I've never read a book by John le Carre. Despite my effusive praise for the Baldacci novels, I'm just not all that into guy spy novels. and I've always firmly put Robert Harris into that category. I read his book Fatherland which is about the alternate reality of what might have been if Hitler had won the war. Joseph Kennedy, the father of JFK, is president and we all speak German. This book seriously freaked me out.
When the local book store held a signing with Robert Harris I gave it a miss.
But then someone I know told me that Harris felt this was his favourite novel of all the ones he'd written. And that she loved it. I trust her recommendations so I decided to give it a go.
Now I'm thinking I'm going to have to read more Robert Harris.
The Ghost is about a writer who writes autobiographies for intellectually challenged sports stars and celebrities trying to wring the last out of the shine out of their star and into their bank account. These ghost writers are considered to be much more intelligent than their subjects and are considered to be the laughing stock of the literary world.
So it's a bit of a surprise when The Ghost is hired to finish writing the autobiography of Adam Lang after the original writer, Mike McAra, allegedly commits suicide. Lang is the politician of his time and as his influence fades he is desperate to tell his story but he's more style than substance. And the draft McAra has left behind is a disaster, so badly written that the only option is to start over.
I loaned this book to my mother when she needed something to replace her Baldacci debacle. She took it to France and never put it down. We had to pry it out of her fingers when we went to Disneyland. I'm afraid I had much the same reaction. Luckily, it's not long or verbose so I managed it in just 2 days.
The book does take so many twists and turns that I lost my way a couple of times and had to go back a few pages....I even reread an entire chapter. And just when you think it's all over and the mystery is revealed the ending wallops you up side the end and you realise you didn't have anything figured out. Genius!
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Monday, 25 May 2009
Easing In
In September Sebastian will begin as a probationary chorister. This is a huge honour and something that he wanted to do. I wasn't so keen on the idea but when your child wants an opportunity to be a part of something bigger than himself, you kinda don't want to get in the way.
Yes, that might mean your very own sacrifices but this isn't about me. It's about him. He is going to be performing with one of the world's greatest boy's choirs in the world. The training he will receive will benefit him for the rest of his life. And he wanted to do it. I've never seen him so determined as I did before his audition.
But the step towards Year4, and choristing, and boarding all at once seemed a step too far. Seb is like me and doesn't like change. So we decided to break it up into bite size chunks. He'll do a night of boarding every week for the remainder of the year and then next year when he goes to 2 times (Tuesday and Thursday) every week it won't be such a shock for everyone involved.
The boarding school is great fun for the boys. They have a big flat screen TV. They have a Play Station, a Wii, an xBox. They have gap students who's sole purpose in life is to entertain them. They have each other. They have a chef in the dining hall who cooks them amazing dinners and a hot breakfast every day. They have supervised prep to help them with their homework. they have tennis courts and a swimming pool and cricket grounds. Quite frankly, it's a bit better than home.
Except we're not there.
Abigail misses her brother when he is away. The first morning she was in a state and didn't quite know what to do with herself. The next week she wasn't quite so bad. And she has announced that starting in Year3 she wants to board.
From the day a child is conceived everything you do, every decision you make, every guidance you give moves you closer to that place where that child ceases to be a child, ceases to be reliant on you and moves out into the big world. Show me the child at 7 and I'll show you the man. We've done a great job raising him and our job isn't finished.
For now, he's merely having a sleepover once every week! Stop worrying.....
Yes, that might mean your very own sacrifices but this isn't about me. It's about him. He is going to be performing with one of the world's greatest boy's choirs in the world. The training he will receive will benefit him for the rest of his life. And he wanted to do it. I've never seen him so determined as I did before his audition.
But the step towards Year4, and choristing, and boarding all at once seemed a step too far. Seb is like me and doesn't like change. So we decided to break it up into bite size chunks. He'll do a night of boarding every week for the remainder of the year and then next year when he goes to 2 times (Tuesday and Thursday) every week it won't be such a shock for everyone involved.
The boarding school is great fun for the boys. They have a big flat screen TV. They have a Play Station, a Wii, an xBox. They have gap students who's sole purpose in life is to entertain them. They have each other. They have a chef in the dining hall who cooks them amazing dinners and a hot breakfast every day. They have supervised prep to help them with their homework. they have tennis courts and a swimming pool and cricket grounds. Quite frankly, it's a bit better than home.
Except we're not there.
Abigail misses her brother when he is away. The first morning she was in a state and didn't quite know what to do with herself. The next week she wasn't quite so bad. And she has announced that starting in Year3 she wants to board.
From the day a child is conceived everything you do, every decision you make, every guidance you give moves you closer to that place where that child ceases to be a child, ceases to be reliant on you and moves out into the big world. Show me the child at 7 and I'll show you the man. We've done a great job raising him and our job isn't finished.
For now, he's merely having a sleepover once every week! Stop worrying.....
Sunday, 24 May 2009
Frankie & Stankie by Barbara Trapido
Or is it Frankie and Stinky? It should be.
I was filled with hope as this book started. Set in South Africa, the story begins in the 1950s as two sisters, Dinah & Lisa navigate the turbulent world of adolescence and apartheid.
My hope soon gave way to dismay as the sheer volume of minutia deadens the flow of the story or perhaps more accurately stops the story altogether. My dismay turned to disgust when 2/3 of the way through the novel I realised that there was unequivocally and absolutely no plot.
It was as if the author had found some young girls diaries and put them together with all the mundane observations and called it a book. The details are exquisite and evokes the era with perfection but the girls just meander through life and despite the fact that they are living in this extraordinary time, they are wholly unaffected.
I have to confess I did not finish the book. I abandoned my efforts about 3/4 of the way through and decided to move on. Maybe the ending is amazing. But I wasn't going to waste another minute of my life to find out.
Book Group Verdict: One woman loved it. Not so much any one else. But we had a 40th birthday to celebrate so who could be bothered to talk about a book that was such a waste of time.
I was filled with hope as this book started. Set in South Africa, the story begins in the 1950s as two sisters, Dinah & Lisa navigate the turbulent world of adolescence and apartheid.
My hope soon gave way to dismay as the sheer volume of minutia deadens the flow of the story or perhaps more accurately stops the story altogether. My dismay turned to disgust when 2/3 of the way through the novel I realised that there was unequivocally and absolutely no plot.
It was as if the author had found some young girls diaries and put them together with all the mundane observations and called it a book. The details are exquisite and evokes the era with perfection but the girls just meander through life and despite the fact that they are living in this extraordinary time, they are wholly unaffected.
I have to confess I did not finish the book. I abandoned my efforts about 3/4 of the way through and decided to move on. Maybe the ending is amazing. But I wasn't going to waste another minute of my life to find out.
Book Group Verdict: One woman loved it. Not so much any one else. But we had a 40th birthday to celebrate so who could be bothered to talk about a book that was such a waste of time.
Saturday, 23 May 2009
Divine Justice by David Baldacci
Another Baldacci novel. Another rip roaring read.
My mother picked this up after reading my reviews of his previous novels Split Second and The Camel Club. She tried to read it on the plane but abandoned it and left it here for me saying she just couldn't get into it.
She must be nuts. Or maybe you just need to read the other two novels first. The characters are nearly all recurring throughout the plots and subtleties of characterisation and story line might be lost if you don't know what has come before.
Divine Justice saw the return of my favourite Baldacci character, Oliver Stone, and the plot is just as improbable as his name is real. I'm not a conspriracy theorist and I hope to heaven that the governments of the free world really aren't this corrupt and conniving. But the story twists and turns like a Mach 10 rollercoaster ride and I just never know where the story is going to take me. Just hang on and enjoy the ride.
My mother picked this up after reading my reviews of his previous novels Split Second and The Camel Club. She tried to read it on the plane but abandoned it and left it here for me saying she just couldn't get into it.
She must be nuts. Or maybe you just need to read the other two novels first. The characters are nearly all recurring throughout the plots and subtleties of characterisation and story line might be lost if you don't know what has come before.
Divine Justice saw the return of my favourite Baldacci character, Oliver Stone, and the plot is just as improbable as his name is real. I'm not a conspriracy theorist and I hope to heaven that the governments of the free world really aren't this corrupt and conniving. But the story twists and turns like a Mach 10 rollercoaster ride and I just never know where the story is going to take me. Just hang on and enjoy the ride.
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Where's My Teddy Bear?
You would think that a mother would send her beloved son off on his very first boarding experience supremely prepared for all that may come his way.
He had his jammies, his slippers, his dressing gown (robe), spare pants, spare shoes, toothbrush, tooth paste, shampoo, hayfever liquid, flannel (washcloth), bath gel, school clothes, play clothes, warm weather gear, rain gear. We were prepared for every eventuality.
But this mother forgot the most important piece of equipment a little 7 year old boy needs when away from his mother at boarding school: his teddy bear, Chloe.
And he was missing Chloe more than ever at 3 am and mummy wasn't there to wipe away the tears and tuck him back into bed. Oh, please tell me I haven't just made the biggest mistake of my life.
He had his jammies, his slippers, his dressing gown (robe), spare pants, spare shoes, toothbrush, tooth paste, shampoo, hayfever liquid, flannel (washcloth), bath gel, school clothes, play clothes, warm weather gear, rain gear. We were prepared for every eventuality.
But this mother forgot the most important piece of equipment a little 7 year old boy needs when away from his mother at boarding school: his teddy bear, Chloe.
And he was missing Chloe more than ever at 3 am and mummy wasn't there to wipe away the tears and tuck him back into bed. Oh, please tell me I haven't just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Carnival Sprite
Saturday was the May Fair which is a fundraiser for the local Scouts and Girl Guide organisation. The May Fair is also the occasion to pick the attendants for the Carnival Fair. There is a Queen, a princess, 2 young attendants and 2 sprites (a nod to equal opportunity for the boys).
Last year Sebastian gave it a go and didn't make the grade (although we are never quite sure what they are looking for but it doesn't matter because it is just a bit of fun). This year he gave it another go and I am proud to announce that he will be one of two sprites in our Carnival.
He will appear at the Donkey Derby on Friday night, ride the float at the Carnival Parade on Saturday morning and be at the Carnival for various other activities throughout the day on Saturday as well as Sunday.
If you live local come out and support this fantastically old fashioned and incredibly fun filled weekend - June 5-7!
Thursday, 30 April 2009
A Map to Lulworth Cove
After Stonehenge we headed to the beach given that it was such a gorgeous sunny day. Unfortunately, my husband doesn't really believe in maps. And he won't ask directions. So we spent nearly 2 hours driving around in circles in Dorset looking for Lulworth Cove. The good news is it was worth it. The bad news is we could have driven straight there if he'd just referenced a map and spent quite a bit more time on the beach. As it was everyons's nerves were frazzled and my mother looked like a pretzel all tangled up in the back seat with the children.
Once we got her straightened out though we taught her how to act like a Brit on the beach! Sandy biscuits and the ever present threat of rain and/or darkness did not dampen our spirits.
Lulworth Cove is on the Jurassic Coast in Dorset on the southwest coast of England. Amazing fossils of numerous prehistoric creatures continue to be found here. And there is no end to the surprises of the rock pools!
Bailey loved it most of all!
Once we got her straightened out though we taught her how to act like a Brit on the beach! Sandy biscuits and the ever present threat of rain and/or darkness did not dampen our spirits.
Lulworth Cove is on the Jurassic Coast in Dorset on the southwest coast of England. Amazing fossils of numerous prehistoric creatures continue to be found here. And there is no end to the surprises of the rock pools!
Bailey loved it most of all!
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid
I read this book all wrong. I read it thinking it was just a novel. And when I finished it I had no idea what had happened or what it was about. But you can't read this novel that way. And I wish I had known this before I started reading it because now that I know what I know I am going to have to read it all over again.
Changez is from Pakistan and honours his family by winning a scholarship to Harvard University. Upon graduating he is offered the top place at the premier management consultancy, Underwood Sampson. He excels by living and breathing his work. He falls in love with a woman, Erica, who does not, cannot reciprocate his love due to her history.
And then 9/11 happens and Changez's love affairs with America and Erica end. His place in the society abruptly and subtly morphs into something much more sinister.
Reviews I have read indicate this book is metaphor for the US and the changes that have happened there since 9/11.
The book is entirely told in the first person. You never hear the voice of the American Changez is speaking to. You have no idea how they met or what brought them together. You don't know if Changez is good or bad and you don't know if the American is good or bad. The allegory works perfectly.
Hamid is originally from Lahore. He attended Princeton and worked briefly for a management consultancy in America. He now lives in London. One wonders how much of this is autobiographical.
Book Group Verdict: This was the second selection of the Waterstone's book group and probably my favourite of the two. More people read this book than the other I think largely because it was much shorter and took no more than a few days to get through it. It's not one of those books that you "like". It just makes you think. Which definitely means I recommend it. Thinking is good. As a result of the book group I increased my understanding of the content and will definitely re-read.
Changez is from Pakistan and honours his family by winning a scholarship to Harvard University. Upon graduating he is offered the top place at the premier management consultancy, Underwood Sampson. He excels by living and breathing his work. He falls in love with a woman, Erica, who does not, cannot reciprocate his love due to her history.
And then 9/11 happens and Changez's love affairs with America and Erica end. His place in the society abruptly and subtly morphs into something much more sinister.
Reviews I have read indicate this book is metaphor for the US and the changes that have happened there since 9/11.
The book is entirely told in the first person. You never hear the voice of the American Changez is speaking to. You have no idea how they met or what brought them together. You don't know if Changez is good or bad and you don't know if the American is good or bad. The allegory works perfectly.
Hamid is originally from Lahore. He attended Princeton and worked briefly for a management consultancy in America. He now lives in London. One wonders how much of this is autobiographical.
Book Group Verdict: This was the second selection of the Waterstone's book group and probably my favourite of the two. More people read this book than the other I think largely because it was much shorter and took no more than a few days to get through it. It's not one of those books that you "like". It just makes you think. Which definitely means I recommend it. Thinking is good. As a result of the book group I increased my understanding of the content and will definitely re-read.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
The Senator's Wife by Sue Miller
I liked this book. And then I hated this book. And then I liked this book.
Meri & Nathan move in next door to Delia & Tom. Tom is never around and by being exceedingly nosy, Meri discovers why. Meri is unhappy in her marriage for no good reason and wishes she was more like Delia. She betrays Delia in the most invasive way not once but twice despite Delia's attempts to be her friend.
Meri is a reprehensible character right up until the end of the book. I hated her whingeing, whining ways but she redeems herself somewhat in the last chapter. Delia is an understandable but sad picture of what it meant to be the wife of a successful senator with a roving eye in the 1960s. Tom is a pathetic, weak, vile man. You never really get to know Nathan. He skirts around the fringes of the novel without having an impact on any of the story.
The beginning reads like a mystery but this isn't really a mystery. Tom is having affairs. everyone knows he is. The middle irritated me so much I almost stopped reading. Why do women have to be portrayed as so weak. The ending was a complete surprise and I loved it because of the way it socks you in the gut. Meri did what?
This is not a pleasant story. I don't like what it says about woman and their relationships with each other. I don't like what is says about motherhood and our relationships with our children. But just because I don't like it doesn't mean it isn't true.
I recommend reading this book only if you have a strong stomach and aren't particularly emotionally fragile. If you are looking for a happy, uplifting read, look elsewhere.
Meri & Nathan move in next door to Delia & Tom. Tom is never around and by being exceedingly nosy, Meri discovers why. Meri is unhappy in her marriage for no good reason and wishes she was more like Delia. She betrays Delia in the most invasive way not once but twice despite Delia's attempts to be her friend.
Meri is a reprehensible character right up until the end of the book. I hated her whingeing, whining ways but she redeems herself somewhat in the last chapter. Delia is an understandable but sad picture of what it meant to be the wife of a successful senator with a roving eye in the 1960s. Tom is a pathetic, weak, vile man. You never really get to know Nathan. He skirts around the fringes of the novel without having an impact on any of the story.
The beginning reads like a mystery but this isn't really a mystery. Tom is having affairs. everyone knows he is. The middle irritated me so much I almost stopped reading. Why do women have to be portrayed as so weak. The ending was a complete surprise and I loved it because of the way it socks you in the gut. Meri did what?
This is not a pleasant story. I don't like what it says about woman and their relationships with each other. I don't like what is says about motherhood and our relationships with our children. But just because I don't like it doesn't mean it isn't true.
I recommend reading this book only if you have a strong stomach and aren't particularly emotionally fragile. If you are looking for a happy, uplifting read, look elsewhere.
Monday, 27 April 2009
Stonehenge
Besides jetting (or training) off to Paris we also did some sightseeing a bit closer to home.
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Paris 2009
I remember the very first time I went to Paris. I walked out of Gare du Nord and asked my travelling companion to pinch me. I asked her to do it again as we approached the Eiffel Tower. My love affair with Paris has never died. Although with a new family of 2 toddlers it isn't really the first choice of holiday destinations, my obsession with Paris had cooled.
My mother had never been to Paris and it was definitely on her bucket list of things to do in her lifetime. It seemed a logical conclusion then that after a few days at Disneyland we would move on over to the City of Lights.
And so we made our way to Paris via the RER (train). As we began the walk to our hotel I realised that one of the streets we were walking down was clearly a red light district as I hurried the children past the doors of establishments with women in their lingerie lounging about. Luckily the children didn't even notice. Well, not that first night anyway. Seb did ask a few nights later why those women always had their pajamas on and I left Marc to answer that one.
We checked in and once mom got over the shock of there not being an elevator in the hotel we set off for the short walk up to Sacre Coeur for the breath taking view. We had dinner at a lovely (if a little touristy) restaurant and sighed at Paris by night.
We fit in the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and the Arc de Triomphe the next day. We caught some staggering performances by street musicians.
We found an excellent guide to 12 Renaissance masters to help the children (and us) navigate the Louvre. The children loved looking for dogs and parrots and various assorted oddities in the paintings.
We enjoyed the sweet delights of Angelina's on the rue de Rivoli and watched a street protest of teachers. what is Paris without a protest march?
We savoured the culinary delights at the Grizzli Cafe as they tolerated our atrocious attempts at mastering the French language.
The children ran around the Pompidou Centre whilst we sat at an outdoor cafe drinking beers and cafe au lait (not together).
We only got grandma trapped in a turnstile once (which left a hideous bruise) and knocked her glasses off her face once (another wee bruise). Marc and I got off a metro without grandma and the children only once so we must try harder to lose them next time.
On the way home we met a mad French woman (who face painted Abigail) and a lovely Italian couple whilst we enjoyed some seriously smelly French cheese and baguette.
A trip full of a lifetime of memories!
My mother had never been to Paris and it was definitely on her bucket list of things to do in her lifetime. It seemed a logical conclusion then that after a few days at Disneyland we would move on over to the City of Lights.
And so we made our way to Paris via the RER (train). As we began the walk to our hotel I realised that one of the streets we were walking down was clearly a red light district as I hurried the children past the doors of establishments with women in their lingerie lounging about. Luckily the children didn't even notice. Well, not that first night anyway. Seb did ask a few nights later why those women always had their pajamas on and I left Marc to answer that one.
We checked in and once mom got over the shock of there not being an elevator in the hotel we set off for the short walk up to Sacre Coeur for the breath taking view. We had dinner at a lovely (if a little touristy) restaurant and sighed at Paris by night.
We fit in the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and the Arc de Triomphe the next day. We caught some staggering performances by street musicians.
We found an excellent guide to 12 Renaissance masters to help the children (and us) navigate the Louvre. The children loved looking for dogs and parrots and various assorted oddities in the paintings.
We enjoyed the sweet delights of Angelina's on the rue de Rivoli and watched a street protest of teachers. what is Paris without a protest march?
We savoured the culinary delights at the Grizzli Cafe as they tolerated our atrocious attempts at mastering the French language.
The children ran around the Pompidou Centre whilst we sat at an outdoor cafe drinking beers and cafe au lait (not together).
We only got grandma trapped in a turnstile once (which left a hideous bruise) and knocked her glasses off her face once (another wee bruise). Marc and I got off a metro without grandma and the children only once so we must try harder to lose them next time.
On the way home we met a mad French woman (who face painted Abigail) and a lovely Italian couple whilst we enjoyed some seriously smelly French cheese and baguette.
A trip full of a lifetime of memories!
The Girl With a Dragon Tatoo by Steig Larsson
I'm not much into the conspiracy theories. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe Marilyn had few too many drinks and pills and just wasn't all that happy. But I am not convinced that Steig Larsson is really dead.
Larsson is the author of The Girl With a Dragon Tattoo. This book is the first in a trilogy which Larsson delivered to his publisher and then promptly died "under suspicious circumstances". I knew this before I started reading the book and didn't really give it a second thought.
And then I read the book and now I am convinced it is all a conspiracy. Because the book makes you think everything is a conspiracy.
A journalist has been convicted of libel and forced to resign his position as editor of his own magazine. The patriarch of a wealthy family brings him in to find a family member who mysteriously disappeared 40 years ago. A young, troubled beautiful goth is going to help solve the mystery.
To say anymore would spoil the wonderful suspense.
Set in Sweden, the novel is chocker full of Scandanavian details. Mikael Blomqvist is the hero and an immensely likable character but he's not perfect. Lisbeth Salander is quite simply one of my favourite fictional characters I've ever discovered.
Whilst I saw some twists coming, the ending will shock and awe you. The writing pulls you along at a Grisham pace and the translation is very well done. Don't concern yourself too much with the Swedish place names; it doesn't really matter and has no material outcome to the story. Also, don't be frightened off by the size of the book. You read it so quickly you forget how long it is.
I had to keep track of all the characters being introduced on a separate sheet of paper particularly in the first several chapters. It is a big family and there is a lot going on.
So I am hoping that Larsson couldn't possibly be dead. He delivered these 3 perfectly formed novels (his first) and then disappeared off the face of the earth. Don't tell me I've only got 3 books of his to read. I don't believe it. Not for 1 second.
The second book has been published but only in hardback. Bring on the paperback!
Book Group Verdict: This was the first of one of two choices by my Waterstone's book group which just started last month. This is a serious(ish) book group. We talked about the books and everyone reads at least one of the books. The people who read this selection agreed that the first 100 pages or so jump around a bit and is a bit difficult to follow. Most agreed it was a fabulous start to the trilogy. Only one person didn't enjoy it but I couldn't quite understand her reasons.
Larsson is the author of The Girl With a Dragon Tattoo. This book is the first in a trilogy which Larsson delivered to his publisher and then promptly died "under suspicious circumstances". I knew this before I started reading the book and didn't really give it a second thought.
And then I read the book and now I am convinced it is all a conspiracy. Because the book makes you think everything is a conspiracy.
A journalist has been convicted of libel and forced to resign his position as editor of his own magazine. The patriarch of a wealthy family brings him in to find a family member who mysteriously disappeared 40 years ago. A young, troubled beautiful goth is going to help solve the mystery.
To say anymore would spoil the wonderful suspense.
Set in Sweden, the novel is chocker full of Scandanavian details. Mikael Blomqvist is the hero and an immensely likable character but he's not perfect. Lisbeth Salander is quite simply one of my favourite fictional characters I've ever discovered.
Whilst I saw some twists coming, the ending will shock and awe you. The writing pulls you along at a Grisham pace and the translation is very well done. Don't concern yourself too much with the Swedish place names; it doesn't really matter and has no material outcome to the story. Also, don't be frightened off by the size of the book. You read it so quickly you forget how long it is.
I had to keep track of all the characters being introduced on a separate sheet of paper particularly in the first several chapters. It is a big family and there is a lot going on.
So I am hoping that Larsson couldn't possibly be dead. He delivered these 3 perfectly formed novels (his first) and then disappeared off the face of the earth. Don't tell me I've only got 3 books of his to read. I don't believe it. Not for 1 second.
The second book has been published but only in hardback. Bring on the paperback!
Book Group Verdict: This was the first of one of two choices by my Waterstone's book group which just started last month. This is a serious(ish) book group. We talked about the books and everyone reads at least one of the books. The people who read this selection agreed that the first 100 pages or so jump around a bit and is a bit difficult to follow. Most agreed it was a fabulous start to the trilogy. Only one person didn't enjoy it but I couldn't quite understand her reasons.
Saturday, 25 April 2009
Disneyland 2009
I have finally found some time (or stopped running about at 100 mph) long enough to get some photos from our trip to Disneyland loaded for all to enjoy. We had a great time!
Abigail was so excited so just bounced up and down all day and night. Sebastian was really into riding the rides. Except for Big Thunder Mountain which we accidentally took both children on (in the last 2 cars) with not a single adult realising until it was too late just what a big scary rollercoaster it is. I think I might have put them off riding roller coasters for the rest of their lives.
My favourite part of the day was the parade. The first day we didn't quite know what to expect and didn't have very good seats. But the second day we knew what we were doing and had fabulous seats.
Abigail's favourite was Small World. She must have went round 10 times. She would get to the end and immediately want to go again. That song played over and over in my head for days.
Sebastian's favourite was a tie between Star Tours and Buzz Lightyear Laser. Star tours was an amazing outer space flight simulation. I just pretended I was Princess Leia and kept looking out for Hans Solo. Marc and Sebastian were really good at the laser game but my other, abigail and I were hopeless. The boys were scoring in the 5 digits whilst we were just happy to score above 2000.
Marc's favourite was the Big Thunder Mountain despite the fact that Abigail was frightened to death and Sebastian was white as a ghost.
Mom says she was just happy to be anywhere with us.
The weather was divine. Sunshine and blue skies graced us every day. Who would have thought I would need to bring sun block and that we didn't need our winter coats?
Abigail was so excited so just bounced up and down all day and night. Sebastian was really into riding the rides. Except for Big Thunder Mountain which we accidentally took both children on (in the last 2 cars) with not a single adult realising until it was too late just what a big scary rollercoaster it is. I think I might have put them off riding roller coasters for the rest of their lives.
My favourite part of the day was the parade. The first day we didn't quite know what to expect and didn't have very good seats. But the second day we knew what we were doing and had fabulous seats.
Abigail's favourite was Small World. She must have went round 10 times. She would get to the end and immediately want to go again. That song played over and over in my head for days.
Sebastian's favourite was a tie between Star Tours and Buzz Lightyear Laser. Star tours was an amazing outer space flight simulation. I just pretended I was Princess Leia and kept looking out for Hans Solo. Marc and Sebastian were really good at the laser game but my other, abigail and I were hopeless. The boys were scoring in the 5 digits whilst we were just happy to score above 2000.
Marc's favourite was the Big Thunder Mountain despite the fact that Abigail was frightened to death and Sebastian was white as a ghost.
Mom says she was just happy to be anywhere with us.
The weather was divine. Sunshine and blue skies graced us every day. Who would have thought I would need to bring sun block and that we didn't need our winter coats?
Saturday, 18 April 2009
Sunday, 5 April 2009
Journey to France
I'm not even sure where to start.....so I'll start at the very beginning.
Once upon a time.....no wait that will take too much time. OK, I will stick to the highlights and some low lights.
Day 1
We set off in a taxi from home to Heathrow Terminal 5 with a plan to catch the underground there to St Panscras station in London where we were due to hop on the EuroStar bound for Paris. We managed to pack gear for 3 adults and 2 children in 2 large suitcases, very large. Then we had the assorted camera bag, handbags, briefcases (with laptops and required reading, Abigail's Dora the Explorer pull along and Sebastian's elephant backpack with Nintendo DS lite bits and bobs. Not as light as I would have hoped but the best we could manage for a 6 day trip.
We reached Gare du Nord and bought what we thought were the appropriate tickets to Marnee de Vallee (the end of the line and location of the famed Disneyland). After an hour tube journey out to the back of beyond Paris we had just the final leg to go. We got to the gates, put in our tickets and it wouldn't let us out. We had purchased the wrong tickets. It was late on Sunday night and the station was abandoned. Marc pushed the red button fro assistance and the gate opened and he and the children went through. My mother made a mad dash for it and only made it halfway. The gates closed and trapped her. I began frantically pushing the red assistance button and the french went right out of my head as I was trying to explain that my mother was trapped, my husband and children were on the other side of the gate and we didn't have the right ticket.
As if by magic the gates opened again, releasing my mother and allowing me to pass through. Phew!
We stood on the street looking round the ghost town that was the location of our hotel. We were staying at the Adagio Apartments off the Disneyland Park and it would appear that no one cared. After several increasingly frantic moments my mother hailed us a small taxi. We crammed in the luggage and ourselves and after just 5 minutes we were relieved of an extortionate fee for the taxi but hey, we were at our humble abode for the next 3 days.
We grabbed a bit to eat in the shopping precinct next door and settled in for the excitement of Disneyland Paris tomorrow!
Monday, 23 March 2009
Dancing in the Station
At the train station in Liverpool, T-Mobile (a UK mobile phone company) did this great commercial unbeknownst to the daily commuters. They practiced for 8 weeks late at night at the station. On January 15th, 2009, with hidden cameras and 400 dancers at 11:00 a.m. their plan was put into action.
Wish I had been there!
Wish I had been there!
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Daffodowndilly
She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
"Winter is dead."
- A.A. Milne
Thursday, 19 March 2009
When I Grow Up
After it was graded and the child brought it home, she returned to school the next day with the following note:
Dear Ms. Davis,
I want to be very clear on my child's illustration. It is NOT of me on a dance pole on a stage in a strip joint. I work at Home Depot and had commented to my daughter how much money we made in the recent snowstorm. This photo is of me selling a shovel.
Mrs. Warrington
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Channeling Free Speech
I am a fan a free speech. It is a basic tenet of freedom and many people today are living in countries where free speech is a right denied.
But should there be limits?
Yesterday a few protesters appeared at a homecoming parade given to honour the British soldiers who have fought in Afghanistan. The protest was limited to just a few and I hope the cheers of the hundreds drowned out the jeers of the few.
Soldiers are following orders and display tremendous courage under the most difficult of circumstances. They are far from home, away from their families and friends. Their lives have been under threat every single minute of every single day they were away.
There are appropriate means in which to protest a war. There are places to go to demonstrate your dissatisfaction with the current policy. There are politicians to write to. There is a better way to exercise your freedom of speech.
This is not it.
Today, a similar march took place without incident. Thank goodness. I would hate for these men and women to think for one second that we don't appreciate every thing they do to ensure more people can enjoy the freedom of speech.
But should there be limits?
Yesterday a few protesters appeared at a homecoming parade given to honour the British soldiers who have fought in Afghanistan. The protest was limited to just a few and I hope the cheers of the hundreds drowned out the jeers of the few.
Soldiers are following orders and display tremendous courage under the most difficult of circumstances. They are far from home, away from their families and friends. Their lives have been under threat every single minute of every single day they were away.
There are appropriate means in which to protest a war. There are places to go to demonstrate your dissatisfaction with the current policy. There are politicians to write to. There is a better way to exercise your freedom of speech.
This is not it.
Today, a similar march took place without incident. Thank goodness. I would hate for these men and women to think for one second that we don't appreciate every thing they do to ensure more people can enjoy the freedom of speech.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Mother of a Chorister
Before he went to bed, Sebastian insisted I promise to post to my blog the announcement that he has been offered a place as a Probationary Chorister beginning in September 2009 and let everyone know that I am now the mother of a chorister.
He is rightfully quite excited about his achievement and I couldn't be more proud. He displayed more composure than his mother did during the daunting experience and he can hardly wait to get started. I, on the other hand, will be savouring every moment we have together between now and then. I suppose that's what parenting is all about.
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Audition
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)