a serious career limiting move for a Secret Service agent. Only 8 years separate the seemingly unrelated events. That is when the various dead bodies start turning up and soon a connection begins to emerge.
Baldacci does a superb job of maintaining the suspense without giving away too many details or making the reader feel he knows more than they do (which of course he does but you shouldn't really feel that way). The Secret Service agents, Sean King and Michelle Maxwell, are likable characters with just the right amount of sexual tension without any of the diabolic sex. I love the strength of Michelle and the vulnerability of Sean, even though I was annoyed when of course it was the "superior" man who solved the crime. I put this down to aged wisdom rather than elevated cleverness.
I will say that at one point the novel went a few too many twists too far. I lost track of who was who and why anyone was there at all. But I decided to roll with it and don't think it really mattered.
A perfect book for a rainy afternoon!
Monday, 26 January 2009
Lush Life by Richard Price
I am sooooo not hip. And whilst I love visiting New York City, hip capital of the world, I do my best to avoid the seedy underbelly of that electric city that is the source of its eternal hipness. I am all too aware of my mortality and that underbelly is a direct threat.
Instead I choose to live vicariously and read about other's soirees into the darkness of the Lower East Side. Lush Life is as realistic a literary trip as any I have ever taken previously. Richard Price is a well known screenplay writer which means that the dialogue is destined to be good and it is beyond amazing. The real surprise was the depth of his characters to demonstrate just how shallow they are set against the backdrop of a city glittering but not made of gold.
The waiters at Berkman's, the restaurant to be and be seen in, are really actors and this is just a gig on the side until they hit the big time. Except that they have been doing the side gig for too many years to count and the likelihood of them hitting the big time is well and truly in negative equity. One of them gets shot outside a bodega in the wee hours of the morning and nobody is entirely clear about what happened. The police jump to conclusions in their desire to reach a swift closure and the shooter is lost in his world of deprivation and poverty.
Worlds collide in this novel. Class is a grand canyon and there is no one building any bridges. The scenes are vivid despite the darkness. Even the smells jump out of the pages.
Most shocking is depsite the massive character flaws of these characters, you can't help but feel a deep sense of empathy for them. They fight inner demons whilst the demons of the physical world try to destroy them. They are likeable even though you'd like to just slap them across the face and point out how stupid their choices are. But that's always easier when examing someone else's life.
Price has written a seriously historical novel about the New York that never gets shown on the vening news and deserves to be read.
Instead I choose to live vicariously and read about other's soirees into the darkness of the Lower East Side. Lush Life is as realistic a literary trip as any I have ever taken previously. Richard Price is a well known screenplay writer which means that the dialogue is destined to be good and it is beyond amazing. The real surprise was the depth of his characters to demonstrate just how shallow they are set against the backdrop of a city glittering but not made of gold.
The waiters at Berkman's, the restaurant to be and be seen in, are really actors and this is just a gig on the side until they hit the big time. Except that they have been doing the side gig for too many years to count and the likelihood of them hitting the big time is well and truly in negative equity. One of them gets shot outside a bodega in the wee hours of the morning and nobody is entirely clear about what happened. The police jump to conclusions in their desire to reach a swift closure and the shooter is lost in his world of deprivation and poverty.
Worlds collide in this novel. Class is a grand canyon and there is no one building any bridges. The scenes are vivid despite the darkness. Even the smells jump out of the pages.
Most shocking is depsite the massive character flaws of these characters, you can't help but feel a deep sense of empathy for them. They fight inner demons whilst the demons of the physical world try to destroy them. They are likeable even though you'd like to just slap them across the face and point out how stupid their choices are. But that's always easier when examing someone else's life.
Price has written a seriously historical novel about the New York that never gets shown on the vening news and deserves to be read.
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Top 10 Lessons
I hate making mistakes. As I've aged I've learned that making mistakes is part of the process. It is the place where I learn the most. What I hate more is not learning from previous mistakes and making the mistake twice. Doh! Although much more difficult for me but altogether more effective is if I can avoid making the mistake myself and learn from those of others.
With President Obama taking over from George W Bush, I would say there is a ripe harvest of lessons learned and examples of what not to do. Bob Woodward over at The Washington Post has kindly given President Obama a generous gift by identifying those costly mistakes and giving him a robust instruction on how they might best be avoided.
As I read through the list, I thought to myself, hey this doesn't just apply to the presidency or the leadership of a country. Any leader in any position could (without too much effort) translate these to make them applicable in their role.
Read and learn.
With President Obama taking over from George W Bush, I would say there is a ripe harvest of lessons learned and examples of what not to do. Bob Woodward over at The Washington Post has kindly given President Obama a generous gift by identifying those costly mistakes and giving him a robust instruction on how they might best be avoided.
As I read through the list, I thought to myself, hey this doesn't just apply to the presidency or the leadership of a country. Any leader in any position could (without too much effort) translate these to make them applicable in their role.
Read and learn.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Historical Day
Today, I sat with my children and watched history be made. I have never been so proud to be an American as I am at this moment. I remember my mother making me sit and watch the Watergate hearings telling me that I would remember this day. I do but it wasn't a happy memory. It was a dark day. I hope that today will live in my children's memories as what is possible and an example of how democracy works and when right wins out over wrong.
If you haven't read The Audacity of Hope, read it. I haven't finished it but so far I am so impressed it has already made it to my top 10 list of favourite books. Dreams from my Father is on my "Read Soon" list. Hope it is as good as Audacity and have heard it is even better.
In the moment whilst Barack Obama was taking the oath of this most lofty office, new pages were loaded on to the government website. Take a look around. Let him know what you think. He's asked for our help, our opinions, our support. Let's give it to him. We all have a duty to make our government work. Get busy and get to work. For him and yourselves.
I was amazed to see him get straight to work: signing in his cabinet and, it is rumoured, moving to close the embarrassment that is Guantanamo Bay. Would love to have a look at his To Do list.
I'm not sure what kind of individual agrees to go through the most hellatious job interview for 18 months and then take over (for very little financial compensation) a troubled country with a catalogue of problems. But he seems like he is the right man, the right choice. And he seems to be building a coalition of people to work with him to identify durable, fair and compassionate solutions to the most insurmountable mountain of challenges.
Good luck, Mr President. Let Freedom Ring!
PS Didn't you just love what those adorable Obama girls were wearing?!?!?!?
If you haven't read The Audacity of Hope, read it. I haven't finished it but so far I am so impressed it has already made it to my top 10 list of favourite books. Dreams from my Father is on my "Read Soon" list. Hope it is as good as Audacity and have heard it is even better.
In the moment whilst Barack Obama was taking the oath of this most lofty office, new pages were loaded on to the government website. Take a look around. Let him know what you think. He's asked for our help, our opinions, our support. Let's give it to him. We all have a duty to make our government work. Get busy and get to work. For him and yourselves.
I was amazed to see him get straight to work: signing in his cabinet and, it is rumoured, moving to close the embarrassment that is Guantanamo Bay. Would love to have a look at his To Do list.
I'm not sure what kind of individual agrees to go through the most hellatious job interview for 18 months and then take over (for very little financial compensation) a troubled country with a catalogue of problems. But he seems like he is the right man, the right choice. And he seems to be building a coalition of people to work with him to identify durable, fair and compassionate solutions to the most insurmountable mountain of challenges.
Good luck, Mr President. Let Freedom Ring!
PS Didn't you just love what those adorable Obama girls were wearing?!?!?!?
Sunday, 11 January 2009
Goodnight, Beautiful by Dorothy Koomson
Beach Rubbish. Holiday Nonsense. Brain Candy. 430 pages in less than 4 days.
A wholly improbable situation where 2 children grow up together as best friends when one's mother suffers from bipolar manic depression and numerous attempts at suicide. As adults they fall in love with each other but, afraid to destroy their friendship, never admit as much to each other. Every relationship they attempt to form outside of the one with each other is infected with their love for each other. And then she, Nova, agrees to be a surrogate mother for him, Mal, and his wife, Stephanie, who falsely claims to be unable to have children. Then he abandons her and their child.
I won't give the ending away but let's just say it isn't a happy one. Their story is full of lies and secrets. Stephanie is a particularly reprehensible character and whilst Koomson attempts to build sympathy for her, I just ended up despising her. Mal is in idiot for doing everything Stephanie asks of him and abuses his friendship with Nova. And Nova is so blinded by her love for Mal that she doesn't even see the treatment as abuse.
I threw this book across the room several times yelling at the stupidity of the characters. There was a point where tears welled up in my eyes but I challenge any mother not to cry about the situation of your child dying before you do.
There are just way too many great books out there to spend any time on this one.
A wholly improbable situation where 2 children grow up together as best friends when one's mother suffers from bipolar manic depression and numerous attempts at suicide. As adults they fall in love with each other but, afraid to destroy their friendship, never admit as much to each other. Every relationship they attempt to form outside of the one with each other is infected with their love for each other. And then she, Nova, agrees to be a surrogate mother for him, Mal, and his wife, Stephanie, who falsely claims to be unable to have children. Then he abandons her and their child.
I won't give the ending away but let's just say it isn't a happy one. Their story is full of lies and secrets. Stephanie is a particularly reprehensible character and whilst Koomson attempts to build sympathy for her, I just ended up despising her. Mal is in idiot for doing everything Stephanie asks of him and abuses his friendship with Nova. And Nova is so blinded by her love for Mal that she doesn't even see the treatment as abuse.
I threw this book across the room several times yelling at the stupidity of the characters. There was a point where tears welled up in my eyes but I challenge any mother not to cry about the situation of your child dying before you do.
There are just way too many great books out there to spend any time on this one.
Saturday, 10 January 2009
Man in the Dark by Paul Auster
Had read that this man was the next great American novelist and this book might be the next great American novel.
Are they having a laugh?
The books seems to really be two short stories with the main character in common. The first half tells a story that he tells himself when he can't sleep. The second half tells the story of how he got to this point in his life. Neither half come together to make up a whole.
I enjoyed the first half of the book and thought it was very well written but it is obvious to me that Auster just simply didn't know where to go with it or how to end it or how to make it into a novel which would earn him loads of money. It deals with a parallel post 9/11 world in which the USA is embroiled in a civil war, a hot topic these days and a definite path to getting your book talked about (and selling).
So he added the second half which didn't relate to the first half (at least in my mind). There is no imagination involved here. And the story is weaker because of it. The narrator is a 72 year old man musing over his life's trials and wishing he could have a do over, a mulligan.
The writing in that second half isn't as tight or as captivating. And because I found myself constantly wondering what in the world this had to do with the first half I simply couldn't get into it. Ian McEwan or Philip Roth are 2 examples of great novelists who tell these stories better than anyone else.
I'd give this one a miss.
Are they having a laugh?
The books seems to really be two short stories with the main character in common. The first half tells a story that he tells himself when he can't sleep. The second half tells the story of how he got to this point in his life. Neither half come together to make up a whole.
I enjoyed the first half of the book and thought it was very well written but it is obvious to me that Auster just simply didn't know where to go with it or how to end it or how to make it into a novel which would earn him loads of money. It deals with a parallel post 9/11 world in which the USA is embroiled in a civil war, a hot topic these days and a definite path to getting your book talked about (and selling).
So he added the second half which didn't relate to the first half (at least in my mind). There is no imagination involved here. And the story is weaker because of it. The narrator is a 72 year old man musing over his life's trials and wishing he could have a do over, a mulligan.
The writing in that second half isn't as tight or as captivating. And because I found myself constantly wondering what in the world this had to do with the first half I simply couldn't get into it. Ian McEwan or Philip Roth are 2 examples of great novelists who tell these stories better than anyone else.
I'd give this one a miss.
Monday, 29 December 2008
What I Loved by Siri Hustvedt
I enjoy reading books about the inner workings of the art world. It must be the deep seated envy that wishes I were an artist. Much to my disappointment, there is not an artistic bone in my body. I live vicariously through artistic friends (of which I have many including my husband) and I savour literature about art and the souls that produce the drawings, paintings, and sculptures that have the power to take my breath away and feel wholly inadequate in the space of 1/2 second.
What I Loved is a VERY cerebral but highly accessible novel. It is the story of love, grief, friendship, parenthood and our perception of ourselves and others in our various roles.
Set in Manhattan it is a story of an artist and an art history professor, their lives and losses, their children and aging. There are some disturbing events which will cause great anguish and fear in every mother and father who reads this novel.
Often I complain about the lack of character development in novels. The characters in this story are incredibly complex and Hustvedt uses thrilling and evocative language to develop the multiple dimensions of their personalities so much that they feel real. I so desperately want to meet Violet and Bill and Leo. They are not perfect people and I think they would make fascinating dinner guests. I'm certain they exist.
The ending of the novel is sad and yet not so sad. Not unlike many of our lives.
If you have harbour an intense interest in art and aren't afraid of exploring the possibilities of children growing into monsters (some do), then I highly recommend this book. If art bores you and/or you would rather avoid thinking about the monster scenario, give this a miss.
What I Loved is a VERY cerebral but highly accessible novel. It is the story of love, grief, friendship, parenthood and our perception of ourselves and others in our various roles.
Set in Manhattan it is a story of an artist and an art history professor, their lives and losses, their children and aging. There are some disturbing events which will cause great anguish and fear in every mother and father who reads this novel.
Often I complain about the lack of character development in novels. The characters in this story are incredibly complex and Hustvedt uses thrilling and evocative language to develop the multiple dimensions of their personalities so much that they feel real. I so desperately want to meet Violet and Bill and Leo. They are not perfect people and I think they would make fascinating dinner guests. I'm certain they exist.
The ending of the novel is sad and yet not so sad. Not unlike many of our lives.
If you have harbour an intense interest in art and aren't afraid of exploring the possibilities of children growing into monsters (some do), then I highly recommend this book. If art bores you and/or you would rather avoid thinking about the monster scenario, give this a miss.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne
Uncle John urged me to read this short, exquisite story set in Germany during the second World War. Now I would have thought this topic had been done from every imaginable angle and that no new perspective could be found.
I would be wrong.
Bruno is a young boy whose father is in charge of the death camp at Auschwitz, which he calls "Out With". He's upset at having been moved from his wonderful home in Berlin to this outpost where he has no friends. He doesn't fully understand what his father's job is and although his bedroom window overlooks the grounds of the concentration camps he certainly doesn't understand what goes on there. He just wants to go on adventures.
As he walks the fence that separates his world from the other he finds another little boy sitting on the other side of the fence. They begin an unlikely friendship based on just talking. I loved this part because if you've ever watched boys play, they don't talk much. Oh, they make pirate growls and the sounds of cars driving and very realistic explosion noises but they don't talk much about what they think. These 2 little boys had no other choice. They had no toys and couldn't go exploring together.
But most extraordinarily, they don't talk about what is really happening mostly because they are too young and too innocent to believe the horrors.
When the Jewish boys father disappears, Bruno agrees to help find him and plots to sneak under the fence. He is never seen again.
This novel is simple. It is simply poetic. It is poetic justice.
Read it. It won't take long and it will haunt you for a long time afterwards.
I would be wrong.
Bruno is a young boy whose father is in charge of the death camp at Auschwitz, which he calls "Out With". He's upset at having been moved from his wonderful home in Berlin to this outpost where he has no friends. He doesn't fully understand what his father's job is and although his bedroom window overlooks the grounds of the concentration camps he certainly doesn't understand what goes on there. He just wants to go on adventures.
As he walks the fence that separates his world from the other he finds another little boy sitting on the other side of the fence. They begin an unlikely friendship based on just talking. I loved this part because if you've ever watched boys play, they don't talk much. Oh, they make pirate growls and the sounds of cars driving and very realistic explosion noises but they don't talk much about what they think. These 2 little boys had no other choice. They had no toys and couldn't go exploring together.
But most extraordinarily, they don't talk about what is really happening mostly because they are too young and too innocent to believe the horrors.
When the Jewish boys father disappears, Bruno agrees to help find him and plots to sneak under the fence. He is never seen again.
This novel is simple. It is simply poetic. It is poetic justice.
Read it. It won't take long and it will haunt you for a long time afterwards.
Friday, 26 December 2008
The Point of Rescue by Sophie Hannah
A woman, Sally, decides not to tell her husband that a business trip is canceled and steals a week away from him and her young daughter to spend it in a posh country hotel all by herself. She ends up meeting a man and has an affair. A year later she sees a man on television whose wife and daughter have died. They live not far from her and whilst he physically is not the man she slept with a year ago he uses the same name as the man she met did.
This book is a murder mystery detective novel but never quite gets going. The plot is convoluted coming at you from different people's perspectives and lives. There are complications of the detectives love life which never quite develops into having any real meaning to the story. All the various mothers are despicable characters who hate being mothers and are rather selfish, self-centered egoists. I suppose worst of all is Sally who honestly believes she would never have to pay the piper.
Don't waste any time on this one.
This book is a murder mystery detective novel but never quite gets going. The plot is convoluted coming at you from different people's perspectives and lives. There are complications of the detectives love life which never quite develops into having any real meaning to the story. All the various mothers are despicable characters who hate being mothers and are rather selfish, self-centered egoists. I suppose worst of all is Sally who honestly believes she would never have to pay the piper.
Don't waste any time on this one.
Monday, 22 December 2008
Some Assembly Required
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse.
Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
in hopes we could manage "Some Assembly Required."
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds, while Dad
and I faced the evening with dread:
a kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat....
let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
if we can't get it right, it goes in the basement!
When what to my worrying eyes should appear,
but 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
with each part numbered and every slot named,
so if we failed, only we could be blamed.
More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
all over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
that all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
to keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
with "assembly required" till morning's first light.
We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
we fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
and not have to run to the store for a thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
for the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!"
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose I gratefully went,
though I suppose there's something to say for those self-deluded...
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!
I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse.
Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
in hopes we could manage "Some Assembly Required."
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds, while Dad
and I faced the evening with dread:
a kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat....
let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
if we can't get it right, it goes in the basement!
When what to my worrying eyes should appear,
but 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
with each part numbered and every slot named,
so if we failed, only we could be blamed.
More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
all over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
that all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
to keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
with "assembly required" till morning's first light.
We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
we fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
and not have to run to the store for a thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
for the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!"
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose I gratefully went,
though I suppose there's something to say for those self-deluded...
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Out of Africa
Bot
h Abigail and Sebastian performed in the St George's Dance recital last week and it was nothing short of spectacular. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a mother and I have to.
The story was about a girl who dreamed of all the animals in Africa. Sebastian was a fierce lion and remains the only boy doing ballet in the school. This production did feature four boys who have d
oing tap for several years and their dedication to the art was obvious!
Abigail was an elephant. For the ears, the costume department had made little sacks made from gray fabric with pink ribbons. When they put their ponytails into the sacks and tied them they looked just like elephant ears. It was adorable.
h Abigail and Sebastian performed in the St George's Dance recital last week and it was nothing short of spectacular. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a mother and I have to.The story was about a girl who dreamed of all the animals in Africa. Sebastian was a fierce lion and remains the only boy doing ballet in the school. This production did feature four boys who have d
oing tap for several years and their dedication to the art was obvious!Abigail was an elephant. For the ears, the costume department had made little sacks made from gray fabric with pink ribbons. When they put their ponytails into the sacks and tied them they looked just like elephant ears. It was adorable.
The music was su
per cool and I saw many parents (including myself) getting down in the audience. The costumes and makeup were clever and creative.
per cool and I saw many parents (including myself) getting down in the audience. The costumes and makeup were clever and creative. Reception (Abigail's class) only performed in the first production and we went back to pick up an exhausted Sebastian quite late in the evening following the second production.
My heartfelt thanks go to Miss Maggie (the ballet teacher), Mrs Jones and the entire
production crew who must have worked hours and hours to make this such a special evening for parents and pupils.
production crew who must have worked hours and hours to make this such a special evening for parents and pupils.Monday, 1 December 2008
Number Crunch
If you are lost in the sea of political mumbo jumbo about what has caused the financial crisis, this Vanity Fair article does really great job of laying the numbers bare.
The number is the first paragraph identifies that the world economic output was $48.6 trillion whilst the market capitalisation of the world's stock markets was $50.6 trillion and the total value of domestic and internals bonds was $67.9 trillion. These numbers are staggeringly large and impossible to fully comprehend (at least for a small mind/bank account like my own).
The article is long but extraordinarily useful for explaining how we got here and most importantly for putting it all in historical context. Take the time to read it.
The number is the first paragraph identifies that the world economic output was $48.6 trillion whilst the market capitalisation of the world's stock markets was $50.6 trillion and the total value of domestic and internals bonds was $67.9 trillion. These numbers are staggeringly large and impossible to fully comprehend (at least for a small mind/bank account like my own).
The article is long but extraordinarily useful for explaining how we got here and most importantly for putting it all in historical context. Take the time to read it.
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Mumbai Terrorist Atrocities
I have been horrified by the terrorist attacks in Mumbai.
I remember when I told my sister I would be travelling to India in April this year. She was worried and warned me that it was not a safe place. I reminded her that New York wasn't very safe in September 2001 and that India was an emerging nation with an intricate and fascinating history and future which was as safe as just about any other place in the world (notwithstanding Iraq, Afghanistan and North Korea). I was thrilled to visit Chennai, Pune, Bangalore and my final destination, Mumbai.
The histories of Britain and India are inexplicably interwoven. I work with many colleagues who are from India and in fact with many Indians who are here temporarily and their families are back in India. As the news broke on the television and pictures were published on the front pages of the newspapers, I began to wonder if everyone was safe.
I was assured by the suppliers I work with that their facilities, and most importantly, their people were safe. But, so far, 175 people were most definitely not safe and hundreds more were injured.
This blog is by a man who is from India and teaches at Harvard. He was visiting Mumbai and staying not far from the Taj Hotel. You must read his blog posts. Click on the Day 1 post and read your way backwards. The story of the burning of the Taj dome brings tears to your eyes as you feel his nation's loss. It is an amazing individual account of a terrifying event. It doesn't have any of the spin, detachment or sensationalism of professional journalism. It is filled with emotion: sadness, fear, shock, horror.
My heart breaks for him and his country as they try to recover. We must find who is responsible and bring them to justice.
I remember when I told my sister I would be travelling to India in April this year. She was worried and warned me that it was not a safe place. I reminded her that New York wasn't very safe in September 2001 and that India was an emerging nation with an intricate and fascinating history and future which was as safe as just about any other place in the world (notwithstanding Iraq, Afghanistan and North Korea). I was thrilled to visit Chennai, Pune, Bangalore and my final destination, Mumbai.
The histories of Britain and India are inexplicably interwoven. I work with many colleagues who are from India and in fact with many Indians who are here temporarily and their families are back in India. As the news broke on the television and pictures were published on the front pages of the newspapers, I began to wonder if everyone was safe.
I was assured by the suppliers I work with that their facilities, and most importantly, their people were safe. But, so far, 175 people were most definitely not safe and hundreds more were injured.
This blog is by a man who is from India and teaches at Harvard. He was visiting Mumbai and staying not far from the Taj Hotel. You must read his blog posts. Click on the Day 1 post and read your way backwards. The story of the burning of the Taj dome brings tears to your eyes as you feel his nation's loss. It is an amazing individual account of a terrifying event. It doesn't have any of the spin, detachment or sensationalism of professional journalism. It is filled with emotion: sadness, fear, shock, horror.
My heart breaks for him and his country as they try to recover. We must find who is responsible and bring them to justice.
Thanksgiving Adventures
I get so utterly distraught on Thanksgiving. It is the price I pay for living in England.
Most people here don't know it is Thanksgiving or they have forgotten. Even my husband forgot this year.
I ate a salad for lunch on Thursday and rang my sister as soon as I got home from work only to make myself more miserable by listening to all the preparations going on. I caught snippets of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on the news. But gave up and went to bed early.
There is an upside to this. There is absolutely no pressure or opportunity to be sucked into the Black Friday shopping extravaganza/riots. Did you hear that a person was killed at a WalMart in NY after being trampled by eager shoppers? How absurd is that?
On the first Saturday after Thanksgiving I delude myself into believing that it is the real Thanksgiving and proceed to prepare a traditional feast for my family, who are after all, half American. The turkey is roasted and the stuffing is my extra special recipe full of surprises (no oysters since Marc hates oysters).
But Thanksgiving in a foreign country is not without its troubles. This year I had my fair share of challenges. The cans of condensed milk I opened for the pies were about 3 years out of date so I had to pop down to the store right in the middle of the production. The grocery store failed to deliver fresh cranberries which I didn't realise until mid morning on Saturday so there was no or little time to pop out for some. The dog munched into my gorgeous pies the night before.
But I rose above it all. The children are finally old enough to recognise the difference between a feast and mac & cheese so they truly appreciated all my efforts. Plus they now eat and enjoy just about everything that is put on their plates. In fact Abigail had seconds and perhaps even thirds of turkey. She really enjoys the combination of cranberry sauce (out of a jar, unfortunately) and turkey. And Sebastian now prefers my stuffing to Stove Top (about time, the philistine!).
I have a fear of gravy. Not eating it but preparing it. Each year I persist and the practice is paying off. This year's gravy was quite possibly the best gravy ever - sorry, Mom! Marc didn't talk much because his mouth was always full and he had thirds. Considering the resulting collapses on to the sofa, we were suitably stuffed.
Most people here don't know it is Thanksgiving or they have forgotten. Even my husband forgot this year.
I ate a salad for lunch on Thursday and rang my sister as soon as I got home from work only to make myself more miserable by listening to all the preparations going on. I caught snippets of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on the news. But gave up and went to bed early.
There is an upside to this. There is absolutely no pressure or opportunity to be sucked into the Black Friday shopping extravaganza/riots. Did you hear that a person was killed at a WalMart in NY after being trampled by eager shoppers? How absurd is that?
On the first Saturday after Thanksgiving I delude myself into believing that it is the real Thanksgiving and proceed to prepare a traditional feast for my family, who are after all, half American. The turkey is roasted and the stuffing is my extra special recipe full of surprises (no oysters since Marc hates oysters).
But Thanksgiving in a foreign country is not without its troubles. This year I had my fair share of challenges. The cans of condensed milk I opened for the pies were about 3 years out of date so I had to pop down to the store right in the middle of the production. The grocery store failed to deliver fresh cranberries which I didn't realise until mid morning on Saturday so there was no or little time to pop out for some. The dog munched into my gorgeous pies the night before.
But I rose above it all. The children are finally old enough to recognise the difference between a feast and mac & cheese so they truly appreciated all my efforts. Plus they now eat and enjoy just about everything that is put on their plates. In fact Abigail had seconds and perhaps even thirds of turkey. She really enjoys the combination of cranberry sauce (out of a jar, unfortunately) and turkey. And Sebastian now prefers my stuffing to Stove Top (about time, the philistine!).
I have a fear of gravy. Not eating it but preparing it. Each year I persist and the practice is paying off. This year's gravy was quite possibly the best gravy ever - sorry, Mom! Marc didn't talk much because his mouth was always full and he had thirds. Considering the resulting collapses on to the sofa, we were suitably stuffed.
In the age old tradition of giving thanks, Marc was most grateful to live in country where he and his are safe and warm which is particularly poignant given the recent activities in India (a country with very close ties to Britain). Abigail was most grateful for being given a big girl's wine glass at dinner from which to drink her cranberry juice cocktail. There's actually quite a deep thought in there which I interpret as her being grateful for having grown another year bigger and another year wiser. Sebastian didn't use any metaphors when dishing up his gratitude telling us he was thankful to be alive. Phew, me too!
Me? What am I grateful for? I don't even know where to begin. I have so much. But at the end of the day, I am thankful to have found a man to grow old with, to raise children with, to have an amazing life with its ups and downs and be fairly certain he'll be there for the roller coaster ride of life no matter what.
The neighbours popped in just as we were finishing and we made up wee little sampler plates for them to taste which they loved. Little Helena even ate the pumpkin pie!
I had asked Marc to carve up the gigantic turkey and put it into little bags for the freezer and made my first mistake by assuming that because I had asked it got done. I woke up this morning to find the remnants of a very large turkey carcass in Bailey's bed.
Marc had left the turkey on the counter overnight and it was far too much temptation for Bailey to resist and he demolished nearly all of it. Looking at him collapsed on the lounge carpet I reckon he's got that turkey tryptophan high and just wishing we could put a football game on the television for him.
I most cross over the missed leftover turkey sandwiches. Might have to pop down to the supermarket and get some cooked turkey for sandwiches. How sad is that? I am not so grateful right now for the dog.
The neighbours popped in just as we were finishing and we made up wee little sampler plates for them to taste which they loved. Little Helena even ate the pumpkin pie!
I had asked Marc to carve up the gigantic turkey and put it into little bags for the freezer and made my first mistake by assuming that because I had asked it got done. I woke up this morning to find the remnants of a very large turkey carcass in Bailey's bed.
Marc had left the turkey on the counter overnight and it was far too much temptation for Bailey to resist and he demolished nearly all of it. Looking at him collapsed on the lounge carpet I reckon he's got that turkey tryptophan high and just wishing we could put a football game on the television for him.
I most cross over the missed leftover turkey sandwiches. Might have to pop down to the supermarket and get some cooked turkey for sandwiches. How sad is that? I am not so grateful right now for the dog.
Friday Antics
My life is never complete without random trips to hospital A&Es (ERs) randomly sprinkled throughout the year.
On Friday I had worked from home and managed to get the pumpkin pies for our Thanksgiving feast baked. They were cooling on the kitchen counters when I left to get Abigail from school. I picked her up at her normal time from school and we headed home. Sebastian has judo on Friday's so I expected we wouldn't need to return to school until 5 pm. I had left my work mobile in the house not expecting to use it whilst I did the school run. I did at the last minute grab my personal mobile.
When we arrived back home we went next door to visit the neighbours as we often do when we get home on Fridays. Little Helena (the 2 year old next door) loves Abigail and we are so busy we don't often get to visit. My plan was to stay for a cuppa tea and then get dinner started. I had just sat down with my cuppa when my mobile rang. It was Marc telling me to go to the school and get Sebastian. He had injured his chin during the afternoon's football game.
I left Abigail with the neighbours and raced to the school. When I got there I removed the band aid that the matron (school nurse) had put on his chin after cleaning up the blood and knew a trip to the hospital was required.
I phoned Marc and made arrangements for him to pick up Sebastian's classmates (Izzy & Hetta) at 5 as we normally drop them off on Friday's after school since they live in the same village as us. I rang the neighbour and asked her to keep Abigail and we set off for the hospital.
After an hour wait we were seen by a nurse practitioner who cleaned up the gash some more (it was still bleeding - ick!) She stripped it and glued it and put a plaster bandage across it and we headed home.
It seems that during the football match Sebastian's chin met Hugo's head as they were both heading for the football, neither of who were paying much attention to each other's fast approach. Seb stays he had the wind knocked out of him and Hugo has a nasty bump on his head. Thank goodness no teeth were lost.
When we got home, Marc's car was here but he wasn't. I noted that the pumpkin pies had cooled nicely and looked beautiful. I was hoping to resist the temptation for a slice until our feast on Saturday.
I went next door to find that Marc didn't need to pickup Izzy and Hetta (they had left for a family trip to Ireland at midday) and he had just gotten home after having waited at the school for 30 minutes. I'm sure their mother had told me but clearly in the madness I had forgotten.
The other neighbours had locked themselves out of the house and Emma had spare keys so they were round as well. It was chaos with 4 girls in the house all under 4 years old.
When we all got back into our home, I was horrified to find that Bailey (the dog) could not resist the temptation of the pumpkin pies and had jumped up on the counter and demolished 1/2 of one pie and 1/4 of the other pie.
Oh, I needed a drink!
On Friday I had worked from home and managed to get the pumpkin pies for our Thanksgiving feast baked. They were cooling on the kitchen counters when I left to get Abigail from school. I picked her up at her normal time from school and we headed home. Sebastian has judo on Friday's so I expected we wouldn't need to return to school until 5 pm. I had left my work mobile in the house not expecting to use it whilst I did the school run. I did at the last minute grab my personal mobile.
When we arrived back home we went next door to visit the neighbours as we often do when we get home on Fridays. Little Helena (the 2 year old next door) loves Abigail and we are so busy we don't often get to visit. My plan was to stay for a cuppa tea and then get dinner started. I had just sat down with my cuppa when my mobile rang. It was Marc telling me to go to the school and get Sebastian. He had injured his chin during the afternoon's football game.
I left Abigail with the neighbours and raced to the school. When I got there I removed the band aid that the matron (school nurse) had put on his chin after cleaning up the blood and knew a trip to the hospital was required.
I phoned Marc and made arrangements for him to pick up Sebastian's classmates (Izzy & Hetta) at 5 as we normally drop them off on Friday's after school since they live in the same village as us. I rang the neighbour and asked her to keep Abigail and we set off for the hospital.
After an hour wait we were seen by a nurse practitioner who cleaned up the gash some more (it was still bleeding - ick!) She stripped it and glued it and put a plaster bandage across it and we headed home.
It seems that during the football match Sebastian's chin met Hugo's head as they were both heading for the football, neither of who were paying much attention to each other's fast approach. Seb stays he had the wind knocked out of him and Hugo has a nasty bump on his head. Thank goodness no teeth were lost.
When we got home, Marc's car was here but he wasn't. I noted that the pumpkin pies had cooled nicely and looked beautiful. I was hoping to resist the temptation for a slice until our feast on Saturday.
I went next door to find that Marc didn't need to pickup Izzy and Hetta (they had left for a family trip to Ireland at midday) and he had just gotten home after having waited at the school for 30 minutes. I'm sure their mother had told me but clearly in the madness I had forgotten.
The other neighbours had locked themselves out of the house and Emma had spare keys so they were round as well. It was chaos with 4 girls in the house all under 4 years old.
When we all got back into our home, I was horrified to find that Bailey (the dog) could not resist the temptation of the pumpkin pies and had jumped up on the counter and demolished 1/2 of one pie and 1/4 of the other pie.
Oh, I needed a drink!
Fatal Voting
Although US elections are not violent, voting in them is not risk free.
A study of traffic patterns in the USA dating back to Jimmy Carter's victory in 1976 found the risk of dying in a car accident is 18% higher on election days than on any other Tuesday in October or November.
Just thought you might like to know for future reference, say 2012!
A study of traffic patterns in the USA dating back to Jimmy Carter's victory in 1976 found the risk of dying in a car accident is 18% higher on election days than on any other Tuesday in October or November.
Just thought you might like to know for future reference, say 2012!
Saturday, 29 November 2008
Welcome to Temptation by Jennifer Crusie
I almost don't even want to confess to reading this book. A friend dropped it round in amongst a whole bunch of other books. She did warn me that it wasn't much but thought I might find it funny.
I didn't. In fact on several occasions I asked myself why I was still reading it and continually berated myself to stop. Just put the dang thing down. But I have this compulsion to read books once I've started them. As you can see from my reading list on the left I will start a book and if I don't get on with it I will keep it on the bedside table until I have forced myself to read it through. I will not be beaten by a book. Even a crap book. What's wrong with me? Why do I have this compulsion?
Ah, but this is about the book not me.
Oh forget that. I'm not going to spend the time to write about a waste of time book and waste your time making you read about said book.
Go to Jail. Go directly to Jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Do not read this book.
I didn't. In fact on several occasions I asked myself why I was still reading it and continually berated myself to stop. Just put the dang thing down. But I have this compulsion to read books once I've started them. As you can see from my reading list on the left I will start a book and if I don't get on with it I will keep it on the bedside table until I have forced myself to read it through. I will not be beaten by a book. Even a crap book. What's wrong with me? Why do I have this compulsion?
Ah, but this is about the book not me.
Oh forget that. I'm not going to spend the time to write about a waste of time book and waste your time making you read about said book.
Go to Jail. Go directly to Jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Do not read this book.
Friday, 28 November 2008
Case Histories by Kate Atkinson
I picked this book up at the library at the same time as The Blind Assassin mostly because I just liked the cover. It looked like it would be a nice easy read and give my brain a much needed rest after the workout of an Atwood exercise.
In fact, this novel was an incredibly disturbing and insanely clever thriller. The stories of 3 different seemingly unrelated murders at 3 different times in history (spanning roughly 30 years). Jackson Brodie is a private detective investigating 2 of the 3 finding that they are all inexplicably linked.
The murders and the circumstances surrounding them are nothing short of horrific. I was sick to my stomach when it was revealed who was responsible for the death of little Olivia.
Jackson is both reprehensible and lovable all rolled into one. (Aren't we all?)
Atkinson is clever. She breaks all the rules of murder mystery and creates her own little devices for story telling. I loved her characters and the ending is poignant but not sugary.
It doesn't take long to whip through this and you will enjoy it.
In fact, this novel was an incredibly disturbing and insanely clever thriller. The stories of 3 different seemingly unrelated murders at 3 different times in history (spanning roughly 30 years). Jackson Brodie is a private detective investigating 2 of the 3 finding that they are all inexplicably linked.
The murders and the circumstances surrounding them are nothing short of horrific. I was sick to my stomach when it was revealed who was responsible for the death of little Olivia.
Jackson is both reprehensible and lovable all rolled into one. (Aren't we all?)
Atkinson is clever. She breaks all the rules of murder mystery and creates her own little devices for story telling. I loved her characters and the ending is poignant but not sugary.
It doesn't take long to whip through this and you will enjoy it.
Thursday, 27 November 2008
General Thanksgiving
By the PRESIDENT of the United States Of America
A PROCLAMATION WHEREAS it is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favour; and Whereas both Houfes of Congress have, by their joint committee, requefted me "to recommend to the people of the United States
a DAY OF PUBLICK THANSGIVING and PRAYER, to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to eftablifh a form of government for their safety and happiness:"
NOW THEREFORE, I do recommend and affign THURSDAY, the TWENTY-SIXTH DAY of NOVEMBER next, to be devoted by the people of thefe States to the fervice of that great and glorious Being who is the beneficent author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be; that we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our fincere and humble thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of this country previous to their becoming a nation; for the fignal and manifold mercies and the favorable interpofitions of His providence in the courfe and conclufion of the late war; for the great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty which we have fince enjoyed;-- for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been enable to eftablish Conftitutions of government for our fafety and happinefs, and particularly the national one now lately instituted;-- for the civil and religious liberty with which we are bleffed, and the means we have of acquiring and diffufing useful knowledge;-- and, in general, for all the great and variousfavours which He has been pleafed to confer upon us. And also, that we may then unite in moft humbly offering our prayers and fupplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and befeech Him to pardon our national and other tranfgreffions;-- to enable us all, whether in publick or private ftations, to perform our feveral and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a bleffing to all the people by conftantly being a Government of wife, juft, and conftitutional laws, difcreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to protect and guide all fovereigns and nations (especially fuch as have shewn kindnefs unto us); and to blefs them with good governments, peace, and concord; to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increafe of fcience among them and us; and, generally to grant unto all mankind fuch a degree oftemporal profperity as he alone knows to be beft. GIVEN under my hand, at the city of New-York, the third day of October, in the year of our Lord, one thousand feven hundred and eighty-nine. (signed) G. Washington Source: The Massachusetts Centinel, Wednesday, October 14, 1789
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood
Another Booker Prize winner made the choice for our Book Group. I'm not sure why they keep choosing Booker Prize winner because it is obvious to me that they have neither the desire nor the motivation to read these novels of substance but they persist. I wonder if anyone else read the book. (NB: I always write my reviews in advance of the book group if only so as not to colour my initial review. I do put a note at the bottom just to tell y'all what the others thought.)
Regardless I was thrilled to have an excuse to read this book. Both The Handmaiden's Tale and Alias Grace are in my top 20 favourite book list. I read The Handmaiden's Tale over 20 years ago and it had a profound effect on my opinions towards women's reproductivity rights.
But it has to be said that Atwood books are not for the faint of heart. She unexpectedly veers into the science fiction realm every so often and that is not my favourite literary genre. The book group read Oryx and Crake a few years back and I remember struggling to turn every page.
The Blind Assassin is considered by many to be Atwood's best novel and a literary classic so convincing me to give it a read wasn't a hard sell despite the sci-fi undertones.
And I was not disappointed. The book starts at the turn of the 20th century, the start of the industrial age and is set in a small Canadian town. The focus is on twin sisters, Iris and Laura.
The book alternates between present day and moving forward through the sisters lives. although you know quite early on that Laura committed suicide the events in their lives which occurred around the Second World War when their lives are truly shaped are not revealed until the end of the book.
The book is a gripping page turner although there are these odd chapters of a story interwoven between the chapters of their lives. I was left wondering what in the world they had to do with the rest of the story being told and was tempted to skip them as they didn't interest me as much. Fortunately, I persevered and a good thing that was because at the end it becomes obvious that to have skipped those would have meant you missed out on a vital part of the story.
Atwood is a master for setting time and place. Her descriptions of the village and the people who populate it are exquisite. The details of the women's clothing is pitch perfect. My mind's eye was filled with precise pictures. I don't know of an author who does this quite so expertly.
The ending is a shock and I won't give it away here in the hopes that my blog fans will race out and based on my recommendation, read the book. Go on, do it. It's time well spent.
Book Group Verdict: I've decided to take a break from my book group and see if I can find another group which is more closely aligned to my objectives for a book group. I may reconsider this decision at a later date but for now this is a reader looking for a new home.
Regardless I was thrilled to have an excuse to read this book. Both The Handmaiden's Tale and Alias Grace are in my top 20 favourite book list. I read The Handmaiden's Tale over 20 years ago and it had a profound effect on my opinions towards women's reproductivity rights.
But it has to be said that Atwood books are not for the faint of heart. She unexpectedly veers into the science fiction realm every so often and that is not my favourite literary genre. The book group read Oryx and Crake a few years back and I remember struggling to turn every page.
The Blind Assassin is considered by many to be Atwood's best novel and a literary classic so convincing me to give it a read wasn't a hard sell despite the sci-fi undertones.
And I was not disappointed. The book starts at the turn of the 20th century, the start of the industrial age and is set in a small Canadian town. The focus is on twin sisters, Iris and Laura.
The book alternates between present day and moving forward through the sisters lives. although you know quite early on that Laura committed suicide the events in their lives which occurred around the Second World War when their lives are truly shaped are not revealed until the end of the book.
The book is a gripping page turner although there are these odd chapters of a story interwoven between the chapters of their lives. I was left wondering what in the world they had to do with the rest of the story being told and was tempted to skip them as they didn't interest me as much. Fortunately, I persevered and a good thing that was because at the end it becomes obvious that to have skipped those would have meant you missed out on a vital part of the story.
Atwood is a master for setting time and place. Her descriptions of the village and the people who populate it are exquisite. The details of the women's clothing is pitch perfect. My mind's eye was filled with precise pictures. I don't know of an author who does this quite so expertly.
The ending is a shock and I won't give it away here in the hopes that my blog fans will race out and based on my recommendation, read the book. Go on, do it. It's time well spent.
Book Group Verdict: I've decided to take a break from my book group and see if I can find another group which is more closely aligned to my objectives for a book group. I may reconsider this decision at a later date but for now this is a reader looking for a new home.
Tuesday, 18 November 2008
Friday, 14 November 2008
Silence is Golden
Sebastian participated in raising money for a cancer charity by keeping silent at school. Here's the local press coverage. Can you find him in the photo?
Saturday, 8 November 2008
Not a Joke
On my recent trip to France I was browing the WH Smith bookstore in Terminal 1 of Heathrow airport before departure. Everything you are about to read is the truth. This is not a joke!
A woman walks into the book store headed for the travel section. After perusing the shelves for a while she asks the clerk "Do you have any books on Vietnam?"
The clerk replies "Is that in Austria?"
I look up and look at the clerk to see if she is serious. When I see that she is clueless, I look towards the woman who asked the question. She stares back at me. Both of us don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Calmly, the woman replies "No, it is near China."
To which the clerk replies "I don't think we have anything on that part of England."
I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants.
A woman walks into the book store headed for the travel section. After perusing the shelves for a while she asks the clerk "Do you have any books on Vietnam?"
The clerk replies "Is that in Austria?"
I look up and look at the clerk to see if she is serious. When I see that she is clueless, I look towards the woman who asked the question. She stares back at me. Both of us don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Calmly, the woman replies "No, it is near China."
To which the clerk replies "I don't think we have anything on that part of England."
I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants.
Friday, 7 November 2008
No Rest
I could never be President. Not that I would ever want to. The pay is really bad and someone is always complaining about the job your doing. Plus if you are really good at the job, you don't get anytime off.
President-elect Obama just went through the longest job interview EVER! The people interviewing him (the American public and various other stakeholders around the world) weren't entirely sure about the job description or what they were looking for in a candidate.
Worst of all, the job changed dramatically just a few months before he was offered the position. When he answered the question from the journalist about whether he still wanted the job, I know I would have probably given a different answer.
Then he gets the job! Yeah!!!!! And he celebrates for, oh, about 2 minutes. OK, 17 minutes to be exact.
And then he gets busy working on the task of transition. And getting the morning briefing. And working out who is going to do what for him. Seems he started working on what his first day of work was going to be like back in July. One of the weaknesses of the Clinton administration was an unpreparedness on the first day of work. In short, Clinton made such a bad first impression on his employers those first few weeks and it took him so long to recover his credibility, anything he wanted to do in his first year was pretty much scuppered.
Some are criticising that President Obama was counting his chickens. I say we made the right choice. A man well prepared to do the job who never doubted our ability to make the right choice.
President-elect Obama just went through the longest job interview EVER! The people interviewing him (the American public and various other stakeholders around the world) weren't entirely sure about the job description or what they were looking for in a candidate.
Worst of all, the job changed dramatically just a few months before he was offered the position. When he answered the question from the journalist about whether he still wanted the job, I know I would have probably given a different answer.
Then he gets the job! Yeah!!!!! And he celebrates for, oh, about 2 minutes. OK, 17 minutes to be exact.
And then he gets busy working on the task of transition. And getting the morning briefing. And working out who is going to do what for him. Seems he started working on what his first day of work was going to be like back in July. One of the weaknesses of the Clinton administration was an unpreparedness on the first day of work. In short, Clinton made such a bad first impression on his employers those first few weeks and it took him so long to recover his credibility, anything he wanted to do in his first year was pretty much scuppered.
Some are criticising that President Obama was counting his chickens. I say we made the right choice. A man well prepared to do the job who never doubted our ability to make the right choice.
Adventures in Flying
My flight to France was absolute torment. I really must give up flying or figure out how to procure drugs strong enough to knock me out so as to prevent me from experiencing the intense anxiety associated with my air travel. I feel like I am turning into my father and within the next few years I will be unable to muster the courage to board a plane.
I boarded the flight at Heathrow on time. At the gate the ticketing agent told me that British Airways had to change me seat due to "operational reasons". I asked what kind of reasons were operational? She informed me that it probably meant the seat was broken.
Given that I fly a lot I know the real answer was more likely to be that they had oversold the business class tickets and had to move the boundary back into the economy class part of the plane. I was horrified when I learned I was at the back of the plane; not just further back, but in the very LAST row, behind a group of 50 French school children returning from a trip abroad. I suppose I would have been even more incensed if I had purchased a business class ticket only to find that I was allocated an economy class seat.
Not to worry. I was letting this annoyance roll off my shoulders and let it go into the universe. I had more important things to focus on. Like catching up on my reading. About halfway into the 2 hour flight, the plane suddenly starting bumping and jumping about. Seat belt signs were lit. Drinks went flying off the trays and into the air. Lightning burst in the sky outside the aircraft window.
I bent over, hugged my knees as tears fell from the corners of my eyes and I began to hum "Tomorrow". You know the one from the musical Annie - The sun'll come out tomorrow. Betchour bottom dollar that tomorrow there'll be sun......Just thinking about - OK you get the idea. I tried to remember if I had kissed and cuddle my husband as well as my children. I remembered that my will is probably out of date. I tried to remember what the precise value is of my life insurance policy.
Above the din of my screaching was an Italian or maybe Spanish or some sort of Latin language prayer being recited at high volume by a gorgeous young woman sitting across the aisle from me. She was repeatedly crossing herself.
I reached across the aisle, determined not to die alone and grabbed hold of her hand.
In the midst of all this chaos, the French school children didn't even blink an eye. They kept reading their Teen Magazines and playing with their Nintendo DS Lites and listening to their iPods.
I've had these experiences before but they tend to be short lived: 10 minutes out of 3 hour flight. But this time it lasted for nearly 40 minutes. The pilots announced at one point they were going to fly out of our scheduled flight path to get us out of harm's way. Oh good god, did I really need to know that I was in harm's way?
We landed 40 minutes late. I let go of the woman's hand only when I applauded the succesfull landing of the aircraft. I couldn't get off of there quickly enough (but keeping in mind I was in the very last row, it wasn't very quick).
I got my luggage and started what turned out to be an epic journey by public transport (bus) from the Nice airport to my hotel in Cannes. (That's another post!) But in my haste, I forgot to say goodbye and thank you to the stranger across the aisle who shared my fear, who held my hand, who hopefully prayed for me in a language I couldn't understand at break neck speed and who showed supreme compassion. I'm glad it was her sitting next to me and not those school children.
Tonight I board my return flight. The weather has improved considerably and I am hoping (and praying) for a much less eventful but ever so much more important journey home.
I boarded the flight at Heathrow on time. At the gate the ticketing agent told me that British Airways had to change me seat due to "operational reasons". I asked what kind of reasons were operational? She informed me that it probably meant the seat was broken.
Given that I fly a lot I know the real answer was more likely to be that they had oversold the business class tickets and had to move the boundary back into the economy class part of the plane. I was horrified when I learned I was at the back of the plane; not just further back, but in the very LAST row, behind a group of 50 French school children returning from a trip abroad. I suppose I would have been even more incensed if I had purchased a business class ticket only to find that I was allocated an economy class seat.
Not to worry. I was letting this annoyance roll off my shoulders and let it go into the universe. I had more important things to focus on. Like catching up on my reading. About halfway into the 2 hour flight, the plane suddenly starting bumping and jumping about. Seat belt signs were lit. Drinks went flying off the trays and into the air. Lightning burst in the sky outside the aircraft window.
I bent over, hugged my knees as tears fell from the corners of my eyes and I began to hum "Tomorrow". You know the one from the musical Annie - The sun'll come out tomorrow. Betchour bottom dollar that tomorrow there'll be sun......Just thinking about - OK you get the idea. I tried to remember if I had kissed and cuddle my husband as well as my children. I remembered that my will is probably out of date. I tried to remember what the precise value is of my life insurance policy.
Above the din of my screaching was an Italian or maybe Spanish or some sort of Latin language prayer being recited at high volume by a gorgeous young woman sitting across the aisle from me. She was repeatedly crossing herself.
I reached across the aisle, determined not to die alone and grabbed hold of her hand.
In the midst of all this chaos, the French school children didn't even blink an eye. They kept reading their Teen Magazines and playing with their Nintendo DS Lites and listening to their iPods.
I've had these experiences before but they tend to be short lived: 10 minutes out of 3 hour flight. But this time it lasted for nearly 40 minutes. The pilots announced at one point they were going to fly out of our scheduled flight path to get us out of harm's way. Oh good god, did I really need to know that I was in harm's way?
We landed 40 minutes late. I let go of the woman's hand only when I applauded the succesfull landing of the aircraft. I couldn't get off of there quickly enough (but keeping in mind I was in the very last row, it wasn't very quick).
I got my luggage and started what turned out to be an epic journey by public transport (bus) from the Nice airport to my hotel in Cannes. (That's another post!) But in my haste, I forgot to say goodbye and thank you to the stranger across the aisle who shared my fear, who held my hand, who hopefully prayed for me in a language I couldn't understand at break neck speed and who showed supreme compassion. I'm glad it was her sitting next to me and not those school children.
Tonight I board my return flight. The weather has improved considerably and I am hoping (and praying) for a much less eventful but ever so much more important journey home.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
No Sunshine in Cannes
It has been raining for 4 solid days in Cannes. Not drizzly annoying rain. Sheets of water fall and the wind whips the umbrellas inside out all day and all night.
Most of the day is spent inside the conference centre so you can forget about the miserable weather outside but you can't escape it when you make the mad dash back to your hotel room. Or attend a session outside the main Palais de Festival.
Upon arrival your feet and shoes are soaked. The bottoms of your trousers can be wrung out. There is no standing on the promenade enjoying the view of the Med washing up on the sand and the warmth of the sun on your face. Your hair which looked great when you left your room in the morning has taken on the look of a drowned dog and your mascara is running down your cheek.
I will be glad to return home to my children and husband tomorrow afternoon.
Most of the day is spent inside the conference centre so you can forget about the miserable weather outside but you can't escape it when you make the mad dash back to your hotel room. Or attend a session outside the main Palais de Festival.
Upon arrival your feet and shoes are soaked. The bottoms of your trousers can be wrung out. There is no standing on the promenade enjoying the view of the Med washing up on the sand and the warmth of the sun on your face. Your hair which looked great when you left your room in the morning has taken on the look of a drowned dog and your mascara is running down your cheek.
I will be glad to return home to my children and husband tomorrow afternoon.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
President Obama
I fell asleep......again.
When I awoke to the sound of my breakfast being delivered this morning I raced to switch on the TV only to find that the cable service in all of Cannes was down. There was no answer at the front desk. Or on housekeeping. I was fearful for a while that McCain had won and everyone in France had drank the kool aid just to avoid 4 more years of a Republican American President.
I finally got my internet connection up and running and I read the news there. At first I couldn't believe it. And then the enormity of what had happened hit me like a tsunami.
My chest puffs out with pride and my eyes water. As a country we have spoken. We have stepped well out of our comfort zone and we are taking a risk. The message this sends to the rest of the world's citizens is profound.
I spoke to my sister and we had our own little election celebration via telephone. Today (and possibly tonight) I shall hoist a glass of champage and toast the victory. And the future.
President-elect Obama, if you are reading this, you have run an honourable and thoughtful campaign. You have inspired a nation to let go of the burdens of racism. We entrust you will not let us down. Good luck. Let me know if you need any help!
When I awoke to the sound of my breakfast being delivered this morning I raced to switch on the TV only to find that the cable service in all of Cannes was down. There was no answer at the front desk. Or on housekeeping. I was fearful for a while that McCain had won and everyone in France had drank the kool aid just to avoid 4 more years of a Republican American President.
I finally got my internet connection up and running and I read the news there. At first I couldn't believe it. And then the enormity of what had happened hit me like a tsunami.
My chest puffs out with pride and my eyes water. As a country we have spoken. We have stepped well out of our comfort zone and we are taking a risk. The message this sends to the rest of the world's citizens is profound.
I spoke to my sister and we had our own little election celebration via telephone. Today (and possibly tonight) I shall hoist a glass of champage and toast the victory. And the future.
President-elect Obama, if you are reading this, you have run an honourable and thoughtful campaign. You have inspired a nation to let go of the burdens of racism. We entrust you will not let us down. Good luck. Let me know if you need any help!
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Election Coverage via Cannes, France
How very bizarre it is to be watching the events of today unfold surrounded by an international community of several thousand from all over Europe and the USA.
I am on my annual pilgramage to Cannes, France for the Gartner IT Symposium. It is still, IMHO, the best IT conference I have ever attended and this year is proving no different. Except that the weather is just as miserable here as it was when I left dark, grey, cloudy, wet, and cold England and quite frankly I was hoping for a dose of sunshine. The wind is howling, the heavens open up and soak everything below them every couple hours. Do not venture far from your umbrella is something I have learnt the hard way.
Gartner is an American company and nearly all of the presenters (100s of them) are American. Many of the people who support Gartner here are American. I will be having dinner this evening with a couple of Americans and we hope to watch the election returns well into the wee hours of the morning. I don't want to make the same mistake I did in 2000 when I went to bed assured that Gore had won only to awaken and find it had been stolen out from underneath him (as if my watchful eye could have prevented such a travesty of justice).
Nearly everyone else here is from the UK and Europe. I am surrounded by non native English speakers. I respect the commitment it must take to come to a 5 day conference where ALL the presentations are done in English. If I am tired at the end of it, they must be shattered.
There is a lot of buzz on the conference floors and in the presentations about today's election. Everyone is checking out the web for news and trying to catch snipets of newscasts on the 1 television in the Symclub (don't ask). The presenters make references to the candidates and the impact the outcome of today may have on our lives over here an ocean away.
Lots of people have asked me if I have voted and how I think it is going to go. I am not a political analyst. I have voted but I haven't a clue what the result may be. I read the same papers I hope everyone else reads (although I don't think Sarah Palin reads given her ridiculous response to the Katie Couric question). I watch the same news. I get the feeds via telephone, email, twitter.
But I am nervous. There is a flutter of butterflies in my stomach as I wait and hope.
For Change.
The eyes of the world are upon you. Do Well.
I am on my annual pilgramage to Cannes, France for the Gartner IT Symposium. It is still, IMHO, the best IT conference I have ever attended and this year is proving no different. Except that the weather is just as miserable here as it was when I left dark, grey, cloudy, wet, and cold England and quite frankly I was hoping for a dose of sunshine. The wind is howling, the heavens open up and soak everything below them every couple hours. Do not venture far from your umbrella is something I have learnt the hard way.
Gartner is an American company and nearly all of the presenters (100s of them) are American. Many of the people who support Gartner here are American. I will be having dinner this evening with a couple of Americans and we hope to watch the election returns well into the wee hours of the morning. I don't want to make the same mistake I did in 2000 when I went to bed assured that Gore had won only to awaken and find it had been stolen out from underneath him (as if my watchful eye could have prevented such a travesty of justice).
Nearly everyone else here is from the UK and Europe. I am surrounded by non native English speakers. I respect the commitment it must take to come to a 5 day conference where ALL the presentations are done in English. If I am tired at the end of it, they must be shattered.
There is a lot of buzz on the conference floors and in the presentations about today's election. Everyone is checking out the web for news and trying to catch snipets of newscasts on the 1 television in the Symclub (don't ask). The presenters make references to the candidates and the impact the outcome of today may have on our lives over here an ocean away.
Lots of people have asked me if I have voted and how I think it is going to go. I am not a political analyst. I have voted but I haven't a clue what the result may be. I read the same papers I hope everyone else reads (although I don't think Sarah Palin reads given her ridiculous response to the Katie Couric question). I watch the same news. I get the feeds via telephone, email, twitter.
But I am nervous. There is a flutter of butterflies in my stomach as I wait and hope.
For Change.
The eyes of the world are upon you. Do Well.
Monday, 3 November 2008
Libraries
In an attempt to do my bit for climate change and fiscal responsibility I was wondering around the local library for the latest book group selection. This is a big departure from my previously ingrained habits.
I love a book store. One of my favourite places in the world is Tattered Cover Bookstore in Denver, Colorado. But I tell you, I don't need a fancy book store to lose time. Any old WH Smith or even the book aisle in the local supermarket can distract me for a good 30 minutes.
Not only is this not good from a time management perspective, this can be a bit rough on the bank balance as well. Books are expensive. Lots of books can bankrupt a person.
And I don't have a big enough house to have a library. I passed on what I could but inevitably I ended up with stacks of books destined for the recycle bin. Not good.
So, hi ho hi ho, off to the library we go. We live in a smallish village and I was surprised to learn that we had our very own library just down the road from our home. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect but suffice to say my expectations were relatively low.
How wrong I was! The children applied for and successfully procured their very own library cards. Both picked out books to enjoy during the school holidays and I found the book I was looking for as well as one I didn't know I wanted to read (that's one of the reasons I go to book stores)!
The librarian was so helpful and despite a very small room the library had an extensive selection of books, especially the children's area. When I was about 10 years old, I declared I wanted to be a librarian when I grew up. I am now considering a career change. I won't need as much money since I will be saving all that money borrowing books rather buying them!
I love a book store. One of my favourite places in the world is Tattered Cover Bookstore in Denver, Colorado. But I tell you, I don't need a fancy book store to lose time. Any old WH Smith or even the book aisle in the local supermarket can distract me for a good 30 minutes.
Not only is this not good from a time management perspective, this can be a bit rough on the bank balance as well. Books are expensive. Lots of books can bankrupt a person.
And I don't have a big enough house to have a library. I passed on what I could but inevitably I ended up with stacks of books destined for the recycle bin. Not good.
So, hi ho hi ho, off to the library we go. We live in a smallish village and I was surprised to learn that we had our very own library just down the road from our home. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect but suffice to say my expectations were relatively low.
How wrong I was! The children applied for and successfully procured their very own library cards. Both picked out books to enjoy during the school holidays and I found the book I was looking for as well as one I didn't know I wanted to read (that's one of the reasons I go to book stores)!
The librarian was so helpful and despite a very small room the library had an extensive selection of books, especially the children's area. When I was about 10 years old, I declared I wanted to be a librarian when I grew up. I am now considering a career change. I won't need as much money since I will be saving all that money borrowing books rather buying them!
Sunday, 2 November 2008
More Pox
So my previous conclusion that Sebastian had already had chicken pox based on a couple of red spots has been proven to be false. Incredibly false.
Abigail's pox has now been whole heartily passed on to her older brother and Sebastian now has so many chicken pox I am no in no doubt that he is well and truly infected.
Couldn't have happened at a worse time. I am off this afternoon for my annual pilgrimage to Cannes, France for the Gartner ITxpo Symposium. Marc will be home with Sebastian all week unable to attend school. That will be another week Marc is unable to work and, worse, he will have no help from me. Bummer!
Abigail's pox has now been whole heartily passed on to her older brother and Sebastian now has so many chicken pox I am no in no doubt that he is well and truly infected.
Couldn't have happened at a worse time. I am off this afternoon for my annual pilgrimage to Cannes, France for the Gartner ITxpo Symposium. Marc will be home with Sebastian all week unable to attend school. That will be another week Marc is unable to work and, worse, he will have no help from me. Bummer!
Saturday, 1 November 2008
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