"C" is NOT for Cat -- Authors Whose Last Names Begin with C

I let my dog pick out books. Polo can’t actually read them, so I limit his search options to things we can download and listen to together. We're working our way slowly through the alphabet of authors, one letter at a time. Sometimes we listen to mysteries or realistic fiction, sometimes history or psychology or biography. We listen when we're relaxing, while we're cooking, when we're sewing or doing housework. Okay, actually, Polo doesn't cook or sew or do housework, but he's a pro at relaxing and listening to books with me. And then we do this little report to share our thoughts, one author-letter at a time. 

Monsters

I love football, although my one-word summary of this story is "profane" -- both in the sense of the language quoted in interviews and as a description of the game itself. Football is just now (maybe) beginning to get a little cleaner, a little less punishing in terms of players' lifetime health. This book replays the long history of football, from company and town teams to the NFL as we know it today. George Halas, longtime owner of the Chicago Bears, was the first coach to use an "eye in the sky" by having an assistant way up in the stands who could observe formations and send notes down to the field. In the 1980s, animosity between head coach Mike Ditka and defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan was legendary, yet together they led the team to win the 1986 Super Bowl. It was fun to hear about many players that I watched back then. They were hard-working athletes, if not the best role models. (Also available as a book.)

Polo's response: I like it when my humans watch football, because it keeps them at home with me. But it's bad when the Seahawks score, because there are very loud fireworks.

The Crow Trap

Detective Chief Inspector Vera Stanhope is a British version of Columbo, all messy and scattered and sly as a fox. It wasn't until we were halfway through this book that I realized that the BBC's Vera television series originated here. This particular novel involves three women taking an environmental inventory of a large plot of land slated for industrial development. Before they even arrive, there is a suicide. Then, as they're busily counting plants and mammals and birds, and maybe having a secret affair with a man from town, there's a murder -- and then another murder. Complex characters, tangled lives, scenic countryside, and a gripping story!  (Also available as an eBook, audiobook CD, or book.)

Polo gives this one two paws up. He dreams of running over hill and dale, looking for birds and otters.

The Orchardist

Wenatchee's apple country provides a beautiful, inspiring setting for this piece of historical fiction and the reader does a masterful job of taking you right into the orchard, the barn, the simple farmhouse. Life there has sharp edges, rocky ground, difficult relationships. From the mother who vanished, to young mothers-to-be who appear from out of nowhere, Talmadge is the lone constant with the fruit and the garden and the house. A hard story and beautiful at the same time, like the time and land in which it's set. (Other formats include eBook, audiobook CD, book, or pre-loaded audiobook.)

Polo's pause: Good men -- both the reader and the main character. This was a story I could really sink my teeth into.

The Invisible Gorilla

So, you think you're pretty smart? Especially observant? With an above-average memory? Then don't read this book. The authors devised a social experiment in the form of a video, instructing viewers to count the number of times a basketball was passed from one person to another. There was just enough distracting action in the scene that counting those passes took effort. But in the middle of the basketball activity, an actor in a gorilla suit walked in, pounded its chest, and walked off. Most people did not notice the gorilla. At all. Even though they were working hard to give full attention to the video, they missed seeing something big and unexpected -- because it was totally unexpected. This is just one example of a typical illusion of our abilities, and the whole book gives very interesting insight on basic human nature. (You may choose to read the book or eBook.)

Polo, being a dog, admits no "blind spots" of inattention or perception. [Note from Katharine: I won't mention the times I've seen rabbits along the trail, and he was busy looking up at squirrels in the tree. Please don't tell him I told you.]

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.

Does This Derny Make Me Look Dorky?

Maybe it's just that I was tired when I started watching, but the Olympic sport of Women's Keirin was such an amazing spectacle.

It starts on the steeply banked velodrome track, riders' feet buckled onto their pedals, embracing the men who are their handlers. Waiting for the start. Waiting for... the uniformed guy on a motorized bicycle to come around the track behind them, making the turn, riding on the inside lane.

This guy is sitting very upright. None of the hunched-over streamlined posture for him. His helmet is the round, nerdy type. He wears khakis and a polo shirt in the Rio Olympics colors. And he's not pedalling.

So the best funny thing is this dorky guy -- riding a thing called a derny. ("Hello! You're in the Olympics? What's your athletic event?" "I drive the derny." Silence.) He doesn't have to look athletic. He doesn't have to be athletic. He just has to ride around the track, five and a half times (if you don't count the first half lap before the official start), sitting straight up, looking straight ahead, increasing his speed only incrementally through each lap.

Finally, after watching this measured procession around and around and around the track, the derny pulls out and the sprint ensues. This is when the cyclists get down and dirty, jockeying for new positions, sizing up the field, knowing when to push to the head of the pack for the lead. This is when all the strategy they've had in their heads comes to fruition. This is the action. Two and a half laps of all-out, adrenaline-revving sprint riding. "He's gone! Let's go!"

The photo below is not from this year's Olympic event, but I love how this dernyman looks a bit like a traffic patrol officer. All business. Do not exceed the speed limit. Period. This portion of the race is not. a. race.

Eagles in the Tree, Snails on the Fence

I went walking... by the river, where the eagles live. Mama eagle was posing for the paparazzi, but they all had four-foot-long megalenses that made me feel like I'd rather keep walking and see what I could see on my own.

Who knew that snails climb fences? Maybe to keep away from the nesting geese? There was a tiny narwhal-bird in the top of a nearby tree. And I love that Indian plum is one of the very first spring bloomers.

Some thoughts on my shyness. When I feel self-conscious, I lose most of my social graces. Sure, I can put on an act of warm effusiveness, but that takes effort and brain-energy. Those are the times when I lose people's names, or forget that I just greeted this patron five minutes ago. Ugh.

On the other hand, shyness lets me explore on my own, looking for the ordinary extraordinary details that are often overlooked. Like a snail on the fence, or the hummingbird in the tree just a ways down from the giant eagle.

Therefore, being introverted is a blessing and a curse. But mostly, a blessing. And I'm grateful. Mostly. Because I do enjoy noticing the little things. Thanks, God.

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.

Is There Such a Thing as "Codependent Anti-Humility"?

What's the opposite of humility? And by humility, I mean the good, genuine variety.

Humility means not thinking too highly of oneself, or not thinking too much of oneself.

Anti-humility can be typified by super-inflated ego, a person who thinks every good thing is attributable to them. It's easy to think of examples of this person, right?

What about a person who thinks every little bad thing (burnt toast, being late for an appointment, forgetting to buy milk on the way home from work) is his/her fault? In a way, this is also thinking "too much" or -- more precisely -- too often of oneself.

The person who thinks the world owes him continual thanks for his wonderfulness is deceived. But so is the one who lives in a perpetual state of apology. The toast was burnt? Maybe the old toaster is losing its timing. Late for an appointment? Maybe an accident tied up traffic. Forgot the milk? After a long day at work, it's no surprise that the only thing on your mind is getting HOME.

Humility, in light of emotional well-being, is a balance between the extremes of over-inflation and painful deflation. It's being okay with things as they are. Being okay with me, as I am.

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?

Yucky Trip, Great Scenery

I recently had to travel to my eldest brother's home to help take care of his estate. I've heard that losing a sibling is more emotionally stressful than losing a parent, and perhaps that's true. In this case, though, my other brother (Jim) and I have long anticipated a random phone call about our elder sib. We knew it would happen, just didn't know when.

It was a difficult week, indeed, but there were bright spots. There was great support among family members and new friends. The weather was good for most of the week, and I got to take a few photos of things that Tom had seen almost every day for the past 30 years. Northern California and Nevada are beautiful, if stark, and you just can't beat that backdrop of bright blue December sky.

I hope you find these pics restful, as I do.

Two Weddings and... uh...

Presto change-o! Within a couple of months, two of my sons became engaged. As in, they're planning to be married! Woo hoo! Do you know what this means? All those stories I've heard about kids growing up -- those were definitely true. But all those stories I've heard about kids leaving the nest to build their own lives? It appears that those stories may be true, also! Amazing! This may be proof -- one of the boys acquired an apartment last week, and he has been living there for three days! It's empty, he's alone, but he's got a bed and utilities and maybe some food in the cupboards, and he's loving it.

Economic circumstances being what they are, this has been a difficult time for my guys to strike out in independence. The desire has been there for a long time, but the boys just couldn't afford to get their own places. A few years ago, I had an interesting conversation with a hairdresser about this. We were making small talk -- do you have kids? how many? how old? When I admitted that all my sons still lived at home, she was totally supportive. In her cultural mindset, it's expected that the kids should stay home until they are really ready to be on their own. A solid career is a must, and a solid relationship is preferred, before there's any talk of leaving the parental home. On top of that, she saw it as a positive thing that my sons were willing to stay at home after high school. That's a marker of a decent family life, she said.

I was kind of taken aback. Not that I didn't agree, but I'd never heard these things spoken with such directness. She made me ponder my own expectations. In my family of origin, finances dictated that my brothers had to live at home through all four years of college. One moved across the country to attend graduate school, but the other stuck around a couple more years while he searched for a decent career. When I came of age, I took my cousin's advice and went away to college. After a year, I got married and never looked back. For me (and perhaps my brothers), it was most comfortable to move away to learn independence; distance gave me strength.

Anyway, back to the present. I'm thrilled, ecstatic, joyful, grateful, and happy that these two wonderful gals will be entering our family! I'm beginning to see myself in a new role, a new season of life. I'm not sure, but I think that becoming a mother-in-law means I'm grown up... as much as I'll ever be.

Oh, and the son who's not preparing to tie the knot? He says he's too smart to leave home for a while. He'll have three bedrooms to himself, and his mother in the basement.



P.S. The flower pictured above is from one of my future daughters-in-law. So nice!

What's Back There?

I'm always curious about how things work behind the scenes. The first few years doing football stats for a 4A varsity team, I spent every pregame time agog at the field-level view of preparations. The few stage productions I've been involved in were fascinating literal behind-the-scenes experiences. I love singing in the church choir and looking out at the congregation, watching their responses to the service. And, like everyone, I sometimes wonder what "they" think of me or "us". Don't you?

This morning, I picked up The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University, by Kevin Roose. This young journalism student from a famed secular university wonders what like is like at, of all places, Jerry Falwell's Liberty University. What better way to learn about it than to go under cover and enroll as a student? I'm only a few chapters in, but it's a compelling read and I have to find out what happens. For once, I'm not going to skim and skip ahead in the story.

Because Kevin is not an evangelical Christian, will he be able to pull of an imitation of one? Can he keep his language acceptably clean, and will he be able to adopt the right amount of Christian-sounding jargon to fit in with the other students? Do I listen to what other people say, or am I too wrapped up in judging how they say it?

Are the "real" Christian students really, uh, real? Are they genuine folks, or are they cardboard cut-out facades with no depth of character? How long will it take Kevin to spot a fake? How do people view me -- shallow and conniving, or solid to the core?

If someone discovers Kevin's identity as an impostor, what will their reaction be? Will they ostracize him, out him, or will they pity him? How do I judge people, and how does that change how I act toward them?

One of my strengths as a codependent is a drive to be likable. I shrink away from anything that someone could find distasteful in me. Ugh. Let me rephrase that. My greatest weakness is that drive to be likable! It's tricky to balance those things that should be staunch convictions while also needing to be accepting and understanding. Most people do what they do, not to be bad but because they feel a good reason to do it. Some of those actions are bad, a few horrific, but many just happen without a lot of rationalization. I'm out of my depth in theological terms here, but I hold that mankind is predisposed to be selfish, and therefore makes selfish (and sinful) choices. It should go without saying that I'm in that boat with everyone else. It would be silly for me to deny this.

Am I real? I hope so. At least, I'm trying to be.

Thanks for listening.

Did I Go Overboard?

I didn't mean to. I was trying to use my waiting time in a productive manner. Reading, after all, is usually quite acceptable. Even in public. But did I do too much? Please, you decide.

I went to Portland this week to present information about Lutheran Blind Mission. Not only does LBM have the world's largest religious lending library of Braille/large print/recorded books, but they also have an Outreach Center in Portland. I was asked to talk about both of these opportunities, and to invite people to invite people to the monthly meals and conversations at the Outreach Center.

My contact person (PK) was on the phone when I arrived, so I introduced myself to a receptionist and took a seat in the lobby. I spent a few minutes reviewing data in my Wonderful Notebook of Information. (It never hurts to have the facts straight before you open your mouth, right?) The gal was still on the phone, but I had plenty of reading material with me.

Out came my Braille magazine. I got in the habit of carrying Braille stuff in my car when my kids were still in school. While I waited for the final bell to ring, I could practice my Braille skills. The only other time I practice is in bed at night, and after about ten minutes all the dots turn to mush. If I want to retain any skill at all, I have to remember to practice. Those synapses get lazy and forget how to fire if they aren't exercised regularly.

As I concentrated on feeling the dots, I stopped paying attention to what was happening around me. Except... I heard part of one whispered conversation as one receptionist told the other that I was there for PK's vision loss support group. Silence. I could feel eyes on me, but I kept reading.

Before I knew it, PK had come out of her office and disappeared to another part of the building. No one introduced us. I think it was assumed that I was a simply a client who would be attending the group. After all, only blind people read Braille by touch! It's likely that neither of the receptionists knew that PK had arranged for a guest speaker at this meeting. It's not that I felt disrespected, but it did seem like assumptions were made once I ceased to make eye contact and began feeling the Braille.

Assumptions. Ouch. I am guilty of making them. It was frustrating to realize that I became the object of assumptions, although I was able to act to change my identity very quickly. All I had to do was close my magazine and stride over to the desk. But there are lots of folks who cannot work so effectively to shake free.

This was an interesting experience of mistaken identity. But I have one nagging question: Did I somehow go too far, so that I insinuated actual participation in the blind community?

There are Appointments and APPOINTMENTS

A misunderstood schedule... taking the scenic route... trying to avoid most of the traffic... an appointment with fate?

We were going to pop down to Tacoma to get my husband's overseas immunizations. Yes, in the mid-afternoon, on a Friday. Mega traffic. Ugh. You know how it is -- the traffic clogs up, crawling for a while, then opens up again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And then...

I remember when log trucks were an everyday sight. Back when I was on the school safety patrol in the 1970s, we tried to get the truckers to blow their airhorns on the highway in front of our school.

There aren't many log trucks here in 2010. But there was one today, on the freeway, trying to merge. Merging toward a little car. Still merging. Merging! The car was boxed in, the trucker didn't see her. MERGING!

Fortunately, the damage was minimal. Truck clipped car, side mirror flew off car, traffic made a hole, car pulled to shoulder. Truck kept merging, not stopping. He never saw her.

Turns out, it was two ladies. The driver was totally shaken. The passenger, despite having had the wheel of a loaded log truck just inches from her shoulder, was okay. We stopped, called the State Patrol, and waited until a trooper came. It's what we hope someone would do for us in that situation. Just. Be. There. Oh, and their cell phone battery was dead. Mark and I both had our phones in hand, ready for action.



P.S. Oh, the immunizations? By the time we got to our destination, minutes before closing time, we were told that that pharmacist doesn't work on Fridays. "We need to change our recording." Um, please do. Now that we helped those ladies, Mark's ready for his shots.

Veneer or Solid Wood?

I caught part of an author interview on the radio yesterday. This very articulate woman said that one thing she'd learned in her "20 years on the street" was that how people perceived you affected how they treated you.

Well, yes, certainly. I felt badly about the mistreatment I imagined her experiencing, despite her excellent communication skills. A person's appearance is considered by others, and conclusions are drawn regarding such qualities as honesty, reliability, strength, maturity, approachability, education, and potential value. If a person looks poor or insecure or untrustworthy, strangers will keep their distance.

The radio interview brought me up short after a few moments when the host referred to the author's long career on Wall Street. Oh. That Street.

Okay, so Carla Harris is a businesswoman with more than a briefcase full of professional experience, and she has probably never been homeless. But still, her point about perceptions is excellent.

Ms. Harris went on to caution that whatever quality you'd like to be known for, you'd better be practicing that quality all. the. time. No breaks. For example, if you want people to think of you as having integrity, you must always maintain highest-level integrity. One slip will have greater prominence in their memories than the ten times you acted rightly.

When you get scratched like a piece of furniture, does the veneer come off or is there solid wood that can be sanded and refinished? The photo illustration is a detail of a sideboard that has been in my family for a hundred years. There is some veneer, but its heart is real wood. Solid. Enduring.

How important is it to establish and maintain a good reputation? It takes effort and consistency. More effort, more consistency. Is it worth it?


He who walks in integrity walks securely,
But he who perverts his ways will be found out.

.

I'm Late! Gotta Run! No Time to Write!

I'm too busy writing to spend time writing. The NaNo novel is coming along pretty well, although I've fallen behind. This blog has been neglected, as what time and energy I have must go into the new novel. On the bright side, there are only 12 days left. Gasp! What am I doing here, writing about real life, when I should be watching my character practice her shoplifting technique?! But no, she doesn't actually practice it. She can't help it. She doesn't mean to take things, you know. But my goodness how our hearts race when she does nab something.

One of the developing themes of the novel has to do with the distractions that color our perceptions. Each of us sees life through our own particular lenses, and we filter experiences through a unique grid. Hmmm... maybe that's why it can be difficult to match details of an event seen by several witnesses. They might have seen the same thing, but their interpretations and assumptions led them astray.

Maybe it's significant, then, when hundreds or thousands of people agree on the details. The first filter for truth ought to be something that has stood the test of time and cultures. Something that is proven both from within (no contradictions) and without (by other historical sources). It must be clear and understandable, even if it takes some study to grasp the finer points. It may have originally applied to a particular place and time, but must contain concepts that are universal and timeless.

But know this first of all, that no prophecy of scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation, for no prophecy was ever made by an act of human will, but men moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God.