The World Rushed In

The World Rushed In by J.S. Holliday is an eyewitness account of the California gold rush of 1849. Holliday based this account largely on the voluminous journals of William Swain and the many letters exchanged with his family. When available, he also used accounts of others to tell the stories of the '49ers. Holliday follows Swain from his start in Youngstown, NY, across the country to the gold mining camps of CA, his journey home by ship and through the Isthmus of Panama, and back to Youngstown. This is truly an eye witness account of history.

In The World Rushed In Holliday has arranged each chapter into 3 sections. He begins each chapter with an historical overview of that section of the journey along with a map of the section of the trip the chapter covers. The next section is Swain's journal entries. The final section is composed of the letters to Swain from home, mainly by his wife Sabrina and brother George.

This is an interesting way to document a historical account. The beauty of the way it is organized is that it allows the reader to either read the historical sections and follow the maps while skipping much of the journal entries and/or letters or choosing to read it all. It was originally published in 1981 by Simon and Schuster and is 559 pages long, although the account ends at page 463. The rest of the book consists of notes, sources, and an index.

Some interesting quotes:

From Swain's journal entry of May 29th when he did some self medicating, "[I] took a dose of cayenne pepper, got into a fine sweat, and slept nicely till morning."

"One would think that they [antelopes] were all females on account of their curiosity."

"There seems to be little disposition to maintain religious worship here. The thoughts of the people are entirely preoccupied with drinking, gambling, or getting gold out of the earth. Religion and religious services, like everything else in California, is singular and unnatural."

"The whole business of the inhabitants of this country is to make money, no matter by what means."

The Inheritance of Loss

I read The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai for a group that reads award winning books.

From Amazon:

This stunning second novel from Desai is set in mid-1980s India, on the cusp of the Nepalese movement for an independent state. Jemubhai Popatlal, a retired Cambridge-educated judge, lives in Kalimpong, at the foot of the Himalayas, with his orphaned granddaughter, Sai, and his cook. The makeshift family's neighbors include a coterie of Anglophiles who might be savvy readers of V.S. Naipaul but who are, perhaps, less aware of how fragile their own social standing is—at least until a surge of unrest disturbs the region. Jemubhai, with his hunting rifles and English biscuits, becomes an obvious target. Besides threatening their very lives, the revolution also stymies the fledgling romance between 16-year-old Sai and her Nepalese tutor, Gyan. The cook's son, Biju, meanwhile, lives miserably as an illegal alien in New York. All of these characters struggle with their cultural identity and the forces of modernization while trying to maintain their emotional connection to one another. In this alternately comical and contemplative novel, Desai deftly shuttles between first and third worlds, illuminating the pain of exile, the ambiguities of post-colonialism and the blinding desire for a "better life," when one person's wealth means another's poverty.

Desai's writing and descriptions are beautiful, which would help explain why this book won the Man Booker Prize in 2006. The only problem is that after reading The Inheritance of Loss I was left with a feeling of despair and utter hopelessness. I need to think about it some more before I could really recommend it. Perhaps the book groups discussion will help solidify my feelings.

Monkeys and Idols

We have 3 flying, screaming Woot monkeys at our house.

Yes, I am feeling fine and no, the coffee creamer wasn't past it's expiration date.

Here's a picture of the screaming Woot monkey:

http://www.woot.com/Images/Sale/Screaming_Monkey_with_Woot_CapeBGT-detail.jpg
They fly. They scream.

I haven't been a huge American Idol fan. I saw a couple shows last year and a few more this year. Rather than focusing on Simon's "mean" comments or Randy's comments, which both actually have some basis in fact and show some thought, or looking at Ryan's total inane hosting abilities, let's consider Paula. I think Paula's comments are completely worthless drivel that mean nothing. What is she even contributing to the show? Every time I've watch Idol I haven't heard one intelligent thing come out of her mouth. At least Randy will tell them if they are "pitchy" and sometimes kindly let them know that their performance wasn't good. Simon may come across as mean, but I think he's just blunt and honest. Paula, though... That girl maybe has continuously had some bad creamer in her coffee.

Yelling Match

I drove over to the closest grocery store Monday night to just grab a few things for the week. Normally it's a pretty tame place when you stop by early in the evening. People are there shopping on their way home from work or after dinner. The customers tend to be families. Monday night was like a twilight zone episode.

When I arrived, I realized I had forgotten my list, so I was running through the store trying to remember the few things we needed. I had about finished up, when I suddenly recalled something else that had been on my list. At this point I have no idea what that was because events wiped it out of my mind.

As I headed out of the water/soda/juice aisle and turned toward frozen foods at the back of the store, I noticed an old man yelling to my left, by the yogurt section. He looked like an old prospector with a long, scraggly, gray beard. The object of his ire, a young father with his son, was right in front of me, passing juice and headed to dairy. The father had his son's hand and they were walking toward his wife who had their daughter sitting in the cart by the milk.

The old guy was yelling something about "In this country we watch our kids and don't let them run wild." The little boy in question was probably about 4, maybe 5. He was at that active little monkey stage little boys (and sometimes girls) go through. I bet he had been thinking about scaling the yogurt case, or maybe ran laughing from his dad. It didn't matter, because his dad had him.

The dad said, "It's OK, settle down. I've got him." or something like that.

The old man though would have none of it. He was working himself up into a lather and I was caught right in it when he let loose. "Why don't you go back to Mexico!" He snarled loudly. "We don't need your kind here."

The father yelled back, "I'm Hawaiian, man....I'm not Mexican..."

"Go back there! Go back where you came from! Stupid wetbacks! We don't need your people here. This is our country..." The old man continued yelling at the father.

The father was getting upset and started swearing at the old guy, who just kept yelling racial slurs and telling the father to go back to his country.

I stood there, completely stunned, mouth hanging open. There were multiple comments running through my mind. "But Hawaii is part of the USA... You want this family to go back to paradise? The father has his little boy, why are you yelling at him? Who is really the problem here?"

As I turned to where the mother was, she looked at me with a sad smile and said, "My son was..."

I interrupted her, shaking my head, and said, "But he's just a little boy... he's just a little boy..."

All the while the old man was spitting hatred their way and the father was swearing in a low voice and telling the old man to shut up. The young children were trying to ask their parents why the old man was yelling at them. It was simply awful.

I turned my cart and headed right to the checkout with tears in my eyes, totally stunned by what I just witnessed in my friendly neighborhood store.

Two of my son's good friends turned in articles for the April newsletter. They have restored my confidence in teens. Their articles were both well written; there were no spelling mistakes, no grammatical errors, and, most importantly, no "awesomes".

We stumbled across the book World Music: A Global Journey while looking at Amazon for ethnographies to use with anthropology. Just me is going to go ahead and do this next year. This course will be a logical progression from the music appreciation she did this year, which stressed classical and jazz. It will also tie in nicely with anthropology.

My mom sent me a photo of my cousins, one of her brother's children. They were all old people and I didn't even recognize a couple of my cousins in the photo. What's up with this?

Sleeping at the Starlight Motel

Sleeping at the Starlight Motel by Bailey White is a collection of stories with a decidedly Southern point of view. This book is a small volume, 238 pages, that was originally published in 1995. I read a library copy when it first came out and always told myself that someday I would own my own copy. Time has not diminished my enjoyment of White's lovely little tales. Part of my enjoyment could be due to hearing White share her stories on NPR years ago. I particularly enjoyed the fruit tree man story (I knew someone just like that) and the teacher's playing hooky at the dog track.

Quotes:

"Actually, every good family has a story of a spectacular plumbing disaster."

[The house looked] "as if it had been designed by someone who made a careful study of the Tryon Palace under the handicap of a visual learning disability."

" 'So foolish of young people to marry today,' she said. 'Much better to just stay at home - simpler and more hygienic.' "

"There is something quite comforting about being given a complete physical examination by a beloved old family doctor, now nearly blind."

The Book Thief

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak was originally published in 2005 and released in the USA in March, 2006, by Alfred A Knopf. The hardcover is 550 pages long. In The Book Thief, which is set during W.W.II, Death narrates the story of Liesel Meminger, a foster child to Hans and Rosa Hubermann in Molching, Germany. Liesel is a book thief, although only of a handful of books, but these books form the foundation for the story Death tells us. It is also the story of Liesel's neighbor, Rudy, the mayor's wife, and Max, the Jewish man the Hubermann's are hiding. It is a story of survival, pain, regret, determination, love, and convictions, but, ultimately, it is the story of the power of words.

Although this book is listed as young adult fiction, it is very much a book for adults too. I really think that placing The Book Thief in the young adult section may have precluded many adult readers from considering reading it. I know I originally passed it by after seeing several adults recommend it because it was listed as a young adult book. When two trusted book loving friends added it to their stacks, I finally decided to give it a try. I do not regret this decision.