On e-readers

Did I mention I now own 2 Nooks? Thanks to my in-laws, our family has entered the e-reader age.

I had a good conversation about e-readers the other day with a friend.  She reads almost everything on them because it’s so easy to get new books. I’ve finished four or five books on the e-reader my in-laws sent me, and it is fun to be able to immediately access the next book in a series. The kids have bought a few things. And since I don’t really browse e-books, I’ve only bought books I’m want to read right now, as opposed to buying or checking out books that look good at the library or book store, that then end up languishing in a to-be-read pile.

I suppose I did download a bunch of free e-books that haven’t been read yet, but since they were free and are weightless, they carry less of a psychological burden. Plus, something about the money spent on e-books seems unreal. I haven’t noticed the $30 or so I’ve spent, mostly on books the kids wanted – the next books in the Hunger Games series and in the Mother-Daughter Book Club series.

So in many ways, I can see the convenience of e-readers and digital books, especially since we live in an area under-served by libraries and book stores.

But there are a few quibbles I have:
1. When I was reading on the plane to Indiana, I didn’t like having to power down as the plane took off and landed.
2. Sometimes the page turner function glitches and skips ahead or goes back, or calls up the library.
3. It’s got that battery issue – a problem since three or four people often pick up the Nook and use it during the day, although my husband would count it as a benefit that the thing ran out of juice about midnight the other night. I probably would have stayed up to finish the last 50 pages or so if it hadn’t, but I was too tired to go sit near a plug.

My bigger concern is that reading an e-reader uses fewer senses.  With a paper book you’ve got odors and paper density and type fonts to engage the imagination and root the book into your brain. I know there's a way to mark passages on the e-reader, but it's a lot easier to just fold the corner of a page down, or drop a scrap of paper between the pages to make a spot you want to return to.  Meanwhile e-books all look the same, and once you finish them, you don’ t have their spines on your shelf to remind you of what you loved about them.  Maybe you don’t need that extra-sensory integration to remember what you read. But the look of a page certainly does become part of the experience.

This isn't really an issue when reading a best-seller or something that is simply entertainment. But part of the reason I haven't read those free classics yet is because I'm afraid I won't enjoy them as well as I would reading a paper copy.

Plus, there's the sustainability factor. The e-reader should be the green choice - all those trees saved and I know it costs a lot of fuel to ship books around. But it takes electricity to charge up the e-reader - and how is it disposed? At least paper books can be passed on - and gain another sensual dimension in the exchange of hands and the sharing of underlined passages and coffee stains.

So mixed reviews for e-readers. I look forward to being able to read some new things out here in the Pacific, and I've thought about subscribing to the Wall Street Journal. But I'm not going to stop shopping used book stores.

Book rambling, pt.2: on running rambles

Now to the Murakami:

Perhaps the biggest difference between the two books is that Emily of Deep Valley made me want to do something for others, while What I Talk About When I Talk About Running made me want to do something for myself.

I’m not sure Murakami’s book would hold much interest for a non-runner, unless it is someone who is a big fan of his writing. It is a memoir of sorts about his training for long distance races like the New York marathon and triathlons.  He writes in a sort of plodding voice that rolls on and on, short sentence after short sentence, in a way that resembles the pace of a long distance runner – but rather than bore, it has a rhythm that is easy to consume. It seems Asian to me in its simplicity, but maybe that’s his writing style, not his ethnicity, coming through.

He does connect his running to his writing – more than once he says he couldn’t write if he didn’t run, both from a physical and mental health perspective.  Running makes him respect his physical self, as well as other runners. Running increases his focus and his endurance, qualities needed by novelists. It helps him concentrate and find clarity and strengthen his will power. But he doesn’t plan books while he’s running.  He doesn't think about writing while running, or much of anything at all, except running.

As a runner, I am not surprised to read that he doesn’t think about much when he runs.  Nonetheless, it’s still true to say running does help you think even if you don’t think while you run about anything except running.  Maybe it’s the oxygen to the brain.  Maybe it’s the focused emptiness of the brain while running that makes room for later thoughts.

I always imagine I will think about this or that problem while I’m running, but after awhile auto-pilot takes over. Primarily, I, too, think about running when I’m running. I think about how I feel. I think about my time, whether I’m running faster or slower. I think about trying to run faster. Lately, I’ve been recovering from a hip injury and have just started running again after taking about a month off, so I think about whether my hip hurts or not. I am totally in the moment, as they say, when running: not planning, not worrying, not thinking about anything but this run right now.

In a way, time flattens into itself when running.  Even though I'm counting seconds and minutes, they go by faster than they should. On the occasion when I do go on long runs, an hour is both too brief and too long.  And as I run, other runs come back  unbidden. I like to run the same routes, so I don't have to think about where I'm going, but perhaps that is what makes other runs present. Maybe it's another type of muscle memory.

I am not really a long distance runner.  I was a middle distance runner in college, and although I ran a marathon after I graduated, I shortly thereafter got married and started having babies. Since then, until moving here, I was on maintenance mode.  I ran two babyjoggers into the ground by running around neighborhoods for 2-4 miles, nearly every day with two and sometimes three kids and a worn-out bicycle on board.  I don't think I run as religiously as Murakami, but rare is the day that I don't run at least a little, except the one day every week or two that I do some other form of exercise to cross-train. Running was a survival technique and a way to eat chocolate without concern. I have to run, but I don’t want to put more than 20-30 minutes a day into it, because it is just one of many things I want to do each day.

So I was surprised a little that I remained in good enough shape over the years without serious training to do well in races here. Of course, it is Guam.  The competition is not too fierce. If without extra effort, I am able to win my age group and be in the top ten of most of the competitions I’ve entered, I wonder what I could achieve if I put some serious effort into training.

What I achieved is a hurt hip, this time around. I think this injury was brought on by running a race on hills after a 24 hour flight. I self-diagnosed as bursitis or ilio-tibial band tendinitis, both injuries related to stress.

On the other hand, I’ve been able to put more time into swimming and biking, which I've been wanting to do anyway, ever since I've been trying triathlons. Triathlons are painful. I don’t like the beginning of the swim – Murakami captures perfectly the discomfort of being kicked in the face or clawed at in the feet.  In one triathlon, he got choked up and couldn't complete the swim and so was DQ'd from the race.  The last tri I did, I started way to the side to avoid being clabbered. I may have added more distance to my swim, but since I wasn’t swallowing water and starting to panic from being touched, I think my time was faster.

And the transition from biking to running is surprisingly painful. I thought the runs would be the easiest part for me, but trying to use your legs to run after biking vigorously is a lot harder than you think. It's like your muscles go into rebellion.

Once my hip is 100%, I want to start training seriously. There's an Olympic distance triathlon next month, but I don't think I'll be ready for it. Is it an addiction to endorphins that makes me want to do this?  Why, when these races are so painful, do I want to put effort into them?

I can't explain this desire. All I know is that tonight I did a track workout, and I was thrilled to be back on that rubberized surface.  Even though I knew I shouldn't push myself too much too soon, I had a little rush of adrenalin that took over in the first couple 800 repeats.  I could feel myself smiling, even though I really didn't feel very fast. It just felt good to be trying to run fast.

Murakami's book won't win any converts to running either.  If you're not already a runner, you'll probably find it boring. But if you are a runner, it makes you want to put on your training shoes and go run for a couple hours.  

Having a job will curtail that a bit, so my consolation prize if not offered the teaching position is knowing I can reward myself with extra exercise. More swimming, more biking, more running. Not pedicures, hair treatments, shopping, etc. I usually feel too guilty about being selfish with my time to put in more than 30 mins or so of exercise, but I want to take a whole hour or two for training and see what happens. The adrenalin rush is addictive. Even just thinking about racing better gets the endorphins going as I sit here...

Here is an interview with Murakami at Runner's World that reveals more.

Book ramblings

Just finished two very different books: Maud Hart Lovelace’s Emily of Deep Valley and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami.  Both of them were welcome distractions from the business of waiting around to hear if I have a job next semester or not.

 I have not read either author before.  The Murakami I happened to pick up without knowing anything about his other books, but now I am interested in reading some, although I couldn’t find anything at the library. Apparently his newest is IQ84, which serendipitously I happened to read a review of at Somanybooks.

Emily of Deep Valley I picked up in lieu of a Betsy-Tacy book. After reading the Mother Daughter Book Club book about the Betsy books, I thought I would try to find one, but all I could find were a couple of the books about Betsy in High School and this one. Instead of reading Betsy books out of order, I thought I’d try this one – plus it’s about an Emily...

It could be I just don’t know where to look at our library. Their children’s section is unusual. I’ve been trying to puzzle it out: as you enter, you find the section of new books from a grant program. These two shelves are always changing, and  are a mix of nonfiction, picture books, biographies, and chapter books. New books for teens and adults are on the back of this shelf.  I think they send back the books that aren’t getting read. A lot of the picture books are dreck. We just read one, called Otis & Sydney by Laura Numeroff of  “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie” fame.  I hate to be uncharitable, but this book was just dumb. It’s about a couple of bears who are best friends and one has a birthday party for the other. That’s it. Plot as flat as paper. Language was bland. Couldn’t tell the characters apart. I didn’t like the illustrations either.  Almost as painful to read as a Barbie book.

Meanwhile a new book by Kate DiCamillo and co-authored by Alison McGhee called Bink and Gollie, about two very different friends, an odd couple of sorts, has complex vocabulary, unsuspected plot twists, and illustrations with a certain charm. But it’s thin enough to make me wonder how it could be co-authored.  And it almost feels like it is trying too hard to be charming.

Back to the library: The other part of the children’s section is a big square that seems to be divided up into picture books, easy readers, chapter books, series books, and older chapter books (the kind that have the heavy duty bound covers and thick paper, where I found the Lovelace book).  The few nonfiction books are in the first part of the picture books and after the series books. Then there is a section on the other side of the square that has some older children’s books – old books and books for older kids mixed in. I can’t quite figure out the logic here.  And I just found another section that is children’s trade paperbacks, which must be donated books. They are in a very random order – partly alphabetical and by subject and by size.  

So much for new picture books. I meant to compliment Murakami’s book and meditate on Lovelace’s.

The nice thing about reading a love story is that it reminds you how nice it is to be in love.  I could dismiss Emily of Deep Valley of being sentimental drivel, but it has a sincerity that is hard to resist.  How can you help but want to live in her beautiful little town and quaint cottage? And Emily is easy to admire for mustering up her will power to make the most of a situation she didn’t desire. She also doesn’t hesitate to reach out to others, even if she doesn’t know them well. She’s a good role model for a Navy wife: you don’t always get to pick your location, but you can pick whether or not to be happy and useful.

Every description of her high school crowd reminded me of the conversations I had with my grandmother about her high school days. Even though Emily graduated 10 years before my grandmother was born, the generation between them seemed to make only a difference in style, not in the social life. My grandmother reminisced about rolling up carpets in her living room, so her crowd could come over and dance. She loved college, mostly because of the social life. She was always looking for a reason to have a party. And like Emily, she was an only child who was often lonely. My great grandfather, her father, was older and strict.  But my grandmother still found a way to socialize often.

Not only did the book remind me of my maternal grandmother, it also resurrected memories of my paternal grandfather.  Emily’s grandfather is more congenial and forgetful than mine was, but I liked how she doted on him.  I used to cry with fear that my grandfather was dying.  I spent a lot of time at my grandparent’s house in high school because they lived a couple blocks from where I practiced track.  Like Emily's grandfather, they lived in a house filled with old things.  I would have happily moved in with them instead of going to college if I had needed to.  I like to think so, anyway. But then I did leave and didn’t come back.

Back to the love story: why is it frequently the case that people miss – or almost miss – the right person because they are stuck on the wrong one? If you’ve read Emily, you know she pines over a handsome young man who is arrogant and moody. She never does condemn him. My quibble is that too much of the book is spent describing how Emily yearns for the wrong fellow. I’d rather read more about the courtship and conversations between Emily and the right guy.  Are these two main characters too nice? Or are they a pleasant reminder of how to conquer selfishness with genuine concern for others?  As I struggle with my own selfishness, I got a good kick in the shins about how much I demand and how little I give while reading this.

I’ll have to post on Murakami later.

Decision time

The school year officially ended on Thursday. We have been winding down for a couple of weeks, but the schools let out after a party Thursday morning. My eighth grader, who had a 5^th grade promotion ceremony, a 6^th grade promotion ceremony, has had an 8^th grade promotion ceremony. Meanwhile none of the other kids has ever had any promotion ceremony.  But the eighth grader has been to home school, a public elementary, 3 different private elementaries, a private junior high, a department of defense elementary, and now he will go to an 8^th school next year.

The big question is where will that be.

I have been wrestling with education issues for the last couple of weeks and have not reached a resolution.

All year I’ve heard complaints about the DOD schools. Nothing major at the elementary, except complaints about particular teachers, but at the high school marijuana and spice use are rampant and the level of expectation is low.  My ninth grader spent most of 4th quarter reading novels in his biology class because the teacher gave the other students time to finish the homework they hadn't done for the previous quarter. And he spent a good portion of his honors literature class studying an obscure civilization in Peru that left behind no written work because the teacher assigned each student a different ancient culture to study for the semester. His final essay topic was to discuss job specialization and the development of religious beliefs and central governments in ancient cultures.  Nothing about literature. But he did read Romeo and Juliet.

Meanwhile, all year at home with my home schoolers, I’ve heard complaints about doing work. No surprise, but when our test scores were returned a couple weeks ago, I realized even though I’ve tried to keep up with teaching the kids, they aren’t getting the motivation or instruction that I was hoping to give them. On top of that, the behavior of the 7 year old has spiraled downward all year, so that I’m concerned about his wellbeing.

So when a friend passed on the word that one of the private schools on the island was seeking a middle school English teacher, I sent in my resume.  This is one of the best schools on the island.  It is Episcopalian, and a fundamentalist friend told me it was liberal, but I took that opinion with a grain of salt.  It is primarily attended by Japanese and Korean students. 

I just returned home from a second interview.  I haven’t been offered the job, but I need to have an answer ready if it is offered.  

On the one hand, it seems too good to be true: I’d get a small salary that would cover the discounted tuition rate the kids would receive.  I am convinced that the academics are superior to the DOD school, and it is a Christian school rather than secular (although this could be a negative).  I like the idea of the kids getting to know kids from other countries. I like the emphasis on community service and the arts at this school.

But my kids don’t want to go. They want to go where their friends from the neighborhood go. They want to have the opportunity to play football and rugby, which aren’t offered at the private school.

But I have questions about some of their friends, especially some of the ones who play football.

My husband and I are both concerned about the impact my working would have on family time, although I would be teaching at least one of my kids.

We are also concerned that this would limit our ability to travel, although we haven’t done much yet anyway.

I have already agreed to teach a class at the community college next semester.

I doubt that we would integrate much with the other families at the new school, since I would have to keep a professional distance. Our neighborhood and church communities are on the base. Time to develop those friendships would be limited.

There is something to be said for going to school close to home.

I would not be able to take advantage of hiking and field trips during the week, although those opportunities were rare.

We would lose contact with our home school friends.

I would give up the ideals I had for home schooling, which we never realized.

I would gain professional experience if I wanted to apply to teach at our next duty station, where DOD schools aren't available.

The kids would have to undergo another transition. But something needs to change with our current home schooling situation.

I would have a lot of prep work.  I would enjoy that prep work.

I would have to wake up earlier and go to bed earlier.

My husband would be sad if I spent too much time doing prep work and not enough time with him. He doesn't mind cooking, but I know he wouldn't be thrilled if the laundry piled up even higher.

My mind keeps circling. On the one hand,a good education for our kids is one of the priorities we've held dear up until this point. We've believed that it's something worth making sacrifices for.  At the same time, we've also worked hard to maintain strong family unity by making time for family activities, dinner together, and parental presence at extra-curriculars. With the instability of the military lifestyle, we've tried to make these things constants. But if I'm working, my participation could be compromised, even though I'd try my darnedest to limit incursions on sancrosanct family events.

I want the best for my kids. But I can't figure out what that is right now. Part of me wants to take the easy route, send the kids to the DOD school and forget about whether they can get into a great college or whether they watch a lot of movies at school, just so they are happy. I always intend to supplement their education at home, but these good intentions sometimes get shuffled to the bottom of the priority list.

The other part of me wants to be a little of a tiger mom and put in the effort and make the sacrifices that working would require so that they are challenged academically. Plus I would like the challenge of teaching. At one point in my life, I thought I'd be doing something just like this - teaching at the school where my kids attended. Am I letting my own dream inform my decision about what's best for the kids and the family?

I've never been very good at seeing things in black and white. Too many shades of gray.

On being the enforcer - or not

Discipline issues have been a challenge lately.

Last week the Catholic home schoolers came over for our monthly meeting. Despite short notice, the kids had their reports on June saints ready, and I had the house presentable. There was too much food as usual, and the kids were thrilled to meet the new puppy one family brought.  It should have been a fantastic day.

Except my kid had a meltdown when he lost a chess game. He grabbed a chunk of hair out of his older brother’s scalp and raced into his bedroom where he slammed the door three times just to make sure everyone heard. I excused myself to go “talk” to him. Of course, all the under 5 crowd followed out of curiousity. What will happen to the naughty child?  I was filled with dread that he might say something awful in their hearing. And really, all I wanted was for him to stay in his room until everyone left, but he likes an audience for his tantrums. So out he comes with a blanket over his head, mumbling invectives under his breath, like some kind of ghastly spirit.

What do you do in these situations? I tried to pretend I didn’t notice.  I didn’t want to give him a chance to get started on the “it was his fault!” defense.  And eventually he got distracted by other people's babies and forgot his displeasure. And none of the other moms really seemed too appalled because they stayed for 5 hours. 

After they left, I took away media for the weekend - only to forget by Friday.

That evening I discovered another son had broken his social media probation, so he had to be summoned for judgement and sentencing.  My husband and I were accused of being too strict and unfair. And I remembered everything I used to say to my mother, and tried to decide if I am more strict than she and my dad were.  The answer would have to be yes, because 1. We have more opportunities to be strict – Facebook, cell phones, internet usage, etc. 2. There are more kids whose parents are less strict. 3. The world is scarier.  I used to think my parents were the strictest parents in the whole world, or at least in our school, but my friends’ parents weren’t anywhere near as lackadaisical as some parents are these days. So when the kids are invited somewhere for a sleepover, I cringe and say no most of the time, except when we really know the other parents. Maybe moving around a lot makes us stricter because we haven’t had time to figure out who the good and bad kids in school are.  We only know the parents from our command or neighborhood, and even most of them we don’t know well, so it's hard to know who shares our parenting concerns and limitations.
 

We’re still trying to determine how to hand out responsibility and freedom, while at the same time enforcing consequences for transgressions.  When a friend’s son decided to run away for a few hours the other night, I was reminded of how much kids desire to be free and to be allowed privacy.  I used to run away and hide in the vacant lot next to our house pretty regularly in middle school. Most of the time I don’t think my mom even registered I was gone.  I’d try to wait long enough for her to really miss me, but I’d get hungry or cold or wet, and go back home sooner than I meant to.

I want to give my older kids opportunities to practice making good decisions and learning to stand up to peer pressure. I want to give my younger kids opportunities to play with other kids without fearing for the other children's safety.  I don't want to be the mom whose kids rebel because they weren't allowed to engage the world.

But I also fear the potential dangers.

I miss the days of worrying about diaper rash.

Watershed and Waterside Books: Summer reads

The Darwins recently linked to a book list of authors' favorite reads. I, too, have an almost compulsive fascination with reading lists.  Even so, I'm not very good at making my own lists because I can't limit my favorites - there are too many books that I like with about the same fervor.  My book club friends used to groan when I'd bring out my list of either/ors at our annual choice meeting. We were supposed to list just 5 or so books that we wanted to read, but I couldn't bring myself to edit my selections.

Nonetheless, I'm going to add my list to the Darwins', who ask for a list of three books that you thought were pivotal in your reading life (watershed books) and three books that can be consumed in a day at the beach or picked up here and there while travelling or being otherwise interrupted by summertime activities (waterside books):

3 Books that are watershed reads:
1. My Antonia - Willa Cather's story of the relationship between orphaned Jim Burden and the indomitable immigrant Antonia, set on the beautiful but harsh Nebraska prairie. My first copy was a gift from my grandfather, who loved the Illinois prairie land. Cather's book is both a complement and a contrast to the understanding of prairie life presented by Laura Ingalls Wilder. For me it was an introduction to grown-up themes about making hard choices. A beautiful story that strikes me hard every time I read it.
2. Dosteovsky's Brothers Karamazov. Probably the source of most of my understanding of God and Evil. Dosteovesky's characters articulate theology, the need for God and beauty, better than any of my teachers did.
3. Books by Wendell Berry - (I can't choose just one) Berry's novels, essays and poetry only confirm what I am predisposed to think anyway: that belonging to a community that knows and loves you for yourself is more important than seeing the world and being Somebody.  Beauty resides in the familiar, and nothing is more beautiful than a place, a community, a family, a spouse whom you love. Berry keeps reminding us to take care of those people and things we love. More often than I wish to admit, after reading Berry, I feel the lashed by my shortcomings in this regard, but also aware of the simplicity of the task.

3 Waterside reads - these are harder for me to pick. I'm easily drawn in by lightweight books, and don't mind losing a few hours sleep for books that other people would see as saccharine or a waste of time - for instance, I just zipped through The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, because I wanted to know why it was such a bestseller - and after being unable to put it down until the wee hours of the night, I knew why. It's definitely a female book, designed to pull heartstrings. The characters are quirky, but supposed to be wise - or preachy. It's all a little too obvious, but I got pulled in.  I've also zipped through some YA books lately, which are ideal for times when your attention is divided or you don't feel like straining your brain; they are perfect for beachside reading: The Mother Daughter Book club books, Mister Pip, and The Book Thief.


Some others I thought of:
1. Scent of Water by Elizabeth Goudge - a sweet story about a woman who leaves her London fast life to move to a country home she has inherited from a distant relative. Goudge and Rumor Godden seem to go together.
2. Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers - longer, meatier prose, but a fun mystery set in Oxford, featuring the romance between Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Whimsey.
3. I also like to read books of essays while on vacation because they can be read in spurts. Three recent reads: The Art of Travel by Alain de Boton, which I wrote about here, perfect for vacationing. It also qualifies as a book about books, another favorite of mine. The book about books I finished most recently read was Rick Gekoski's Nabokov's Butterfly about the whims of book collectors. I've also been making my way slowly through Madeleine L'Engle's book on writing and her Christian Faith, Walking on Water. I need to go on a trip to finish it.

The end of May in photos

The 9 year old surfs!

Look closely to find a large, basking monitor lizard.

Inarajan Falls - destination of a 5 mile hike with the scouts

The upper falls - perfect size to shower a five year old

Mother's Day hike through Lonfit Valley - modelling sword grass protective gear

No children were harmed in the production of this photo

Lonfit trickle - I mean Falls.

Rescued friends Lightening and Buttercup. We are rebuilding our rodent collection.

A lei made for my birthday modelled by the creator

My birthday party - the cake was made from scratch angelfood with fresh mango sauce.

We finally managed to hike the famous Spanish Steps trail. This hike is often closed because it ends near a pier where ammunition is offloaded.

People have told us this hike is difficult because of the narrow path and rope climb, but our young adventurers managed it handily with glee.

A hermit crab coconut eating party

The 500 year old Spanish well

A spelunker's shortcut

Preparing to snorkle 

Unidentified sea creature

Part of the reason this hike is so popular.

Heading back up the Spanish Steps after a refreshing swim and beach glass hunt.

Veterans' Cemetery, Memorial Day 2012

At the War in the Pacific memorial park. Over 3000 flags represent the ultimate sacrifice by American troops and Chamorros to liberate the island in 1945

On Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones

Oh sad and evocative book! I will miss reading you! I know I didn’t give you undivided attention, because I kept setting you down to read YA books.  Even though your library spine sticker says you are a YA book, you are so much more.

Do you know a dark secret? I have not even read Great Expectations, on which this book depends so deeply. I know, I mean to. I keep finding reasons to put it off. But now I really must, in honor of Mr. Watts’ great sacrifice and Mr. Jones’ great vision of the power of the imagination.

The skeptic inside me questions whether Pip and Mr. Dickens could really gain such a strong hold on the minds of island children.  I observed the alienation of Pacific readers felt toward British lit this spring (or was it the alienation of teenagers for anything difficult?).  What evocation does “lilac” or “heather” have for someone who has never experienced “Spring” or “moors?” Or is Dickens’ colleague of sorts Dickinson right about not needing to see to believe.  I didn't need to come to a Pacific island to have a vision of what the characters in Mister Pip have experienced; I didn't see the ocean myself until I was nearly grown.

And I’m not sure I share Mr. Jones’ optimism that “whatever else happened to us in our lives our voice could never be taken away from us.”  Daniel loses his voice. Matilda’s mother loses hers. I suppose their bravery will live on in stories on the island, but will the intent of their sacrifice truly be comprehended?

Nonetheless, it is a tale beautifully told, and I’m glad I spent some hours in that place, becoming a young, black island girl, just as surely as she took on the identity of a young, poor British boy. 

Anniversary sop

June 1st was our 16^th anniversary. Our marriage is old enough drive, as a friend pointed out. Although 16 years of marriage doesn't usually merit a party, it does show up on gift lists: according to the gurus of anniversary gifts, appropriate selections are silver hollowware or peridot.  Since neither my husband or I care too much for silver teapots or chafing dishes, we decided to celebrate by going out to dinner.  But here is what happens when you have been married for 16 years: one kid has a drama performance in the afternoon, another has a sports awards banquet in the evening, and one wants to go to the middle school dance, even if his mother insists he can only go if she serves as the chaperone. So you spend the day driving around, and the evening at different kid functions. After the kids are all finally in bed, you fall asleep on the couch after a glass of champagne while watching “Anonymous,” the Shakespeare conspiracy theory movie that suggests the Earl of Oxford wrote all the plays and paid Shakespeare, a bumbling actor, for the use of his name, because of the politics and plots of the day.  I can't tell you exact details, because I slept through a third of the movie, but what I saw was entertaining.

We postponed our date night to Saturday, which my husband pointed out is the first time since we’ve lived here that we have gone out just the two of us.  We’ve left the kids many nights, but usually for a group activity.  Since this was such a momentous occasion, we had trouble deciding where to eat, and actually went to three different restaurants before deciding where to dine.  The food was exceptional, especially the butterfish encrusted with macadamia nuts and garnished with roe and lemongrass.  But it was the kind of place where you have to order Perrier because they don't serve tap water, so we probably won't go there often, if ever again. But there was live music in the lounge, a guy who sounded like Kenny Rogers singing Barry Manilow. Very romantic.

Even though the night of our anniversary wasn’t a particularly notable evening, I still think our marriage lives up to this little poem:

Married in January's roar and rime,Widowed you'll be before your prime 

Married in February's sleepy weather,Life you'll tread in time together 

Married when March winds shrill and roar,Your home will lie on a distant shore  

Married 'neath April's changeful skies,A chequered path before you lies  

Married when bees o'er May blossoms flit,Strangers around your board will sit  

Married in month of roses - June,Life will be one long honeymoon  

Married in July with flowers ablaze,Bitter-sweet memories in after days  

Married in August's heat and drowse,Lover and friend in your chosen spouse  

Married in September's golden glow,Smooth and serene your life will go  

Married when leaves in October thin,Toil and hardships for you begin  

Married in veils of November mist,Fortune your wedding ring has kissed  

Married in days of December's cheer,Love's star shines brighter from year to year. 

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Here’s to being on a lifelong honeymoon!