Tomorrow is my baby’s ninth birthday. NINE, People! I can hardly believe it.
She and Daddy were sitting together the other day, and I was sitting across from them. As I looked at her I realized that I don’t see my baby anymore – she’s crossed firmly into big girl territory.
She loves faeries, mermaids and princesses. Her favorite color is purple and she loves chocoate (duh! She’s MY kid!). She is an extremely tactile person and needs to touch things to learn about them. She is kind and loving, rambunctious and crazy, and even though she drives me to the brink sometimes, I love her with an intensity that sometimes frightens me.
Happy Nine, Punkin Pie. Thanks for choosing me to be your mom!
…but I have to admit to loving Barbara Kingsolver. In The Poisonwood Bible, she has created a character whom I hate, loathe, abhore and despise. Nathan Price is an ignorant, arrogant, self-righteous bastard of a zealot, and Kingsolver has crafted his character with such detail and nuance that I just want to reach into the pages and adjust the man with a frying pan upside the head.
It’s a strange sort of delight I’m taking in this book: I really do hate Price, and I’m furious and frustrated with Orleanna, his wife, for allowing herself and her children to be ruled by this man who cares more for his own self-image and the sound of his own voice than he does for the welfare of his family (though he has convinced himself that he is on God’s own path and that glory will be his. Please). It’s almost difficult to read the book, but I recognize that my intense feelings are evidence of the skill of the author and my investment in the story.
The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s apathy, and I am anything but apathetic about these characters.
(the image on this post is of John Stauffacher, Missionary to the Belgian Congo in the early 1900’s. I came up with his photo when I Googled “missionary, Congo.” Perhaps not strangely, he has precisely the same severe, dour look I would expect Nathan Price to have.)
Today is my husband’s birthday. For the occasion, I’m going to give you a little list, composed on the fly, to give you an idea of what I’m dealing with, here.
If you ask, he’ll tell you he’s twenty-two without a hint of shame and without skipping a beat.
He can sing the first line of pretty much any show tune. But only the first line.
He loves to get me cranked up in the morning by singing some TERRIBLE seventies tune – the latest impliment of torture is “Copa Cabana” by Barry Manilow – that gets stuck in my head and won’t come out until he implants something equally insidious and maddening (Gloria Gaynor, anyone?).
His hobbies include tickling his daughters, stunt-kite flying, baseball-watching and roller-coaster riding (which, thankfully, he has a twin brother to accompany him, because I sure as hell ain’t gettin’ on THAT!)
He can quote from The Hunt for Red October for pretty much ANY occasion.
He has a penchant for German cars, Italian sunglasses and British food. Go figure.
The girls and I love him to the ends of the earth. Happy birthday, Daddy!
I’m not really wild about baseball but, because I AM wild about my husband, I sit through Red Sox games with him.
Despite my lack of real affection for the national pastime (I’m a football gal at heart), I do have to profess a love for David Oritz. You’ve got to respect a man who hits that hard – of course, he kind of has to hit that hard because, well, the man can’t run worth a damn – but he certainly brings in the runs.
Does anyone know what this little creature is?
S/he’s been coming out from the narrow strip of woods that separates the houses on my street from the houses on the cul-de-sac behind us and has been hanging out in my yard quite a bit lately, despite the fact that I have four cats (some lawn lions THEY are!). S/he seems to love the tall grass cover (landscaping hasn’t been high on the priority list lately) and munching dandilions and a particular variety of something that I’ve yet to identify but that seems to grow well in the yard.
As best as I can tell, s/he’s not a beaver; though we live near-ish to a pond, the tail doesn’t seem significant enough to indicate beaverism. Is s/he a woodchuck? A groundhog? Anyone?
Major accolades are coming you way very soon, possibly today — prepare a humble acceptance speech just in case. Those in power have been aware of your accomplishments for a while and are almost ready to act. Emotionally, you’re on a high that will last a while, buoyed in part by all the positive attention you’re getting. Enjoy all the rewards you’ve earned — no one knows the true lengths you went to so that you could reach this milestone.
I just finished Middlesex this afternoon. While I enjoyed the book, I’m not sure it would make my all-time favorites list. I think I would have liked a more satisfying ending. I would recommend it for the prose and the fun story line, just be aware that, much like the complexity of the story itself, the ending is not neat and tidy.
Anyway, I’m eyeing my stack of books and I need some help deciding which I should get to next. Given my general mood, here are the choices I’m considering:
Cold Mountain. Seen the movie, liked it well enough but was told that the book is FAR better.
The Poisonwood Bibles. I don’t really know much about this book at all except that there was a fair bit of favorable buzz about it a year or two ago.
Kite Runner. I’ve read the first six or so pages of this – I picked it up while the kids in school were having a “reading day” and I’d forgotten my book at home. This is another one that generated some seriously good buzz.
Any suggestions on which it should be?