Being Educated by "Educated"

I don't usually read bestsellers. At least, not while they are still on the bestseller list. The main reason is that I don't feel any need to jump on the bandwagon. The other big reason is that I don't think to put myself on the waitlist for soon-to-be-published hot titles, and once I notice the new book, the hold list is way long. So I don't bother.

But I have friends who recommend books. In fact, they're professionals when it comes to suggesting the next great read. How can I help but get excited? So I put myself on the list for Tara Westover's memoir, Educated. Homeschooled girl from strict religious family makes it big in academia, despite not having any formal instruction in history, science, or math. How did she break free to enter university? How did she manage to earn multiple degrees? How did she overcome her extremely isolated childhood?

When I listened, engrossed, I found the audiobook was more of a horror story. Over and over, I perched on the edge of my seat. "Run! Run from the house before the crazed ax murderer catches up with you! Get away from the giant metal-eating behemoth machine before it crushes you! Tell someone about your brother slamming your head into the wall!"

This is a story of abuse. So much abuse, for so many years. The breaking free was not so much about education, although that certainly was her ticket to a completely different world. As is so common for people who experience domestic violence, it seems impossible to sever the ties that bind them to their abusers. That is the horror of this story. And that is the reader's opportunity for education.

A Look Around the Plate from a Non-Baseballer

The Mariners beat the Blue Jays this week. I was there. No one would call me a baseball fan, but the live experience is interesting. Here are some highlights of the game:

Some pitches are a bit too high. (It has to be really obvious for me to see this.)

And some are too low. (I think.)

Batters don't like the pitches to come too close.

When bat connects, the ball doesn't always go the right direction. But sometimes it does.

That pretty much covers all the offensive action. If you're still interested, maybe I'll post pictures of my inattentiveness -- that is, the rest of the stuff that happened. 

Oh -- but one more batting photo. This one illustrates a pitch that was right over the bun. Just right.

Breaking News: Adaptation May Be Key to Survival and Sanity!

I met someone yesterday who had very high, very specific expectations. He wanted personal assistance with details related to an application on the library system's website. NOW. And he was not at all pleased that I could not deliver what he saw as his distinct need, in the manner that perfectly suited his expectation.

We all build ideas of desired outcomes. Sometimes this is completely necessary (isn't this chicken supposed to be fully cooked?) and other times it's best to adapt and adjust based on a new reality (the brownies collapsed, but they taste still taste great!)

What does it take to recognize that a change is required? How much reality must be experienced in order to be willing to shift one's vision? There are many, many stories in the Bible that illustrate this point. Times when things appeared to be headed in one direction, but then God communicated an entirely different plan leading to an unanticipated outcome.

Being a people-pleaser at heart, I am pretty quick to change direction based on what I perceive to be the needs of others. That's nice, except when I really was on the right track and let myself get derailed by popular opinion. Some of the people whom I most admire are strong, firm in their convictions, rarely swayed by mood or whim. That's good, too. There are times to change, and situations in which it's best to stand firm. Reminds me of that text adapted by Pete Seeger...

     There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven -- 
     A time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones;
     A time to embrace, and a time to shun embracing.
     A time to search, and a time to give up as lost;
     A time to keep, and a time to throw away.
     A time to tear apart, and a time to sew together; 
     A time to be silent, and a time to speak.

So, some planned outcomes must be pursued to full completion, and some must be altered. My job is to listen to the One who advises, encourages, directs, and occasionally gives me a shove in the right direction.

Oh, and about that person with whom I had the unfortunate interaction... Well, I'm sorry I couldn't meet his perceived need in the manner to which he'd like to become accustomed. Maybe another time?

The Kingdom of Rufus!

King Rufus is lord of all he surveys, as long as it lies within the bounds of our new fence. Finally, finally, we were able to complete the fence around our back yard, and Ruf isn't the only one who's happy enough to roll in the grass!

Two years ago, Rufus had an unfortunate encounter with the neighbor's cat. Since then, he's been nearly banished from chasing his beloved Preciousss-es (aka tennis balls). We couldn't trust him to stay with us, in our yard, if temptation came mincing by on cat paws. It took longer than we hoped, but now there's a good fence to keep Rufie in and other dogs or coyotes out. If a cat hops over, it had better be able to run.

It's a beautiful sunny day, so I've got the kitchen door wide open. For the first time in Rufie's life, he can go outside at will. Amazing! Of course, he's on the floor at my feet right now. But he has gone out a few times, and loves the freedom.

What's a little surprising to me is how this fence gives me a sense of freedom. Now that I know exactly where the line is between our yard and the neighbors, I can boldly go right up to it and stand there. Amazing! Now that there is a tangible boundary, I see that for years I have stayed well away from any appearance of touching their property. It's been a respect thing, but maybe there's a little fear in the mix. I wouldn't want them ever to think that I was presuming to encroach on their lives, so I shrunk back. Our yard is much wider than I had let myself imagine!

Next time you see me, if there are grass stains on my clothes, you'll know I was reveling again in the vast expanse of green that is ours!

Another Note About Today

I wrote this morning about my novel's character hating being recognized as vulnerable, limited, and dependent. Then, I added that these are qualities that no one desires, so this is a universal condition. I'll stand by that, but the brevity of my comments may have seemed to minimize the personal circumstances of some people, and I regret that.

While I don't want to be seen as having limitations, I know I have plenty of personal shortcomings. Like most folks, I try to cover them up so they aren't glaringly obvious all the time.

The difference between an "average" person and a person with physical disability (in this discussion, visual impairment) is that their potential for cover-up is distinctly limited. Orientation and mobility issues, for example, are part of daily life. Every day, all day. Further, these differences between blinkies and sighties are there for all to see. Therein lies the emotional, psychological, spiritual challenge of disability.

In seeking common ground, I don't want to minimize the challenges of facing practical obstacles on a daily, hourly, basis. Sure, I never know when I'm going to (figuratively) stumble and reveal something less than complete independence and strength. But my issues are not the same as those whose limitations are external and therefore more obvious to others, and cannot be hidden but may be overcome.

Thanks for listening. I hope I haven't overstepped my bounds.