What does it all mean?

The local branch of the public library has a summer reading club. I discovered this in time to read the next selection: Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner. He's one of those writers whose names I know, but I haven't read him. Now I have. 

In participating in a reading club, I thought, I would meet like-minded people, hear lively and thoughtful comments, and perhaps argue a point or two. Instead, I was oddly disappointed. Oddly? Yes, oddly. There were about twenty people present--over half had not even opened the book or were only at mid-point. OK, so the group represented that same group of high school students I taught who also did not do their homework. And the but? But they were interested enough to come listen to a discussion.

Crossing to Safety--titles always fascinate me, especially ones that seemingly suggest themes, as this one does. The book is about two couples, oh so different, but oh so sympatico. Their lives intersect at the end of the Depression and crescendo several years later when one of the wives contracts polio during an important hike on their mutual vacation. Stegner steadily builds his story from their initial meeting as young professors and wives on the University of Wisconsin campus.

Larry Morgan, the narrator, is a successful writer and becomes a published novelist during that first year. It's not enough to get him tenure. Meanwhile, Sid has gobs of inherited money, a big house in-progress, and holds parties and takes in house guests. He gets tenure, though he is little published. He is, however, a gifted teacher.

One of the first and most serious conflicts is between Sid and his wife Charity, a severely manipulative and controlling woman. She runs Sid's life, making him follow a path he would not have chosen and by-passing the life of the gentleman farmer who ruminates and writes poetry. Sid does not get to live the life he wants.

When Sally becomes stricken with polio, the story halts, then jumps forward many years to the end. Larry fills in the story through his conversations with one of Charity and Sid's daughters. Even at the end of the story Charity controls how it plays out. Was that safety for Sid? Or was it stagnation? A gradual death by artistic strangulation?

In one tiny moment Larry reveals his own manner of strangulation--his wife's crippledness. He has described her through the novel with great compassion and love, but now, in this one tiny scene in which he describes her jerky movements, he shows, I think, a deeply buried, mild revulsion. There's another method of revealing this revulsion and it is through disguise: At the point of her illness, the novel skips ahead a multitude of years. The reader is given a couple of wonderful scenes, but limited in comparison to the earlier sections. Or perhaps I'm all wrong--I hope so.

Am I glad I read the novel? Yes. What was my overall impression? Writer pulling the strings of his creations, including himself. Mostly, when I read, I think of the story. In this case, I thought of Wallace Stegner, the writer, aware of his presence and his omnipotence, his own struggle to assert control over his own life.

So, who crosses to safety? What is meant by the title? I offer this: Sid Lang, so long repressed by his domineering wife, disappears during the last chapter, gone to the woods while his wife has her last say in all matters. Larry finally sees him, asking, "Sid?" Sid's reply? "Yes." Yes, now to life as he would want it, yes to his wife's final act of control, just yes. 

Travels with Kids

My sister Linda lives in north Virginia near Norfolk. Our birth family lives here in north Louisiana. It is 1100 miles from one place to the other. My sister got permission from her daughter Angela to take the two grandchildren on that long drive for a week's stay here.

So, how to keep them busy and out of childish mischief? Linda and Angela came up with a car game. They thought of all these things that a passenger might see on a lengthy trip and created a sheet of images: hay bales, rivers, bridges, dog panting out a car window, and so on--three pages worth. The above photo shows them circling the last of the images they saw on the last leg of their trip down here. They are just about ready to start the long drive back to their home and wanted a marked sheet to take. Just a few images remain uncircled.

The other game they made is the standard car license look-see. Vivian (the girl) can read letters and was able to identify the correct state by the state abbreviations. Then she colored that state. Viewing their journey through colored states marked because of their car licenses told a story: most states marked were along their interstate routes. Odd, huh? (or not!) There were a few odd states and countries out: Ontario and Quebec. But the oddest thing was no identification for South Carolina. All the southern states were marked except that one.

One activity we did here was visit the Louisiana State Exhibit Building where these old dioramas are displayed. Each tells the story of one of Louisiana's industries of one kind or another. What amazes me is the clarity of the picture taken through the glass protecting the diorama.

                                                 Sugar cane industry

Cotton picking time

We also went swimming at Cypress Lake where the water is marked off. There are picnic tables and a grill at each one. We found one right there almost at the water. Perfect location and small crowd on a weekday. The three siblings: brother, sister, and I took the six kids, four the brother's grandchildren, two of my sister's and none by me. It's a nice lake and a good place to swim or just chill.

My handsome boy!

Meet Martha, my handsome black cat. "Handsome?" Yes, Martha is a male cat. He didn't receive the name cruelly. Nay, I thought he was a female--until! I took him to the vet. She asked why I had chosen a female name for a male. Well, I hadn't.

I took him home and began searching for a new, more appropriate name: Marty, Marthon, Marvel, Marthie, but I did not like any of them. So, Martha he was and Martha he is today. I simply tell him what a handsome boy he is--and I'm pretty sure he's happy with that. Besides, he likes his name. "Martha, you are such a handsome boy!"

Blackberries at Shuqulak Farm

Can you see all the blackberries on this vine? Every vine is hanging with fruit. You could almost fill one bucket  at one vine--well, maybe, two or three, but my point is how loaded the vines are at Shuqulak Farms near Frierson, LA.

I picked two buckets of blackberries. On this trip I didn't even look at the blueberries. That's for another trip.

Please check google or bing for more information and map quest for your particular directions.

Man's inhumanity to his most loyal creature

 This is not a happy story. In fact, it is downright horrible. I sit here crying every time I think about this dog (who, I am sure, is long gone from this world).

It happened this way. I was on my way to an appointment when I stepped out into the carport. There, sniffing around for food, was this pitiful dog. Good grief, I have never ever seen such a starved, decimated animal before. A local television station did a story on starving horses abandoned on a farm. They looked pretty much like this dog. It is no telling when the last time he ate. He could barely stand up and actually fell several times.

 I got my neighbor to help me. He has dogs and retrieved dog food and water (I had given him cat food--that's all I had on hand). I had already called Animal Control, not thinking ahead. I waited and waited for them to show up. After two hours I called a local television station, hoping they would do a story on the dog and someone would volunteer to rescue him and give him a better life than he had lived. In fact, I felt sick thinking I was giving him up to sure death.

A reporter came by and was as appalled as I was by the looks of the dog. The dog looked part pit bull and you know what happens to pit bulls if they are picked up. I canceled Animal Control because the reporter thought he could get another animal service to pick him up, this one not committed to the destruction of an animal. But, alas, that was not to be. He did, in fact, call Animal Control which did come out at five o'clock.

Meanwhile, I called a local vet to ask for aid. I had to talk to three people before anyone would give me an answer. The office manager wanted to know who would pay for services. That was her bottom line.  I literally don't have the money to pay for such treatment. If I had, I would have plopped it down for that dog. I admit I did not thank her for her time and went on my way.

The Animal Control person, a woman, was so rude to me. "You know we don't have to come back after you cancel a pick-up," she told me in a stern, angry voice. I started sobbing and told her I was just trying to do whatever I could to save the dog. She immediately became kind and finished her job with understanding and did not hurt the dog.



                                                 I read a book, A Dog's Life, by Ann M. Martin , a book

about a stray dog who lives a miserable life and is finally adopted by an older woman who gives that dog wonderful last years. A stray dog at least has a chance at finding food. The dog who showed up at my house lived under the control of a monster who deliberately did not feed the dog, thus starving it and abusing it. Such cruelty is beyond my ability to understand, nor do I want to.

 I wanted the station to run the story so people would see it, then calls and offers of monetary help would happen,  love would pour in and this poor dog would have a happy ending.This story did not end happily. But for one day two people fed you, gave you water, petted you, and talked to you in kind voices. It's not nearly enough and words cannot convey how sorry I am.

The Alamo "remembered"

I live in a city in which many of the downtown streets are named after Alamo heroes: Travis, Crockett, Milam, and Texas, our main street. Note: just as in history, Houston is not there or here. I digress only to say I grew up with names of Alamo heroes  frequently spoken, like chants to remember long-ago heroes.

My sister and I visited the Alamo just a year ago and stood in many of the spots where blood was spilled and legends made. So it was only natural that I watch this movie when it recently played on a movie channel. John Lee Hancock's "The Alamo" is not John Wayne's version. The older version was made during the years following World War II, when inspiring myth-making was in full ascent.

This recent version is much grittier and more likely, although several reviewers gorgeously described the film as also modern myth making. I think, though, that Crockett's last filmic words were actually spoken, as I remember hearing them before, probably by one of the Alamo specialists at the time of our tour. "Here's your last chance to surrender. Turn in your arms and I promise no harm will come to you" are words out of Crockett's mouth to the huge crowd of surrounding Mexican soldiers. Note: Crockett was bound and on his knees. Another reviewer attributed Crockett's words to the journal of one of the Mexican leaders, with the knowledge that leaders keep these records of their (hopefully) heroic and historic deeds.

Billie Bob Thornton, of all actors, plays Crockett and does so with low- and high-keyed perfection. In fact, the most memorable scene occurs during the evening when the Mexican band would play its prelude to battle. Crockett takes his fiddle on the upper level of the fort in view of the Mexican soldiers and, during the playing of the battle prelude, plays a haunting melody, creating a Texian version of meaning (the movie uses "Texian" rather than Texan). It's a moment to savor.


Other notable actors include Patrick Wilson (a long-time favorite of mine after seeing him in "Phantom of the Opera"). As Travis and elected leader of the Texian side, he meets opposition from some of his own men. He is notorious for abandoning his wife and children, visiting prostitutes, and gambling. Toward the end, when a dying Bowie (played by Jason Patric), asks Travis for a dying drink, Travis responds--with tongue in cheek: "I visit prostitutes, gamble, abandon children, but I draw the line at alcohol."



(As an historical side note: There is a museum/gift shop located next door to the Alamo. On display are several versions of Jim Bowie's designs for the Bowie knife. And let me tell you--that design is incredibly horrific!!!)

The film itself is simply awesome, the story vividly retold on cellluloid for posterity. With film a viewer can hold history, a live production becomes an object of memory, with each method touching a different mental capacity. I plan to purchase the film, this version, for my own record-keeping of an event important enough a cause to name our downtown streets. "Remember the Alamo" is a battle cry for all ages and all times, its symbolic significance deeply ingrained in our national subconcious.