7/30/10

Fiction Friday, Curve Ball Chapter 7

The suspense is thickening! I hope…

Curve Ball

Chapter Seven

The police officers were careful not to touch the vehicle, but they searched the area around it. One cop took pictures of the graffiti then went knocking on neighbors’ doors. A second took information for the report.

“Your mechanic was expected to come and take your tire and the spare to fix them. What time?”

“I don’t know. We left here about one o’clock or so. I can call and ask her when she got here.” Cami started toward the house.

“Miss, please don’t enter the residence yet.”

“But I need to call my friend!” She could hear the near hysteria in her own voice.

“Use my cell.” Grant handed her the phone. With shaking fingers, she keyed in Meredith’s home number.

“Oh, Mare.” She couldn’t say any more.

“Are you all right? Did Grant hurt you? I’ll…”

“No, I’m fine.” Cami found her voice. “We’re back at my house. My car… Meredith, when did you come fix the tires?”

“I sent my shop foreman over around three. What’s wrong?”

“Can you call him? The police need to talk to him.”

“The police? Cami, what happened?”

“Someone vandalized my car. They spray painted the word ‘why’ on it.” Her voice shook but she kept talking. “That’s what I want to know. Why would anyone do that?”

“I’ll call Tony right now. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

True to her word, Meredith and her foreman arrived shortly. After hasty introductions, an officer questioned them. The police had taken Cami’s keys and searched the house. Grant waited with her in the front yard. The officers brought Petey out and he whined joyfully to see Cami again. She called and he ran to her, rear end waggling with delight.

“Oh, Petey.” She buried her face in his neck, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. The dog squirmed from her grasp and eyed Grant.

When the officer finished questioning Meredith and her foreman, the trio approached Cami and Grant. Cami reached out to Meredith who put an arm around Cami’s shoulders and held her close.

“According to the mechanic, he left at four o’clock and everything was in place. He repaired both tires, put the original on the car, and the spare in the vehicle. None of the neighbors saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. We’ll take fingerprints and that’ll be all for tonight.”

“Will you be able to find out who did this?” Grant asked.

“Most likely it was random vandalism against the SUV. There have been incidents in both San Diego and Orange counties. A dealership in Anaheim had several cars painted and scratched up one night. My guess is the same thing happened here.”

“I… I don’t think so.” Cami spoke up. “I think it was directed at me personally. Some strange things have happened lately. I keep telling myself it’s nothing, but now I’m not sure.”

“What’s happened?” asked the officer.

“Random things. Hang up phone calls. Petey found a baseball mitt in the yard a week or so ago. Someone must have dropped it over the fence. I thought a car was following me a few days ago. Yesterday, I found a stuffed bear on my porch.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Meredith asked.

“When did the calls start?” Grant spoke at the same time.

“I don’t know. And I don’t know.” She answered them both.

Meredith wrapped her in a hug. Grant raised his hand as if he wanted to do the same, but in the end stood there and looked at them.

“This vandalism is consistent with a random act.” The officer’s terseness didn’t help her nerves.

Cami swallowed a sob. “Who did this? Why?” She fought to maintain her composure, everything overwhelmed her and the tears spilled. Meredith led her away from the men and made her sit on the edge of the steps. Grant followed, hands in his pockets.

“You can go now,” Cami said to him. “Meredith is here.”

“I’m not leaving.” He gave her an amazed look. “I’m here to help. What do you need?”

She sighed raggedly. “I can’t think of anything.” She didn’t want to deal with him. Or anything. She wanted to curl up in bed and let sleep obliterate this terrible night.

“Can you go in the kitchen and make some hot tea?” Meredith asked. “A kettle’s on the stove with tea bags in the cupboard above.” Cami needed something warm to hold onto and she nodded, hoping Grant would go.

He disappeared into the house.

“He wants to do something.” Meredith sat beside her. “Except for the coming home part, how was your day?”

Cami pushed her hair behind her ears. “I… I don’t know. Fun, I think. I don’t remember now.”

“Do you really think someone is targeting you?”

“No!” She forced calmness into her voice. “I mean, no. Maybe. I don’t want to believe it, but right now I think I do.”

They sat in silence. Meredith kept an arm around Cami, who forced herself to be still. Petey flopped down on the ground in front of them and sighed.

Grant returned with three steaming mugs. As Cami sipped the hot liquid, the shivers and anxiety subsided.

“What am I going to do? I can’t drive that around town, to my jobs.”

Grant cleared his throat. “Borrow my car. I can take yours to a body shop tomorrow.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.” Cami shook her head. “If it wasn’t random, I couldn’t risk any damage to your Corvette.”

“I have a second car. A Volvo wagon. Boring, but inconspicuous. I’ll drive the ‘Vette home, and bring the Volvo back first thing in the morning. Then I’ll bring your car to the shop and someone can drop me off at the stadium for practice.”

“That is sweet, but I couldn’t.”

He appealed to Meredith. “Talk sense into her, please.”

“Cami, it’s a good plan. If this was deliberate, then driving a different car for a few days is smart. And if it wasn’t, then this is a simple way to have transportation until the Tahoe is ready.”

She opened her mouth to refuse once again until she saw Grant’s expression. Concern furrowed his brow and his eyes bored into hers. She sent a prayer heavenward. God, what should I do?

“Thank you,” she heard herself say.

Grant moved toward his car. “I’ll be here about seven o’clock. Is that early enough for you to get to work on time?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of her tea, now lukewarm, and let Meredith lead her into the house as Grant drove away. Cami stood at the door, watching the taillights disappear.

The trees in the park across the street cast moon shadows over the swings and slide. Was one of the shadows moving? She looked closer, leaning into her gaze. Everything was still. Must be an overactive imagination. She shrugged and followed Meredith into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I told you to go with him today.” Meredith rinsed out her mug and placed it in the dishwasher.

“Why?”

“You were right, it’s too soon. You’re not ready.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Hearing her own doubts voiced by her friend triggered a defense of him. She opened her mouth to continue but closed it. An urge to scream with helplessness weighed her down, followed by a wave of weariness.

“I know it’s not his fault,” Meredith said. “But with all this weird stuff going on, maybe you should back off.”

“I don’t want to.” Cami almost looked over her shoulder to see who had spoken.

“Really?” Meredith’s skepticism was plain.

“I’m sure.” And she was.

The next morning, Cami dressed in her paint-stained jeans and a clean top. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and she couldn’t button the denim shirt that completed her usual work outfit. She had laced up her formerly white Keds when Grant pulled up in a tan Volvo. Inconspicuous, as promised.

“Good morning,” Grant said as she met him on the front porch. “I’ve brought bagels and schmears. I figured you probably didn’t eat anything.”

“You’re right. I’ve got a rock in my stomach.”

“Let me toast one and you try to eat as much as you can.”

“Come on in the kitchen.” Cami led him through the living room. Petey’s tail thumped against the floor as he recognized Grant.

“Hey, boy. What went on here yesterday when we were gone? Did you throw a wild party?”

Petey agreed with a sigh. Grant scratched the dog’s stomach a moment then rose to look for the toaster. Cami sat at the small table and pointed out the utensils.

Grant sliced the bagels and started them toasting. He turned the stove on under the kettle and turned back to her. “Did you sleep?”

“Not much. An hour, maybe two. Meredith stayed with me for awhile.”

“What time do you get off work?”

“I finish at the shop by three. But Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I teach at the rec center.”

“I have to be at the ball park at noon. I’ll probably be there the rest of the day. I’ll take your car to the shop first thing though.”

“Thank you.”

“Tomorrow is the season opener.” He opened two tea bags and set them inside the mugs he’d taken from the cupboard. “My family is going to be there. I’d like you to come, too.”

“That’s a special day. You should spend it with them.”

He turned and faced her. “Haven’t you realized I think you’re special, too? I’m only sorry it’s taken us eight years to get reacquainted. And that it has to be at the beginning of my busiest time of work.”

Her eyes filled and she twisted away, trying to dash them off before Grant noticed. He seemed to sense her dismay and turned to the bagels. She forced herself to speak, to explain.

“Grant. I’m sorry. The tears aren’t because….” Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath and started again. “I’m amazed at how comfortable I am with you in such a short time. But I haven’t dated much in the last couple of years. I need to take things slowly. I do want to continue to see you as often as we can when you’re in town.”

The toaster popped and he plucked the two halves out then spread them with cream cheese.

“I’ve spent eight years waiting. And now that I’ve found you, I’m in a hurry to get to know everything about you. But I’ll be on the road a lot. So we’ve got six months to take things slowly. When I’m in town though, I’d like to see you.”

“I’d like that, too.”

“Will you come to the game tomorrow? I’ll be leaving Friday for ten days.”

“I don’t know…” her voice trailed off. “I need to get to work.”

“Here.” Grant handed her a bagel. “Eat this on the way. I’ll call you tonight and you can let me know. I’d love you to be there. But if you’d rather not, I understand. My family usually goes out for dinner after the game. I need to make an appearance at the team opening party. But I only have to stay a short time. Then we could meet up with everyone. Or not. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Cami took a bite of the bagel. Crunchy, chewy, and creamy filled her mouth. She swallowed. “I’ll think about it.” She tore off a piece and offered it to Petey before heading out to the borrowed Volvo.

She led their two-car convoy to the coffee shop, parking behind the café on Pacific Coast Highway, the thoroughfare connecting all the little beach towns. She waved good-bye at Grant in the Tahoe. He honked before returning her wave and driving past.

Painting kept her hands busy all day but her mind replayed Grant’s words. Had he really waited eight years for her?

At two o’clock, she started cleaning brushes and the Three Musketeers of Woodrow Wilson High arrived at the shop.

“Hey, Miss Henderson.” Kyle leaned against the counter, watching her snap lids on the plastic tubs of mixed glazes and tints.

“Hi. How was school?”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Anthony and Tara joined them. “It’s looking great in here, Miss Henderson,” Tara said.

“It’s coming along. I hope to finish tomorrow.” Cami surveyed the swirls and whorls in the plaster walls and leaned in for a closer look. “I need to dry brush some of these raised areas.”

Tara ran her hand over the wall behind the counter. “It’s so beautiful. It really looks old.”

“That’s the idea.” Cami smiled.

“I wonder…” Tara’s voice trailed off.

“What?”

“We’ve got to come up with some ideas to pitch at the school newspaper meeting later. I wonder if something about your painting would be interesting?”

“I doubt it. What are some of your other ideas?”

“That’s the problem.” Anthony joined the conversation. “We don’t have any.”

“I had a few,” Tara protested.

“ ‘Fashion tips’ is not an article. It’s just … well, tips,” Anthony said. “And the prom article is only going to be interesting to girls.”

Tara appealed to Cami. “I suggested a profile of all we do to get ready for prom. Choosing a dress, coordinating flowers, getting your hair done. What do you think?”

“It’s been too long since I went to a prom,” Cami said. “And I don’t do anything with my hair except wash it and put it in a ponytail to keep it out of the paint. I’m no help.”

“Can you give us any ideas at all?” Anthony asked.

“Have you looked at the Agua Vida Courier? What kind of stories are they doing?” Cami asked.

“How about a series on where the cafeteria gets its meat and produce?” Kyle asked.

“Every year, every paper in every school in every district in the state tries that one,” said Tara. “Let’s do something original.”

Cami saw Anthony open his mouth then close it.

“Anthony, did you have an idea?” she asked.

“Well, maybe,” he said. “I thought of something like a ‘Roaming Reporter’ feature thing. You know, where we ask kids at random for their thoughts. We could do it on gas guzzling SUV’s and get reactions about smog and the environment.”

Cami’s hands stopped shaping brush tips and she gave Anthony her full attention.

“That’s an interesting idea. What made you think of it?”

“I was watching the news last week and they did a story about a car dealer in Anaheim who had some SUV’s vandalized.”

“What do the rest of you think?” Cami watched the expressions on the others.

Kyle shrugged.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Tara said. All the faces were guileless.

“Hmmm. Well, I should probably tell you my Tahoe was vandalized yesterday so I don’t think I’m the right one to ask if that’s a good idea or not.”

“Oh, no!”

“What happened?”

“Not your beautiful Tahoe!” A chorus rose in outrage.

Cami held up a hand to stop the torrent.

“It happened when I was out last night. The car was in my driveway but no one saw anything. The police think it was a random act of vandalism against SUVs in general.”

They looked so crestfallen, she had to smile. “It’ll be okay. The Tahoe’s in the body shop.”

“So SUV vandalism is topical,” Anthony said.

“It is to me. Whether the readership of the school paper will think so, I don’t know. You should ask your advisor.”

The kids left a great deal more quietly than they’d arrived. Through the front window, Cami watched them pile into the Jeep. Anthony drove, looking for cross traffic before leaving the parking lot. She never thought about a student being behind the vandalism, but now she watched them and wondered.

7/28/10

Woe! It’s Wednesday…

I’m feeling a bit melancholy today.

It’s my sister’s birthday and no one knows if she’s speaking to us or not. She never returns calls or responds to messages/texts/smoke signals. When someone does find her, she insists she’s fine. It’s pretty obvious she’s not, but I don’t know what or how to “fix” it. I sent a card. I’ll try to call in a bit. I don’t expect either to be welcomed.

My daughter has a big birthday coming up. She’s going after her dreams and that’s exciting. I’m very proud of her and love her lots. I want her to be happy and to have everything her heart desires. At the same time,  we believe God is sovereign and He sometimes withholds things we think we want because He has something even better in store. It just gets hard to wait and trust.

There are some other strained family relationships just now, and occasions like birthdays, graduations, really any kind of celebration, brings all that angst to the foreground. And if the dozen funerals I’ve attended in the last ten months have shown me anything, it’s that we can’t take tomorrow for granted.

I let my domain name, carriepadgett.com, expire and some other Carrie Padgett snapped it up. Carriepadgett.net is still available though.

In the last 24 hours, my friend’s daughter was robbed at gunpoint, another friend was in a car accident (she’s okay), my brother’s adopted baby is beginning to move down the birth canal and preparing to make her entrance, and my dog got to go for a ride in the car. He loves it and doesn’t get to very often, so it was an unexpected treat for him. 

Life is full of surprises. Some good. Others, not so much.

My point is, we may not get a chance to change things, to make amends, to say “I’m sorry,” or “I love you,” or “I’ve missed you.”

Don’t let your day be full of regrets and wondering ‘what if.’

I’m preaching to myself now, but the problem is, I can see the issues, I just don’t know how to fix them. I can’t force prideful and selfish people to see things from another’s point of view. I can’t take someone else’s burdens from their shoulders.

All I can do is listen, pray, ask questions, and hope.

Time to make a phone call…

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Today, I’m praying for: DJ and that dratted Bar exam, Marissa, Shawna, and Bob.

Currently reading: The Homecoming by Dan Walsh

Last movie: The Object of My Affections – missed it when it was new and caught it on TV. There’s a reason I didn’t bother to see it before now.

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7/27/10

Book Talk Tuesday

One of my favorite general market mystery authors is Margaret Maron.

She has two series, but is currently only writing the Judge Deborah Knott series.

I love Maron for lots of reasons.

1) She’s a lovely person, kind, and generous and thoughtful.

2) She breaks some of the writing “rules” and it works!

3) She knows her characters inside and out. They will never do something that isn’t in their makeup or without a compelling reason.

I was fortunate to be able to drive Ms. Maron around Fresno when she visited here in 2004. I got some one on one time with her and she’s all that I said above, plus some.

The How-to-Write-Fiction books give rules, such as:

  • Don’t have sprawling family trees because readers can’t keep track of that many characters.
  • Don’t have elderly characters because you might have to kill them off as time progresses and readers hate that.

Maron breaks both of those rules and her readers love her for that. Deborah is the only daughter of Kezzie Knott, a former bootlegger in North Carolina. Deborah has eleven older brothers. Thankfully, only a few of them live close by. And each book includes a family tree for easy reference. Kezzie is elderly and would be long gone if literary time kept pace with real time. But that’s the beauty of fiction: it doesn’t have to! The books move ahead nicely, but are now several years behind “real” time, so Mr. Kezzie is safe for quite a while longer.

Another popular author has lost credibility with me because of her lead character’s propensity for going into dangerous situations, knowing she shouldn’t. But she does it anyway.

The only time Deborah knowingly puts herself in danger, it’s because she really has no choice. Someone else’s safety is on the line. If Deborah is in a life or death situation, she doesn’t just blithely walk in, telling herself she’ll be fine even though the basement is dark, there are strange noises and she’s only armed with a rolling pin.

The first book in the series is Bootlegger’s Daughter. And they only get better.

7/23/10

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball Chapter 6

Last week got away from me and before I knew it, Friday had come and gone with nothing from Cami.

I’ll try not to let it happen again!

 

Curve Ball, Chapter 6

 

The three middle-aged women enjoying laser tag are based on my friends Barbara, Monica, and me when we tried it. We had a blast, just like these women.

 

Chapter Six

Paths wound through a maze. Cami made her way along, going slow until her eyes adjusted.

“What do I do now?” She twisted her head to ask Grant, but no one was there. Her harness vibrated. “What was that?” She heard a giggle and searched for its source. The kid from inside disappeared around a corner. All righty then.

She followed, expecting to find the child hiding, but saw only another corner. Disembodied hands and faces appeared briefly and she felt another vibration. How were they doing that? She raised the laser gun and pulled the trigger in the direction of the shadows up ahead. Oh, a tone. She must have hit someone. Hmmm.

She turned another corner and found a ramp. She moved up to the landing and paused. Vibration again. Who was getting her? Where were they? She peered over the side and took aim at someone slinking along the edges below. Tone and a hit. Yes.

She leaned around the side of the landing and checked out what was ahead. More mazes. She dashed up but another tremor hit the harness. She whirled around and pulled her trigger, aiming at nothing and everything.

“Man. You got me.” The kid was on the lower level.

“I told you I would,” she called over her shoulder as she continued up the ramp. “You said you were going to get me, too.” Grant appeared in front of her.

She swung her weapon up, took careful aim at his chest and was rewarded with a tone. “I believe I just did. Darn it. Where are you?” She whirled and headed down the ramp in pursuit of the youngster who kept getting bull’s-eyes at her expense. Grant’s chuckle trailed behind.

Time in the maze passed in a blur of laughter. When the lights came on and the laser guns quit firing, Cami was breathing hard and grinning. She followed the yellow arrows painted on the floor and returned to the equipment room.

The middle-aged women were already back, hanging up their vests and guns, giggling and talking as fast as the young people.

“You’re pretty good.” The youngster wriggled out of his harness and held up a hand for a high five.

“So are you.” She slapped his palm and exchanged glances with Grant who had entered. “What now?”

“We wait outside for the computer to spit out our scores and rankings.” He hung his gear on its peg and guided her through the door where the rest of their group milled around. The clerk emerged from behind the counter and began calling out names.

“The winner of this round with 16,570 points is Slugger.” A cheer rose as Grant bowed and accepted his scorecard.

“Second place goes to IceMan, and third is Skywalker.” A crowd formed as all the players waited to retrieve their scores. Hammer was called and Cami moved to center to accept her due.

“9,380,” she said to Grant. “Is that good?”

“Not bad at all, especially for a first timer.” He pointed to the bottom of the card. “This says how many shots you took, how many hit, and your shot to hit ratio. You ranked eighteenth out of twenty-four, with thirty percent of your shots hitting a target.” He grinned at her. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I really did.” She smiled back. “Thank you.”

“Let’s move on to the next challenge. Miniature golf.”

After collecting their equipment, they spent an hour sending golf balls toward castles, windmills, and other obstacles. Being evenly matched, they finished within a few strokes of each other.

“Well, shoot howdy, Miss Artist Lady, I guess we’ll have to have a rematch one of these here days right soon,” Grant said as they returned the putters to Anita. “Can I buy you a sarsaparilla?”

“I’d love one. And I want to challenge you to a round of Skee Ball in the arcade.”

After the arcade, they shared a pizza with Anita. Cami watched Grant talk with his old friend, impressed with his ability to make anyone feel at ease. She had long forgotten that he was famous. Some boys in the arcade recognized him so he spent twenty minutes signing autographs and giving batting tips. The smile never left his face and he seemed to enjoy it as much as the kids.

Cami sat at the counter and visited with Anita while Grant talked with his fans.

“He’s a nice man,” Anita said, following Cami’s gaze.

“Yes, he is.”

“I pray for him all the time.”

“You do?”

“It breaks my heart and it would kill his grandfather. If he weren’t already dead, of course.”

“What would?”

“The way Grant seems to feel that his talent has gotten him this far in baseball. He’s forgotten that his abilities are gifts. And we’re supposed to be thankful for gifts.”

“He isn’t grateful?”

“Well, he appreciates that he can throw a ball and run fast, but he takes it for granted. He thinks all he has to do is work hard and have a positive attitude. God is going to get his attention one day. I pray for it and dread it at the same time.”

Grant waved goodbye to the last fan and returned to Cami and Anita.

“It’s been fun, but I have colors to mix before work tomorrow,” Cami said. “I need to be getting home.”

“You come again anytime,” Anita said. “And don’t wait for Slugger here to bring you.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m not sure I do.” Grant looked from Anita to Cami. “What have you two been talking about?”

“Just chatting,” Anita said. “Drive carefully. Cami, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

It was dark when Cami and Grant took the Agua Vida off ramp.

“I haven’t had so much fun in ages,” she said. “Thank you for a wonderful day. And I love Anita. She has a real soft spot for you.”

“She’s great,” he agreed. “I wish I could do more for her than visit once in a while.”

“What does she need?”

“It’s tough to be self-employed nowadays.”

She chuckled. “You don’t say? Really?”

“I’m preaching to the choir, I take it.”

“We formed our support group for a reason. Do you think Anita would like to visit us sometime? Maybe get some marketing ideas?”

He glanced at her. “You’d invite her? To your young women’s network?”

“They’d love her, too.” Cami paused, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “They may have younger viewpoints, but we all see the value of knowing what works and what doesn’t for other businesswomen. Anita could bring a more mature perspective.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “I’ll call her before our next meeting.”

“Thank you,” he said, making the turn onto her street. “I hope Meredith took care of everything.”

“I’m sure she did.”

As Grant pulled into her driveway, the headlights illuminated the driver’s side of Cami’s vehicle.

She saw it a split second before he did. It took a moment for her brain to process what her eyes were seeing.

One word had been spray-painted in bold strokes, the red letters harsh against her navy blue Tahoe. WHY?

7/21/10

Woe! It’s Wednesday

 

Today will be a bit different. Instead of a rant, I’m going to share a real woe.

My “aunt” Gloria Miller died last week. I put the aunt in quotes because she was technically my step-aunt. My mother married Gloria’s brother when I was 9 years old. I had a sister and two brothers.

Some of the family looked at us askance. Who was this woman with her four kids and did she think she’d found a man who would support her and those children?

I’m sure Mom was snubbed and questioned and doubted. Forty-two years later, I think most people realize Mom wasn’t a gold-digger (or worse) and theirs is a love-match.

Aunt Gloria treated us kids like her “real” nieces and nephews.

When our family moved from the Bay Area to the Central Valley, she and Uncle Keith helped Dad find a job and us find a home. She let me stay with them when the family went out of town and I needed to stay home.

When David and I got engaged, she hosted our engagement party.

She never made me feel like a “step” anything. Her sons treated us as cousins and we love each other.

She’d been sick and we knew it wasn’t going to be much longer.

Yesterday was the funeral. Although I hadn’t seen one cousin in 13 years and the other one in 20, we started talking like it had been a week.

The beauty of funerals is that it allows you to cut past the superfluous and right to the important stuff.  The hovering presence of death reminds us to not waste this moment. When asked “How are you?” the correct answer isn’t “Fine. And you?” It’s “I’ve been struggling with (fill in the blank) and it’s been hard. But I’m glad to be here and so glad to see you.” Or anything real, anything that tells how we really are.

Several times yesterday we mentioned how Aunt Gloria loved having her family together in one place. It didn’t happen often enough. It’s a fact of life that funerals are frequently the way it happens.

She would have loved yesterday. All her children and grandchildren gathered. Her brothers. Their kids. Her cousins. The only thing missing was Aunt Gloria’s beautiful smile.

7/20/10

Book Talk Tuesday: GLAPPPS

Anyone who’s read it knows instantly what GLAPPPS stands for. 
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is a masterpiece.
It’s part romance, part humor, part social commentary, part self-help, part historical, and completely wonderful.
GLAPPPS is an epistolary tale. Letters fly between writer Juliet Ashton and residents of the Isle of Guernsey in the months after World War II. Germany invaded and occupied Guernsey for most of the war and the islanders were hungry for … well, everything. Food, news, books, contact with England, and, most especially, news of family and friends who left the island when the invasion began.
The characters emerge from the pages as real people. The relationships grow and blossom.
I don’t think this story could have been told any other way except through the exchange of letters.
It’s wonderful and highly recommended!


7/14/10

Woe! It’s Wednesday

I’ve been thinking about the dangers of extremism.
Specifically, the danger of extreme feminism.
I’ve talked about my friend who told me I had a moral imperative to vote for Hilary Clinton on the basis of her possession of ovaries.
Curiously, the moral imperative wasn’t valid when it came to Sarah Palin. Governor Palin was a book banner and all kinds of other horrible, terrible things including unfit to govern the dog pound.
Today, a couple of friends and I discussed the recent Mel Gibson news.
One friend called his girlfriend “a slut.” Because she felt it was obvious the girlfriend snared Mel and got pregnant just to make some money. And, not incidentally, broke up a long term marriage.
The other friend was offended at the term “slut.”
“I would never call another woman a ‘slut,’" she said.
She had no problem calling Mel a “racist, sexist bastard.”
And there’s the problem with extremism of any kind: the double standard.
If a woman can’t be a slut, then a man shouldn’t be a bastard.
That’s my rant and I’m sticking to it.
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Praying for: Amber, Taryn & Josh, Laura
Currently reading: Get Out of That Pit by Beth Moore
Last movie: I recently re-watched Must Love Dogs. I read the book by Claire Cook several years ago. Then watched the movie. I saw it coming up on TV so I scheduled the DVR, then watched it again. In the meantime, I read another Claire Cook book and noticed her propensity for including “wacky” senior citizen parental characters. I taped the movie to see if the dad was as wacky as I remembered. Yep.